Dying For A Chance Read Online Free PDF Page A

determined to find the packet of cigarettes that I kept stashed at the bottom of my bag. The med lines wouldn't let me get far, a long metal pole with my IV bag stood in between me and the only closet in the room. I stepped out of the bed gingerly and forgot to test the floor with my socked toes first. My right leg went ahead just fine, my left decided not to follow and I went sprawling across the cold vinyl flooring. That's when I noticed the thick layer of bandages wrapped around my upper thigh. Pain seared up and down my leg.
                I shouted for a nurse, no one came. I cried, I cursed, I prayed. I spent an entire lifetime laying there on the floor. What had I done to deserve this?
                My hands flopped across the floor looking for something to pull myself up with. They wrapped around something so cold it seemed to sear into my skin. I looked up and found that I had a hold of a misty shoe. Nic's shoe. My fingers shrunk back from the ethereal Sketchers and a few trails of mist followed my hand. For a moment I forgot about the pain in my leg.
                “Here, give me your hand. We'll get you back up.” his strong arms reached down for me. It didn't seem as though I had many other options and I figured he would take it poorly if I refused. Who was I to judge a person based entirely on the fact that they were either dead or imaginary? I nodded my head and gave him both my hands. Together we pulled and struggled but managed to get me back onto the bed. I stared at him covertly. He seemed to be solid when I touched him but he passed through anything else like he was made of colorful air. I didn't want to embarrass him by bringing up his condition (being dead would have to be awkward) but I had so many questions. He didn't give me a chance to ask them.
                “What were you after?” he looked around the room trying to determine what could have been so important. “I'll get it for you. Save me the trouble of picking you up off the floor again.” his handsome smile took the sting out of the words.
                “My bag.” I waved an arm at the closet. “I think they have it in there.”
                Nic drifted over to the closet and reached a hand inside. It disappeared completely and in just a few seconds reappeared with my faded brown backpack. He tossed it up onto the bed and I rummaged to the bottom. There it was, still crumpled with a lighter rubber banded to the pack. The last cigarette. I had promised myself I wouldn't smoke it. I held it up, considering.
                “Seriously?” Nic's voice was disappointed and that bothered me more than it should have. “You're telling me that you took a dive off that hospital bed for a damn cigarette?”
                “Aren't you a little young to be swearing?” I know it wasn't fair, he'd been nice enough to pick me up after all, but I wasn't feeling in the mood. He didn't seem perturbed in the least.
                “Sam, I've lived enough for the both of us...and I'm not the one trying to sublimate my feelings with a mind numbing self destructive habit.” For a 19 year old kid he sure did talk like he was an old man. I shifted in the bed so I could see him better. The light had a way of making him come in and out of view. He sat there, hands on hips sitting in a wheelchair and fuming for all the world like my last foster father. I decided to change the subject and stuffed the pack into my bag. I vowed not to bring it out again while he was around.
                “Are you?” I had no idea how to start. There wasn't a Jerry Springer, Geraldo or Oprah episode that dealt with this kind of thing. “Did you die in that crash?”
                “Yep,” he relaxed a bit and I could see a smile start to light up the corner of his mouth. He turned to the side and displayed his wheelchair, his arm swung out across it like a used car