Picture that moment in a film when the person lying in the hospital bed moves their eyelids and someone says, “doctor he moved, I think he’s coming out of the coma.” And the doctor responds, “after twenty years?”
All my life I have listened for those distant words: “doctor he moved.”
On the night my mother went to the hospital, in order to give birth to my youngest sister, all of us kids were rounded up and taken to my aunt’s house. From the floor of the TV room, in sleeping bags, we watched – for the first time: The Twilight Zone. The ugly girl turned out to be very pretty and the normal doctors and nurses were quite deformed. When I wake up I expect something like this.