It was a busy day, with many things happening all at once. A concert for my older sisters, both in the school’s concert band. The release of a new movie- no one remembers which. My father had just been promoted to a supervisor role. I was also there, somewhere, running up a concrete jungle. Dragging me around was my mother, taking me place to place to place, completing each task of the day. No one remembers me going to school, maybe I was sick.

I don’t remember ever waking up. Maybe I never did.

First, to my sister’s school. I went there as well, but not that day. They are both older than I, one by two years, the other by four. They both got out of the car, concert outfits in their bags, one with a flute at their side and the other with a saxophone. We would see them again soon enough. Next to my brother’s school. He was still at the school we had all gone to before we moved houses. His backpack was neon yellow, he tells me. My mother disagrees, thinking it was gray.
I have been told that I slept on the couch that night and into the morning afterwards. My head was placed delicately on a pillow, propped up from both sides. There was a movie playing on loop all night long. My brother recalls being annoyed by it. There was popcorn on the counter from earlier, left forgotten among all the chaos- a relic from a much simpler time.

After visiting my brother’s school, my mother left to get her car washed. A street vendor tried to sell her some flowers, although she rejected them. We went home and she began her work, sewing up broken clothing for resale and as favors to friends. The large space we called a basement was forever filled to the brim with sewing machines of all calibers. There was much to do tonight, and she wanted to make sure she got everything for her job done beforehand so maybe she could sleep in the next day.

The drive home was stressful; blood still covered the seat belt and headrest, but it was now thoroughly coagulated into the fabrics. I was asleep in the back seat, head held up by my father once again. My oldest sister says that she felt powerful sitting in the passenger seat, next to my mother, no longer speeding as she had been earlier.

When her work was done, it was time to get my brother and go see the concert. He was ready to be picked up when we arrived, although his lunchbox was not empty. Something terrible, he tells me, an average turkey sandwich. He was a picky eater, so I do not think that this surprised anyone. Now, it was time to go see the school band’s second concert of the year, and my younger sister’s second concert ever.

Before I passed out for a second time, my mother recounts me jokingly stepping on the feet of the doctors who had saved my life. My father disagrees, saying that I was respectful and courteous. My sisters say they were too busy annoying each other to know. My brother thinks he was already asleep. It was late, after all, maybe 2 or 3 am at that point. At least it was all over.

We unloaded from the car, shuffling quickly to the auditorium of the school. My mother stopped to chat with the parents of my younger sister’s friends. According to my brother, I ran ahead, eventually finding my way to a seat at the back. Maybe I talked to someone else in the meantime, but I would not be able to say. The lights went down.

I was removed from the operating room, alive. I regained consciousness a few hours later, having needed a few minutes to recover. The IV was still connected to me, but I never even noticed it was there. My parents were told that after measuring a few vital signs, we could finally leave the hospital.

The concert was great. Well, it was not great, it was about what could be expected from a 6th-grade and an 8th-grade concert band. My mother was proud regardless. The band director joked that I would take up clarinet, completing the main woodwind instruments of a concert band. If not me, then maybe my brother. My mother did not converse with many people afterwards. After all, there was a movie to attend.

I was rushed to the operating room. My mother broke down crying, my younger sister did as well. My brother does not remember anything from this time. My father said the same. I assume it was a rough time, not knowing what would happen to me.

The movie theater parking lot was packed. We had to park far away from the entrance and walk through a sea of cars. We got two large popcorns, enough to feed a family of 6. Sugary drinks were not usually bought, but we did smuggle in some candy that my father had bought after he got off work. He was not able to attend the concert earlier due to a large meeting that he was unable to get out of.

The seat of the car was bloody. My father was holding up my head and forcing a roll of toilet paper against it. My younger sister was screaming and crying. My mother was speeding.  One thing everyone agrees on is that not a single person was buckled other than me.
And now, the time had come- the day was over and we could all go home and rest. After a short drive, we were back to the place where this all began. A number of concrete steps led up to our front door which my younger sister challenged me to race up. Maybe I was tired or sick. Maybe I was nauseated from the ride home. Maybe I wanted nothing more than to win against my sister. Maybe I simply slipped or tripped over myself.

I don’t remember what happened that day. Maybe I am the only one who doesn’t.