A HAND STROKED THE FOREHEAD of a woman who was in deep spoor. She wore a pendant that once belonged to her mother, with the word 'Mimi' engraved in it...

Laura Jensen was now twenty-four years of age and had been in a coma for a dozen years, in that same Riverside Methodist Hospital in Columbus, Ohio. Seated beside the bed was her sister Roberta, in her early twenties, who came during visiting hours — after her shift duty, as a street policewoman.

Roberta Jensen was no longer obese inbuilt — but now, carried an inured gym goer's physique.

Behind them, by the bedside wall, was a rococo collage of photographs that had accumulated, over those twelve warded years. It first started off with the Jensen's family's photo, and later, the inclusion of Laura's school swim team championship group shots — subsequently, more added photos of the birthdays where Laura celebrated while dormant in a coma, over the many years. There were also Roberta's visiting friends — Roxy and Y.T.

Finally, photos of Roberta graduating from the Police Academy — but, the other miscellaneous pictures included — which were just images that Roberta perceived as her Aunt Flo's humdrum, overexposed Polaroid photo shoots of her yapping dogs and indoor flower garden.

These days, Roberta did not 'speak' much during the visitations, just watching over her...

Her chatty habits from her growing up years had long curtailed. Her tear ducts were in drought, after years of crying — about the ins and outs — of her guilt trips and loneliness. But, her obdurate sentiment still bled — to see the accumulated pain — that Laura was continuously suffering, in her deep sleep...

"Haven't you suffered enough, you idiot?"

Roberta occasionally questioned with the unsettled feeling in her guts — and she sometimes got bitterly angry at Laura — whom she felt was fading away, without trying...

'But why die now, after twelve years, Laura?'

Her sister used to be physically active both in sports in school and was always a natural outdoor kind of person. The hint of resentment was still culpable inside Roberta, when their mother, Martha used to allow Laura to go out biking with her friends — while her mother grounded her at home — with reasons that Roberta slow, and could not keep up, with the physically fitter older girls.

Her mother used to then say — Laura had a strong heart, while hers was weak. Humiliating her back then, because she was overweight — and panted a lot by day and, snored aloud by night...

'She even has a brave heart too, Mum — didn't your Mimi jumped off a cliff — to go down, saving your damn ass back there?'

Laura' s physician, Dr Emma Rickman too had suggested that bypass surgeries, as the only option to keep her alive — and her Aunt Flo was currently getting some loans for that medical expenditure...

Roberta felt useless that she couldn't contribute in any way to help Laura — her salary could not even pay for Laura's current monthly coma medical and hospitalization bills, which alone were double the figures than what she earned in the police force — and once again, her rich Aunt Flo had been forking those expenses, and other medical bills for those last twelve years...

Instead of feeling grateful, Roberta felt shameful, and it was also hurting her pride — her aunt was just another Martha — who made her feel small — another thorn in her side.

Roberta remembered her own psychiatrist, Dr Nora Connors, reminding her a long time ago, in her counselling sessions when she was ten — which was to stop being ascetic in life, when facing desperate situations — instead, exonerating her guilt with some positive actions.

Stroking her sister's forehead, she whispered...

"Don't worry, I am here for you, Laura, and I will arrange the expense somehow for your surgery — trust me — I will do anything for you. I will get the money, somehow — just hang on in there, Laura — don't die on me now..."

Roberta looked at Laura's fingers for a movement of acknowledgement — an observation practice she kept for years — but yet saw no results...

Was it because she was just making an empty promise?

But she needed to find the money fast because Laura had a close call once — and she nearly died...

Roberta remembered that night vividly...

***

Above, looking through the glassed gallery of the maternity delivery room was Roberta with her Aunt Flo — it was a week before Roberta's tenth birthday when the doctors performed a Cesarean surgery on Laura Jensen — to deliver the misbegotten child of a Hispanic rapist.

Some complications occurred during her sister's surgery — and it made her heart stop momentarily.

The EKG monitor in the surgery room showed a flat-liner...

The butch hoyden became a frightened little girl again — as she once was before — in her father's falling Buick, while in the Exodus trail.

She kept hugging onto her Aunt Flo — and she cried scared when seeing her sister in a near-death condition — with the medical staffs trying to revive her...

"Please do something, Aunt Flo — don't let Laura die, she is all I got!"

***

Outside the delivery room later, Florence Jensen and Laura's doctor, Emma Rickman stood, drinking steaming coffee in paper cups — with Florence being acquiesced to Dr Rickman's medical conversation.

The younger Roberta Jensen in her biker-jacket, sat alone — staring at her new Converse leather sneakers at her feet. The nicotine urge was building up, but she was fighting it — she wanted to see Laura badly after her delivery...

Her head raised a couple of inches to a sound of a crying baby, and she then heard her aunt, calling for her...

"Robbie, come here, girl."

Roberta stood and looked up at a nurse cuddling the bawling newborn — standing beside were Florence and Dr Rickman. They were inviting her over...

"No! Give it away! That bastard does not belong to my family!

"You hear me — just get rid of that shit!!!"

The almost ten-year-old Roberta's temper flared as she yelled out — knowing that, the bastard-child nearly killed her sister a few hours ago during the Caesarian surgery.

Roberta walked away and disappeared behind a swinging exit-door. Now, she needed that cigarette more than ever.

Florence Jensen was ageing, bachelorette at forty-three, who had fears in holding the fragile newborn — so she only looked on at her swaddled grandnephew from up-close...

"Is that one of those — 'males'?"

The nurse nodded — and the new-breed baby's teary eyes looked at those faces —for one last time...