The debut of Mrs. Moon, honestly, it might be surprising to people to see what she's actually like throughout most of the story, since this is my demi-goddess of a woman's grand entrance:
A thousand blurry nurses swarm every which way like a nestful of lady ants in brightly colored emoji scrubs - various states of worry and hurry.
Amongst the tumult I recognize the sound of Kattar’s mother, weeping and mumbling phrases I can’t make out through the insufficient quantities of morphine stirring the universe into a slurry before my eyes. How and when she got here is beyond me. Most likely while I was still unconscious. She whispers hurried prayers in a mixture of English, Hebrew, and Spanish, all slurred together into a homogenous, trilingual sob. I catch my name amongst the others “Alicia. Kattar. Jesus.” So steady it’s almost a chant. An incantation. The room swims again.
I can feel my legs, but I don’t want to. An overwhelming burning scalds me from the outside in, like the Styx took up residence in my skin-
“His ribs are broken-” I hear someone say. Kattar’s face is as white as a specter. I’ve never seen him without his mouth moving, let alone asleep - if you could even call it that. The expression on his face is frighteningly angelic as a burly nurse gently yanks the long tresses back from his forehead to reveal a river of blood.
“Cuncussion” someone else yells.
Gurnies crisscross through my vision as Kattar vanishes into the white light at the edge of perception. One bears a stranger, the other driver no doubt - his face a massacre of bloodied flesh. I can’t tell if he’s young or old. Alive or dead.
“He was stinking drunk,” a nurse says. But so was I. And I can’t help but think that if it wasn’t for Kattar, this accident might have been MY fault...
“Careful! We are looking at severe spinal damage here!”
The prayers turn into a smothered wail, gentler than silence.
She’s going to lose her only son. I think to myself. And she’s going to know it’s my fault.
She’ll hate me for the rest of one of our lives.
