The Prodigal Daughter by Emily Ward

Teresa hated hospitals. They smelled funny. She could tell that people tried to make it welcoming, but for her, it didn’t work. She only liked going to the hospital if there were new babies. The Intensive Care Unit, however, was not the place she wanted to be.

She walked toward her mom’s room, chewing on her lip. She reached room 203, and held her breath while walking in. Her mom lie unconscious in a hospital bed, tubes and wires coming out of her. A nurse stood by her.

“Hello,” the nurse said. “Are you her daughter?”

Teresa nodded, slowly walking towards the bed. She stood across from the nurse, looking down at the bandage that covered half of her mom’s head.

“You look like her,” the nurse said quietly.

Teresa was surprised the nurse could see any resemblance while her mom was covered in bruises and bandages. “How – how is she?” she asked.

“She’s better,” the nurse said with a nod. “She’ll probably only be here for a few more days.”

Teresa took off her jacket, then pulled over her chair. She sat down, touching her mom’s hand. “That’s good,” she said weakly. “Do you know about the other driver?”

“He’s fine,” the nurse said. “He’s already left the hospital.”

Teresa looked at her mom. He left after only a few hours, but her mom was stuck in this bed, looking the worst that Teresa had ever seen her. “Do you know when she’s going to wake up?”

“I’m not sure,” the nurse said. She gave her a small smile. “I’m going to go, but you can page me if you need something. Feel free to stay however long you like.”

She left the room, and Teresa felt her throat constrict. She sighed, putting her head in her hands. “Sorry it took me so long to get here,” Teresa said. “Jake didn’t tell me until after I got out of school, and then the stupid bus was taking forever. . .”

She fell silent. The beeping from her heart monitor seemed louder than anything else in the room. Teresa glanced at the television, but she didn’t feel like turning it on. She remembered her mom yelling at her last Tuesday, telling her to turn off the TV to do the dishes. Jake made her do them before she went to bed, and Teresa didn’t talk to either of them all Wednesday.

“Sorry about that,” Teresa said quietly.

Her mom was completely unconscious, and yet here she was talking to her. Teresa had seen it on movies – people talking to their loved ones who were in comas.

Teresa looked down at her mom. Her dark blonde hair was messy; there was even a little bit of crusted blood in it. Jake said the other driver had hit her, driving her mom’s car into a pole. Her mom had a concussion, some bad bruises and scratches, but he said she’d be all right. Not that she really trusted him.

Why wasn’t he here? He was always talking about how he loved her so much more than Teresa did, and yet he was just sitting at home eating pizza. Teresa felt anger rising up her chest. Her tears fought to spill, but she held them back. She was skilled at not crying when she wanted to. She couldn’t even remember the last time she had cried.

She thought back, trying to recall what had last tipped her over the edge. When James had broken up with her? No, she had called Allie, but that was it. Maybe when she found out she got a 3 on her AP History test. No, she had spent the whole day at the gym.

Teresa had a sudden moment of recollection. It was the Youth On Fire retreat in San Diego. Altar call, feeling guilty, wanting to start new, all of that. She looked at her feet and thought back to that weekend. The worship had been pretty good; she remembered jumping up and down with Melissa. And the workshop about human trafficking was interesting. She spent most of the time flirting with James, though.

Her mom didn’t like James. She was happy when he broke up with her, and she didn’t even try to hide it. Teresa put her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands. She looked at her mom again, expecting to see her awake. She was still asleep.

“He was stupid,” Teresa said. “All he ever wanted to do was make-out.”

She knew if her mom was awake, she would have said something like, ‘That’s what all boys want to do. You just need to wait until you’re thirty to date.’

And Teresa would have reminded her mom that she didn’t wait until she was thirty. She was sixteen when she got pregnant with Teresa. And her mom would say, ‘I want you to learn from my mistakes.’

Teresa sighed, getting to her feet. She paced around the room, looking at the pictures on the wall. She picked up a magazine and flipped through it, but quickly got bored and put it away. She felt like she needed to be here, but at the same time, she didn’t even feel like the woman lying in the bed was really her mom.

She walked to the bed again, watching her mom’s chest rise and fall steadily. “I don’t know why I. . .why I feel like I. . .” she trailed off. “Sometimes, I don’t even feel like your daughter. You know, you’re always backing up Jake and stuff. But you had me before you married him. And you’re always on my case, I can’t even breathe. I wish you’d just trust me.”

She sighed. She walked back to the seat. After a few moments of silence, she gave in and turned on the TV. She watched half of an episode of Monk, commenting on it as though her mom could hear her. She watched another episode, but her mind was wandering. She thought of the road trip her mom and her took to Disneyworld when she was eleven. She thought of going to the beach the next day and thinking it was so boring compared to Disneyworld. Her mom used up four disposable cameras and she had a picture of Teresa with Mickey Mouse on the fridge. And whenever her mom was emotional, she would say, ‘Let’s just go back to Disneyworld.’ And it would really annoy Teresa. She wasn’t eleven anymore. She was almost eighteen, and she had been accepted into college, and yet she was still treated like a child.

Teresa left the room and found the vending machine. She fished a dollar out of her wallet and debated between a butterfinger and a snickers. She chose the latter, then looked down the hallway towards the elevator. She could go, visit back tonight after she’d done her homework. She knew she wouldn’t be able to do it here. She sat down in a seat not far from the vending machine, considering her plan of escape.

Two men walked to the machines. They were probably in their thirties, and one man was the type of guy Teresa would expect to find sleeping on the street. He had a bright smile on his face. “Sean, you just don’t understand,” he said. “It’s like everything is new.”

His friend smiled politely, but didn’t seem immensely interested. “I’m glad you’re going to church,” he said.

“It’s not church, it’s God,” the homeless-looking guy said. “He’s – man, I mean – I feel like a new person.”

“That’s good.”

They began to walk off, but Teresa heard the excited man. “Good? It’s great. I don’t think I’ve ever loved my dad so much. . .”

His voice trailed off as they walked down the hall. Teresa ate her snickers bar, lost in thought. She thought back to that Youth on Fire retreat. One of the speakers – probably the only one she remembered – said, “Nothing is impossible with God. When you have him in your life, you’ll be doing things you never thought possible.”

Teresa walked back into her mom’s room. She sat down next to the bed. “I brought you a snickers,” she said. She smiled, leaning over and resting on the rail on the side of the bed. “I remember when you told me not to let that weekend go to waste. I just. . .I don’t know, it was cool at the time. Stuff just messed it up.”

She fell silent, wondering if God ever got sick of hearing people’s prayers. She wondered if there were certain people who left and came back so often that he eventually ended up locking the door on them. She remembered the story of the Prodigal Son, and, even though she hadn’t spent all of her mom’s money on wild living, she had decided she was going to do things her way. Not God’s way, and definitely not her mom’s way.

“I’m sorry for not doing the dishes,” Teresa said, even though she had apologized earlier. “And for sneaking out with Allie every Friday since Thanksgiving. And, uh, last month when I went three hundred texts over and didn’t pay for it. Sorry about that, too.”

Teresa sighed. She hadn’t talked to her mom like this in a long time. She hadn’t talked to God in a while, either, but she had the sudden desire to pray. “I want to feel like a new person,” Teresa said, half to her mom, half to God. “I want to try again. And I’ll try harder this time.”

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