Painless

by S. A. Harazin

  “Will you be okay?”

  I nod. I have to be okay or else Veronica wouldn’t leave.

  “Leave the bedroom door open,” she says, and I give Luna a sideways glance.

  Luna rolls her eyes.

  “Does that hurt?” I ask.

  “What?”

  “Rolling your eyes like that.”

  “He’s not a child,” Luna says to Spencer. “I thought I was hired to help a disabled kid.”

  “He can be very childish,” Spencer says.

  Luna lowers her voice and speaks to Spencer. “Retarded?”

  “No,” I say. “There are five categories of CIPA. With type V there isn’t mental retardation. That’s what I have. But each case is unique, I think. I don’t feel pain, but I get by okay. I’ve been taught to recognize what can harm me.”

  I can tell we’re off to a great start.

  “I don’t really need a personal assistant,” I say.

  “That’s some bruise on your arm,” Spencer says.

  I cover it with my hand. “I ran into the edge of an open door,” I say. “That could happen to anybody.”

  “It doesn’t hurt?” Luna asks.

  “Is it supposed to?” I say.

  “David once walked around with a nail in his foot,” Spencer says. “But his grandmother thought he had swallowed it. He was x-rayed and everything, but the whole time the nail was in his foot.”

  Luna snorts. I bet she’s thinking, This place is a loony bin.

  “Give me some credit,” I say. “That was years ago. I would know if I swallowed a nail. I can taste metal.”

  “Sherwood Anderson swallowed a toothpick and didn’t know it,” Spencer says. “He died.”

  “I’ll be sure to check David’s feet and mouth,” Luna says.

  You know what’s so bad about what she says? She is serious. I don’t want her or anybody looking into my mouth. What if I have bad breath?

  “I usually start by checking his blood pressure, temperature, and pulse,” Spencer says.

  “I think we’re going overboard with this,” I say.

  She opens the bag. She checks my blood pressure, temperature, and pulse, and writes down the numbers.

  “The room temperature is kept at sixty-eight. Outside, if the temperature’s over eighty, he can’t take more than two hours. Do you have any questions?” Spencer asks Luna.

  “I have no idea what to ask,” she says.

  “Just remember to check his body,” Spencer says. “He doesn’t need to be naked. I mean, just look at his arms and legs and back to make sure nothing’s wrong and observe him.”

  I’m feeling like a monkey inside a glass enclosure at the zoo.

  “For what?” Luna asks.

  “Broken bones, seizures, hallucinations, confusion, coma, cardiac arrest from a high fever, or low body temperature or hemorrhage.”

  “Oh my god,” I say. “Spencer’s exaggerating. He spends most of his time here playing video games or texting.”

  “David would not know if something was wrong. Something minor like appendicitis could be fatal for him,” Spencer says and stands. “I have to head to class. There’s a list of emergency numbers on the refrigerator. You do know basic first aid and CPR, right?”

  “Yes,” Luna says.

  Spencer says he’ll see me later and leaves Luna and me at the kitchen table.

  I should feel good that I have a cute nerd sitting at the kitchen table, but I don’t. Not when I’m on exhibit. I place my cereal bowl in the sink. It’s still full of last night’s dishes. “You can do the dishes,” I say to Luna.

  “Are you helpless too?” Luna asks.

  “No.”

  “Then go ahead.”

  I’ve never loaded the dishwasher before. It’s because of the glass incident. I broke a glass, picked up the pieces, and threw them away. My hands were cut, but it’s not like I didn’t notice the blood. I said “ouch” like I was taught to do.

  The weird thing is that Luna is observing me intently as I load the dishwasher. After I’m finished, she gets up from her chair. “Here you go, Helpless. You don’t know what you’re doing.” She starts rearranging the dishes.

  “Don’t call me Helpless.”

  “Okay, Painless. Pay attention.”

  “My name’s David.”

  I hate people who call me names. I hate people who treat me like I’m less than a person.

  “Always place the sharp objects downward so you don’t stab yourself.”

  “I’m careful.”

  “You’re bleeding onto the table,” she says like she’s won a prize.

  I look down and see drops of blood, but I’m not about to say “ouch.” My right hand has a puncture wound. I get a napkin, wrap it around my hand, and head upstairs to my bathroom. Luna follows me.

  I wash my hands, open the medicine cabinet, take out rubbing alcohol, and pour it over my hand.

  “Doesn’t that sting?” Luna asks.

  I turn around. “No.”

  “It’s supposed to sting and feel cold.”

  Whatever that means. I get a Band-Aid. Luna snatches it away, opens it, and sticks it onto my hand.

  “There you go, Helpless,” she says, still holding my hand. “Next time don’t use alcohol. Soap and water are enough. Don’t forget to clean up the blood on the table.”

  “Screw you,” I say. I can’t believe I said that.

  She releases my hand. “Don’t get your hopes up, Hopeless.”

  We walk back to the kitchen. She goes online. I wipe up the blood. It’s only four drops. I’ve seen more. Then I say I’m going to my room.

  She shuts her laptop and trails behind me like she thinks I might stumble.

  It’s embarrassing and demeaning. I’m going to ignore her.

  I sit on the floor and pick up the game controller.

  I’ve been playing a video game, trying to make it out of the World of Darkness into the World of Light, but I’m lost. In the game, my character’s named Davy. He’s kind of my alter ego. Davy can use magic to cure himself whenever he’s injured, poisoned, or paralyzed.

  Crap. I forgot that Tyler’s dead. He’s the other character and Davy’s sidekick. The one with the answers. I revive him with a potion, but now Davy’s slumped over from a hit, and the enemy casts Devastation.

  Then both Tyler and Davy are dead.

  “Get the girl wizard to cast Revive,” Luna says. She’s lying on my bed with a book in her hands.

  She’s obviously played role-playing games before. I didn’t know she was watching.

  I scroll to Revive. I’ve never had to use it before and that’s why I forgot. The wizard casts Revive and saves Tyler and Davy.

  “I have other games,” I say. “I mostly play the classics.”

  “Why?”

  “I have trouble with sensory perception. I can’t keep up.”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “It sucks. When that’s messed up, one of your senses misinterprets the environment. I don’t know all the science behind it.”

  I’d look it up, but I don’t like reading about the bad stuff and what’s going to happen to me sooner or later. Probably sooner.

  “But the video games help me with hand-eye coordi­nation.”

  “You’re pretty good.”

  “Thanks. The other games are on the shelf. I have a couple of game systems in the closet if you want to play.”

  She opens the closet and sits on the floor. “You have six game systems,” she says at last. “That’s absurd.”

  She’s probably the most absurd person I’ve ever met, wearing scrubs with ducks on the shirt. I wonder what she thought she’d be doing today. I get back to playing the game.

  “You can wear regular clothes,” I say
.

  She’s looking around my room. “You play the guitar?”

  “Yeah, and the piano.”

  I keep playing the game and she watches me, but we don’t talk. She reminds me of someone watching a goldfish in a bowl. Then she sits on the floor next to me. I’m trembling, and I never tremble or shiver. The hair on the back of my neck never stands up like the hair on people in books I’ve read. I wonder what happens to real people when they’re nervous.

  I don’t even realize Nana and Veronica are home until I hear the vacuum cleaner. I stand and say I have to find out what the doctor said about my grandmother.

  We head to the kitchen. Veronica has placed sandwiches and fruit on a serving platter. “Where’s Nana?” I ask.

  “Sleeping.”

  Then Luna touches my arm and says, “Why don’t you set the table?”

  I give her a long, hard stare and then get plates.

  “Thank you for staying,” Veronica says, which surprises me. I figured she’d make a fuss about Luna. The whole thing is weird.

  Luna sits and picks up a sandwich. “I forgot to ask. Exactly what hours do you need me?”

  “Anytime,” Veronica says.

  “Spencer would always come over whenever he could,” I say.

  “Perfect. Do I call first?”

  “If you want to,” I say. “I’m always home.”

  “We’ll start doing things,” Luna says. “I’ll make a schedule.”

  After Luna goes, I hang out in the kitchen with Veronica. She’s unloading the dishwasher.

  “How come you changed your mind about Luna?” I ask.

  “I’d like to have somebody around to make sure you’re okay,” Veronica says. “I’ve had my hands full making sure your grandmother doesn’t set the house on fire.”

  “When’d she do that?” I ask.

  “She left water boiling on the stove.”

  “The doctor can’t do anything?”

  Veronica shakes her head. “The dementia is progressing, and she is in congestive heart failure.”

  I know about congestive heart failure. It makes her short of breath from the fluid in her lungs and her feet swell. I haven’t noticed her feet swelling, but I usually don’t look.

  Veronica continues. “The doctor gave her something to get rid of the fluid in her lungs, and adjusted her heart and blood pressure medication. He suggested sitters, a hospital bed, and oxygen. I’ve left a message with Joe.”

  “But she’s okay now?”

  “She may need to be placed in a nursing home,” Veronica says. A rooster crows, and she answers her cell phone. “Hey, Joe,” she says. “I’m afraid I have some worrisome news.”

  I sit listening to Veronica repeat what she told me, and then she hands me her phone. I’m already not feeling too good, and now I’m feeling like the time I did when a hot dog got stuck in my throat.

  “Hey, Joe,” I say in a squeaky voice.

  “We need to talk about you,” he says.

  No, we don’t.

  “There’s an upscale community not far from you called Twin Falls. It has walking trails, a swimming pool, a clubhouse, horseshoes, and shuffleboard.”

  “I know about Twin Falls. I overheard the conversation you had with her about what to do about me if something happens to her.”

  “That conversation was at least a year ago,” Joe says. “And you should not be listening in on private conversations.”

  “So what? I should be included in important conver­sations.” I say. “Twin Falls is an assisted living community. Nana does not want me there, and I’m not going. Dr. Goodman said I could be independent.”

  “I’ve talked to him. He said you had some growing up to do. You’re immature.”

  “He said I should get out more,” I say. “That’s all.”

  “Exactly. That’s why Twin Falls would be a great match for you. Listen, I’ll be over in a couple of hours, and we’ll discuss this further.” He disconnects.

  My stomach knots up. If he hardly ever went outside or spent months of his life in the hospital, he’d be immature too.

  I’m playing the theme song from Jaws on the piano when Joe arrives.

  He sits on the sofa, and when the song’s over, he asks me if I know any nice songs.

  I turn and look at him. “I’m in a bad mood.”

  “I noticed. Listen, I don’t have all day. You need to be somewhere where you’re safe. You’re different.”

  Joe’s right about that, but it isn’t like that’s big news. My mind works strangely. Nana said it’s because of my condition and what I’ve experienced. That’s the problem. I haven’t actually experienced much of the outside world.

  “Some people will take advantage of you,” Joe says.

  “That could happen at Twin Falls.”

  Nana already gave me this talk. A couple of years ago, we went to the bank and opened an account for me. Nana said, “After I buy the farm, don’t discuss money with anybody or else you’ll have a lot of fake friends and long-lost relatives showing up.”

  The only long-lost relatives I have are my parents. My dad didn’t leave me any family photos when he dropped me off here, but I’ve looked at Nana’s album. Dad’s my age in the pictures, and my mom isn’t in any. Sometimes I see a certain margarine commercial on TV, and the man and woman eating breakfast remind me of my parents. I change the channel.

  “Don’t make this any harder than it already is,” Joe says. “I’ve researched your condition, and I’ve read your medical record. In order to survive, you will always require some supervision.”

  I could’ve told him that. Some supervision is what I need. Not being sent away where I don’t know anybody.

  “Give me a chance to show you I don’t need to be sent away,” I say.

  “Then you better grow up fast. You cannot get hurt or cause trouble. Can you make sure your grandmother eats? Can you watch TV with her and read to her? Can you make sure she is comfortable and safe?”

  “Sure.” Joe doesn’t know anything about my life. I do some of those things already.

  “And you’ll fix your own meals and do your own laundry.”

  I shrug. “I’m not allowed to touch the stove or the washer and dryer.”

  “Why?”

  “They’re hot?” I guess.

  “The washer and dryer aren’t hot,” he says. “Every evening, I’d like for you to send me a report. Then we’ll talk about what’s best for you, okay?”

  “Okay.” Some of what he wants is what I do anyway, but this feels too much like a threat. He already has everything figured out.

  “How do you like Luna?” he asks.

  “Fine.”

  “I think she’ll be able to teach you some social skills,” he says.

  Then the doorbell rings, and Joe stands. “That’s probably the medical equipment arriving.”

  I wait for him to go, and then I go to my room, stare out the window, and see a truck from a medical supply company. Suddenly I’m more scared than I’ve ever been. I shut the blinds.

  Chapter 5

  On Saturday I walk down the basement stairs and stop at the bottom. Spencer’s band, Geo, is here to practice. I head over to the bar and sit on the stool. I should feel good that they come over here to practice, but I know it’s not to hang out with me.

  Marcello, Spencer, and Cassandra say hello to me.

  “Where’s Seth?” I ask.

  “Late as usual,” Cassandra says.

  “I’ve been trying to call him,” Spencer says. “All I get is voice mail.”

  “We don’t need him. Let’s get started or else we’ll be here all day, and I have things to do,” Cassandra says.

  “You have a gig?” I ask.

  “Fiftieth wedding anniversary next Saturday night,” Spencer say
s. “The songs we need to learn are old.”

  Geo mostly plays at weddings and funerals. I wouldn’t want to play at a funeral. It would be too hard. Too real.

  First Cassandra and Spencer practice “Something Stupid.” The way they look at each other is like there’s nobody around but them. I’m close enough to Spencer to see him gaze into Cassandra’s eyes. I wonder what he sees that makes him smile like somebody in a tooth­paste commercial. One of these days somebody’s going to gaze into my eyes. I hope they don’t say, “Your eyes are bloodshot.”

  They mess up a couple of times, but I don’t think it matters. There is passion in their voices.

  “I guess Seth isn’t coming,” Spencer says after the song ends. His forehead wrinkles.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Cassandra says. “We can do this without him.”

  Then they play “Earth Angel,” and Marcello sings. Marcello hardly ever talks because he stutters when he’s nervous. When he sings, I stop what I’m doing and listen to him. I bet everybody does, but I’ve never heard him sing any place but my basement. It’s hard to believe such a smooth, clear voice is coming out of his mouth.

  When it’s over, Spencer says he’s calling Seth.

  “Oh my god,” Cassandra says. “We’re never going to finish rehearsing.”

  Spencer takes his phone from his pocket, walks over to the TV area, and sits on the couch.

  Cassandra goes to the refrigerator and gets some water for herself and Marcello. “Have you noticed how Seth sweats after we play a couple of songs? It’s gross.”

  Marcello shrugs. “Only when a room is hot,” he says.

  I wish I could sweat.

  “How do you like your new personal assistant Spencer hired?” Marcello asks. “He said she was cute.”

  “She’s okay.”

  “Is she here today?”

  I shake my head.

  “Spencer did good,” Marcello says.

  Cassandra’s eyes widen. “Wait a minute. He hired a playmate for you?”

  Marcello laughs. I shake my head. “She’s not a playmate. He found his replacement.”

  “So what do the two of you do all day in your room?” Cassandra asks.

  “Read. Watch TV. Play video games.”

  “Right,” Cassandra says. “My parents would never allow me to have a guy in my room.” She takes a drink of water.