“I would, but my mom wants me to help her at the grocery store. When’s your party?” Melanie said the party word loud enough to turn a few heads as we made our way into the crowded hallway.
Great, now I’d have to deflect the interest directed my way. “Uh, I’m not sure. I’ll let everyone know.” I made sure to say everyone in a way that demonstrated my inclusive nature, all while knowing there wouldn’t be any big birthday bash.
An event involving boys would never gain Bob’s approval. My mom would find the idea uncomfortable, her tag word for anything she wanted to avoid, which was pretty much everything.
“Call me later,” Melanie commanded, before digging into her locker.
I knew if I didn’t, she would. Melanie wasn’t just persistent about parties.
Leaving her to sort through the mess in her locker, I hurried outside, eager to embrace the sunny spring afternoon. Celebrating my birthday by taking the longer route home, through a small, wooded area, seemed like a safe way to rebel against my stepdad while enjoying the scenery.
Taking the long way wasn’t my parents’ idea of safe or responsible behavior. Bob was near neurotic about my walking alone. He’d seen too many crime scene photos. My mom went along with him to avoid creating any waves. She was vigorous when it came to maintaining an environment void of any unnecessary discomfort.
I refused to let their paranoia infect me. It was like a plague to be avoided at all costs. Doing something they wouldn’t approve of was how I inoculated myself from their fears. I didn’t push the limit too far, just enough to maintain my independence.
Flinging their warnings aside, I marched through the school’s manicured lawn toward the tree line where the brush parted and a trail waited.
I turned onto the narrow path. I could hear a baseball game starting back at the ball field and school buses chugging away to nearby neighborhoods — safe sounds. Basking in the moment, I took several graceful spins and celebrated my few minutes away from prying eyes.
The afternoon sunlight filtered through the trees’ canopy, giving the path an other worldly appearance. Birds chirped and the wind rustled the leaves. Talk about a fairytale scene. At the trail’s end, the foliage parted, revealing a suburban Troutdale neighborhood, and a huge growling dog.
I wasn’t familiar with the breed, but recognized, at first glance, its eyes were full of suspicion, and its lips were curled back and trembling, revealing two gleaming canines.
A five-foot fence, just to the left, would have to serve as my escape.
I lunged toward it.
Snarling, the dog charged forward, planning to intercept me.
I scrambled over the railing, thankful for my long legs and above average height. My gratitude was cut short when, to my displeasure, I landed with a painful thud on concrete. My head spun as I tried to right myself. Instead of standing, I collapsed — this time plummeting into the icy depths of a stranger’s uncovered swimming pool.
My head thudded against the wall.
Little pins of light blinked behind my eyelids, giving way to murky darkness.
Several disjointed thoughts managed to linger in the moment before blackness swallowed me whole. Happy Birthday, Chloe. Today you die. Cause of death: Attacked by a dog; drowned in a pool. Not so cool.
I’d always heard that near-death experiences were strange. People have no idea just how strange. Being in a coma for seven months can also be considered more than extraordinary.
Lucky me, I experienced both.
To everyone’s surprise, I woke up with total recollection of the events leading to my coma.
After all the ooing and ah-h-hing over my miraculous recovery subsided; my parents relented and told me the whole story. I learned from Bob I’d been under water for about fifteen minutes; they’d restarted my heart three times. I should have been brain dead, if not dead-dead. They were advised several times to pull life support, even referring to me as a vegetable. In other words, I was a goner. But here I am breathing, talking, and doing all the stuff alive people do.
When I finally left the hospital, after suffering through every test imaginable, I was at last able to accept and celebrate I was alive. I recall having difficulty believing that there were no lingering side effects. I’d read Pet Cemetery like five times, and dead things never came back to life right.
Despite my worries, I couldn’t wait to see what the future had in store for me.