by Shelly Crane
"Andrew," I said slowly, "I don't know you. I don't remember anything about you or us or anyone else. I am not lying or playing around or trying to trick anyone. Someone ran me over with their car," he flinched, but I kept going, "and left me there to die. Why would I ever lie about something that was so close to taking my life away?" I felt my breath hitch. "No, scratch that, they actually did take my life away. The only life I knew. Now I'm stuck in a body I don't know with people around me I've never seen before."
I felt out of breath from my speech. I gripped my forehead in my fingers. I could feel my pulse beating under my fingertips. I felt strange.
He was stunned, I could tell, but he came forward and leaned down to see my eyes. "Are you OK, babe? You look green. Do I need to get your man-nurse?"
"No," I said in irritation. "He's not a man-nurse. Mason is my therapist and he's helping me so I can be normal again."
"You are normal," he said with a condescending laugh.
It hit me. This was the chance to send this guy that I no longer had the capacity to care for packing. "Andrew, I'm not normal. Do you understand the extent of my…damage?" I said bitterly.
"You…" he floundered. It made me angrier. "You don't remember anything. I get it-"
"You don't get anything!" I yelled. "I can't walk! I can barely feed myself. I can't hold my hand up for more than seconds at the time. I can't even go to the bathroom by myself, Andrew. I am not normal."
He grimaced and even glanced toward the bathroom, but I saw his resolve. There was something there in his face that I just knew wasn't going to be giving up anytime soon. To my surprise, he got down on his knees by my bed and held my hand gently. He looked me straight in the eye and muttered some of the sweetest words I would imagine had ever come from his mouth. "Emma, I know that I've been… I haven't been here. I haven't been what I should have been for you. When I heard what happened to you…" His words choked off as he held back a sob. I stared at him. He was actually fighting tears. "I came to see you every day when it happened, but then they moved you here and wouldn't let me see you except on weekends. They told me you were going to die, that hospice was for people that were going to…die, Emma. I was missing so much school and…" He shook his head. "Anyway, my parents said I needed to find an outlet. So…I started dating as a way to take my mind off." I raised my eyebrow. "I know," he placated. "I know. That's stupid and selfish and childish. And I know it sounds lame, I do, but I loved you, Emma. You don't remember that. I get it now, but I love you just the same. I want to be with you. I want to help you through this. All of it, no matter how embarrassing you think it is or whatever." His thumb rubbed over my knuckle. "I'm not leaving you again. I won't make the same mistake twice. I love you, babe. I always have and I'll make you love me again, too."
I didn't know what to tell him. I wasn't really interested in loving him. I mean, I didn't know him, but Adeline had said I should embrace anything that was a direct line to the old me. She seemed to think this guy was a key to my memories. And there he was, pouring his ever-loving guts out all over my hospital bed. It felt wrong to accept this, but it felt even more wrong to spit in his face when he was so open and raw before me. "OK," I whispered.
"OK?" he said with hope.
"OK. Let's try and see how things go."
He smiled. It looked real and nothing like the cocky grin he'd been wearing before. He leaned forward a little and let his fingers touch my chin. "I know you want to take things slow, I get that, but I've missed you so much." He whispered, "Would it be all right if I kissed you?"
I felt my lips part with a rejection, but forced a stop on that. One kiss to appease him while I got used to the idea. I nodded small and looked up at him. He continued to smile as he stood from his kneel and leaned down. He paused before touching my lips to stare into my eyes. I wanted to feel something familiar as I stared back into them. I wanted it like I wanted to walk and run and dance again, but nothing happened.
He let his lips touch mine gently as his hand came to hold my jaw.
Like I mattered.
Like I was important.
Like he really did want to help me.
His lips pressed harder and his hand moved a little in a caress. I sighed as I let my resolve go. I was going to try. My therapist wanted me to, my parents also, and Andrew. Mason…he was seeing my therapist and had made it clear I was a 'great girl'. What was holding me back? So I threaded my fingers through his and let my lips part just a bit in silent invitation. He took it and gripped my fingers tighter as he slipped his tongue through my lips, just barely. Then he pulled back and leaned his forehead against mine. He sighed, "God…I missed you, Emmie."
"I know." I patted his cheek. "Taking things slow, right?"
"Sure," he answered and sat back in the chair, but scooted it all the way to the bed edge. "You say when, where, and how much, OK?"
"Thank you, Andrew."
"Andy," he corrected. He seemed irritated, like he'd had to correct me too many times already. "You always called me Andy."
"Andy," I said softly. It sounded like a kid's name when I said it like that. "I'll try to remember that."
"And you'll try to remember me, too, right?" He smiled. "In no time, we'll be just like we used to be."
"What if I'm not? What if I never remember?"
"Then, like I said, I'll just get you to love me again. Won't be too hard," he said and winked with his joke. I found myself laughing a little.
"OK. If you say so."
"So, how about I meet you here every day after school and I'll bring your school work. I heard your parents went to the school asking about a tutor for you. I can help. Then I'll take you for a walk. Or a…" he glanced at my legs, "a roll?"
I laughed. "I've never even been out of the bed yet, let alone used a wheelchair."
"I'll help you," he promised. "I'm not going anywhere."
He kissed my fingers, and Mason took that opportunity to come in. Of course. I felt a rip of guilt go through me at the look of anger that flashed across Mason's face, but why? He was probably just angry because he knew Andrew…err Andy…was going to be sticking around. And, granted, he hadn't been even an honorable mention for boyfriend-of-the-year, but he was here now. And he was trying. I felt that I owed it to not only him, but myself, to explore that, even if just for a little while. I owed it to myself to see if I could remember this boy who said he loved me.
Though he had moved on to someone else and I found my own eyes drifting up to meet the hazel one's who held the fate of my mobility in his strong, capable hands.
Useless Fact Number Five
A pregnant goldfish is called a twit.
The next day, my family came—the whole wide family. My brother and sister, who were as pristine as my parents, were awkward. I tried to talk to them, but they seemed like they didn't know what to say even when I started the conversation.
Rhett and Isabella tried their hardest to perk things up by having them tell me all about college life and what I had to look forward to next year. My sister was majoring in business, but she planned to keep working in the bank where she was a teller once she graduated. Her fiancé was apparently very rich and she said she had no need to do anything else since he would take care of her.
Honestly, studying and working your butt off for a degree that you weren't even going to use…just to say you went? Not for me. College didn't seem at all like something I wanted to partake in.
But they all seemed happy that I was awake, tension or no tension. Finally, I just couldn’t take it any longer. I needed to make them see that just because I broke once, didn't mean I was going to break again.
"You don't have to walk on eggshells," I yelled in the middle of yet another awkward silence. "I'm not going to fall back onto the bed into another coma. I'm fine. I…just don't know who you are."
I laughed a little. It was silly and ridiculous. Mitchell laughed a little, too. I gave him a grateful smile. He was probably the one I got along with more
than anyone else in my family. The sister seemed a little too uptight for my taste, but maybe the old me was fine with that.
"Emmie," she started and bunched her brow. "You're just so different and it's a little unnerving."
"How am I different?" I said and sat up as much as I could to hear her better. I was suddenly fascinated by what she was about to say.
"Well, you're…" she shrugged. "I mean the old you would have yelled at us the minute we walked in here for not bringing you something." I scowled at that, but still swallowed that down and listened. "And you wouldn't be watching Judge Judy." She flung her hand at the impossibly small television on the wall. "You don't care about people's problems. You'd be watching MTV because that's all you watch when you're home."
I blinked. "What else?"
"What?"
"I don't know who that is you're talking about, and good or bad, I want to get to know her. What else would the old me have done?"
She looked to her dad — my dad —for the OK to proceed. He nodded and sighed as he sat on the end of my bed and patted my blanketed leg with a weak smile as she continued.
"The old you wouldn't be caught dead in the clothes Mom put you in." She looked to Isabella. "No offense, Mom."
She smiled. "None taken. Go on."
"The old you wouldn't have your hair down like that, it would be in a high ponytail like always. Or have accepted these flowers from Andrew," she looked at the card and smirked, "because you always say a guy that brings you flowers must not be able to afford anything good."
On it went. She laid out my transgressions like an itchy blanket at my feet and all I wanted to do was throw it off and tear out of the room, but I was immobilized. Not only by this useless body that betrayed me, but also the overwhelming shock and chagrin that was currently wracking my body.
The girl they were talking about couldn't possibly be me.
After a while, I shifted down into the bleach scented sheets and pretended to still listen, but I was really in a world all my own. I stared up at the dragonflies and tried to imagine this vain girl that still loved stickers of a fragile little flying insect. I tried to imagine someone who would snub a gift someone brought her while fawning over a fashionable ponytail.
Later on, after they left and a supper I barely touched of pot roast and rolls, I opened the book back up that plagued my mind with my little obsession for it. An ostrich's eye is bigger than its brain. Great. I wondered if that rule applied to me as well.
I shut the book, and, just as I was putting it on the table, I saw Mason's head retreating. "Hey," I called, welcoming the distraction.
He came in, but didn't look happy about it. "Hey. Sorry, I wasn't trying to disturb you."
"You didn't. You couldn't," I found myself saying. I bit the inside of my cheek in chagrin.
"Well…" He shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged his shoulders, looking really uncomfortable. "I just wanted to check on you before I left for the night. I know your family being here was a big deal for you."
I glanced out the window to find it dark. "You're here late, aren't you?"
He nodded, his eyes narrowing in thought. "Yeah."
"Are you OK?" I asked.
He finally looked up at me. "Yeah. Why?"
"You're acting strange."
"I'm not," he insisted. "I'm fine." He looked around the room. "I better go."
"Were you just going to leave without saying anything?" He squinted in question, but I knew he knew what I meant. "When you were checking on me?"
He half smiled as he said softly, "Yes, I was. I just wanted to check on you, not bother you or…start some long, late-night conversation."
"Oh," was all I could say.
I gulped and pressed the button on my bed that controlled the light to turn it off. I heard his sigh and when he started to say something, I said, "Goodnight, Mason."
"I didn't mean that I didn't want to talk to you, Emma. It's just so very…complicated."
"What's it? What is there to be complicated about?"
He sighed again. "Emma," he said pleadingly.
"All I did was ask you if you were OK." I shut my eyes and felt my throat ache a little at holding in tears. I was about to cry for this man that I barely knew, and I didn't even know why. "It's fine. It's not a big thing."
"It is a big thing," he argued. "You just can't understand why yet."
"What does that mean?"
If he sighed one more time… "I just wanted to make sure you were good for the night, that's all." I heard him shuffle to the door. "I hope your visit with your family was good."
"It wasn't," I said truthfully. "They don't want the girl in this bed, and I don't want a room full of strangers."
"Em," he whispered. My body tightened with some response at this nickname he'd given me. Pleasure, I thought. I shook it away.
"I'm fine."
"Emma-"
"Goodnight, Mason."
The door squeaked as he toyed with it in his indecision. Finally he said, "Goodnight, Emma."
And then I was alone once more.
"The key is not letting up. Just use a constant force and push for as long as you can, all right?"
I nodded up at Mason. It had been almost two weeks since Andy had made his grand reveal of his feelings and his plans for me. He came every day, just like he said. And every day was a repeat of the first; he came and tried to talk me into how awesome he was and how I'd love him again in no time. He said he would take me on a walk, but had yet to do so, and then he'd try to force his tongue into my uncooperative mouth, and I'd try to sit there and pretend that I was enjoying it and it wasn't so bad.
But it was. It just was.
He was so adamant about things, that it seemed he was there more out of obligation than love. And he'd told me his parents didn't approve of his still seeing me. That it was 'creepy' he came to see me when I didn't remember him. Even though I should have been insulted, I wasn’t. I was beginning to be a little creeped out, too.
And Mason, he was the same, only not. He was polite and his jokes seemed normal, but it was different than it had been before. And I noticed that during our sessions, he never looked at me for more than a couple seconds at a time. Like right now. I just tried to ignore it. He thought I had some school-girl crush on him, which wasn't far from the truth, and he wasn't interested and felt weird about my feelings. So, I played the passive, unemotional girl around him.
But it was hard to be too worried about that, though I had a good idea of why he was acting so strangely, because…I was walking again. Barely, but walking.
I used my arms on the parallel bar things that were holding me up and scooted my legs the tiny inches that I could muster. I could now wear clothes instead of a hospital gown. My mom was putting me in pink and purple velour track suits every day. It made these workouts better and less degrading. Progress was achingly slow, but I'd take it. And it just happened to be during one of these sessions that the radio rang out with a song. A song that sparked some kind of violent reaction in me, in my mind. It was Yeah, Yeah, Yeah by New Politics. I let go of the bars and gripped my head as if to shield myself. I felt my knees slam into the floor pads before my torso followed. Mason bent and caught me just before my head slammed, too. "Whoa. What happened?"
I pushed his arm off, not wanting the comfort right then. The feeling I got from that song was indescribable and it crawled over my skin. I heard his sigh as he sat down beside me on the mat. "I know it's hard-"
"It's not hard," I insisted. "Walking is all I can think about anymore. That song…the radio started playing that song..."
A phone rang and he pulled his cell out. He glanced at the missed call and sighed again before saying, "The song?" He looked back at me and saw me. Really saw me. "You are white as snow, Emma." He moved forward on the mat and though I flinched back, he didn't accept my silent barrier. He touched my face gently and made me look at him. "What's wrong?" I stayed silent, unable to find an answer. "Tell me what's
wrong."
"That song just gives me the willies," I explained.
He tried to hold in the smile. "The willies?"
"The heebee-jeebies," I explained further.
He did laugh then. "A heebeewhat?"
"Nothing." I pushed his arm and he felt like stone under my palm. I shook my head at my own strength. I was so weak.
"That big word you just spouted was not nothing. Are you trying to show me up with your smarts?" He smirked in a way that could have been construed as a half-smile.
"I'm not smarter than you," I said. I managed to turn a bit to face him. "You're a therapist. I'm just a high school kid."
I made sure to emphasize 'kid' for him. I saw his face change. He opened his mouth to say something, but I stopped that real quick like. "Help me up, please? I want to keep going."
With pursed, unhappy lips he heeded my request, knowing I was drawing a line on where the conversation was to halt. The rest of our session, as he helped me and instructed me, he was contemplative. I tried to block him out. For me, walking was bigger than any boy could ever be.
When Andy — yes, I started calling him Andy — came by that day, he could tell something was off. I lied and told him I was fine, but I really wasn't. I seemed to be coming to a crossroads. A stay or go situation. A left or right predicament. I needed to get out of this place and start trying to figure out what I wanted most. To try to be some girl I didn't know, or try to be happy and live out my life as the girl I was now.
I had no idea the answer to the problem yet.
I was surprised when the door opened and it was Mason, not Andy. He smiled and it was the first time I'd seen that real smile in weeks. "What?" I asked. "Why are you so smiley?"
"Let's go, Emma. Up and at 'em." He took my hand and I gawked at him. He had barely spoken to me, let alone touched me, unless it had to do with therapy, and now he was pulling me up and steadying me with his hands on my arms.
"Where are we going?" I asked breathlessly. He didn't seem to notice.
