by Laura Brown
Before I could react, a wheelchair appeared next to us. I got Carli into it, and her eyelids fluttered open, only to close again.
We moved to a small room. The nurse spoke to Matti and placed a pressure cuff on Carli’s arm. Perk of having a nurse for a mother. I knew the reading wasn’t good. No way was she being sent back to the waiting room.
They moved Carli to a bed in the ER. The white curtain pulled to give her some privacy. She stared at the ceiling, not moving when a nurse in blue scrubs entered. She spoke, presumably asking questions, and Matti did most of the answering.
After the nurse left, Carli caught my eyes. “I’m sorry.”
I squeezed her hand. “You have nothing to be sorry for. OK?”
She didn’t respond. She eased down to the pillow. I didn’t know if she understood I had signed to her.
This was the most terrifying moment of my life. I glanced to Matti. I’d guessed her skin was the same shade as Carli’s normally was, but right now it paled. And I hadn’t witnessed the attack like she had.
Carli continued to stare and I placed my hand on her shoulder, needing to touch her, to comfort in some small way. Matti paced back and forth. I pulled out my phone.
Me: Are you OK? Should you be seen yourself?
I handed the phone to Matti, forcing her to stop pacing. She read the screen and shook her head.
Matti: I’m fine.
A small smile crossed my lips.
Me: I’m dating your sister. I know that trick.
Matti’s eyes warmed when they met mine.
Matti: I don’t like being here. I don’t like knowing this happened. Again. I don’t like anything about this situation. But physically I’m fine.
Me: And emotionally?
She lowered the phone and looked at Carli. I followed her gaze. Carli’s eyes weren’t right, as if she barely registered on anything.
Matti: Don’t ask questions you wouldn’t want to answer yourself.
Touché.
The nurse came back in and said something to Matti and me. Matti grabbed my phone as we were both ushered into the hall.
Matti: They need to speak with her alone.
Outside we sat down on the floor, our backs against the wall. I drummed my fingers against my raised knees. A few feet away, the nurse’s station bustled with activity.
My phone vibrated, and I pulled it out.
Val: Willow and I are going to grab a pizza. You gonna be home? Is Carli coming over?
I banged my head against the wall and took a deep breath.
Me: I have no idea when I’m going to be home. I’m at the hospital. With Carli. Her father beat her up.
Carli was going to hate me for that. But I wasn’t about to let her out of my sight. So either I would be staying with her at her dorm, which Val would need to know, or she was coming home with me, and Val could see for herself something wasn’t right. Not at all.
Val: OMG! Is Carli OK?
I tapped my finger to the screen.
Me: Don’t know. Don’t think so.
Val: Do you need me to interpret?
Me: Carli can hear.
Well, maybe less, but spoken English remained her primary mode of communication.
Val: I wasn’t talking about Carli.
Me: I’m not the patient.
Val: No, just the overbearing boyfriend who won’t be able to communicate. I can leave here in five minutes.
Me: No. Matti’s here, Carli’s sister. I’ll be OK.
Val: If you change your mind, or need anything, let me know. Willow and I will stay by our phones.
Me: Thanks.
A man in a white doctor’s coat walked past and into Carli’s room. My foot tapped against the harsh white tiles. I didn’t like sitting outside. But it had to be done.
Matti barely moved beside me. She rubbed a spot on the inside of her wrist. Over and over again. Black ink marked the area, but wasn’t smudged by her movement. I gestured to her wrist. She let go and held it out to me. In beautiful cursive the tattoo read: The nightmare never ends.
I wanted to say I was sorry, but that seemed too trivial and inconsiderate given the situation. Certainly not worth typing it out on a screen in the middle of a sterile hospital floor.
She gestured for my phone, then took out hers before sending me a text from her own number.
Matti: Not many people understand.
Me: I bet you have your own horror stories.
She pulled the purple crocheted cap off her head, fluffing up her purple hair.
Matti: Dad never liked an audience. Until today. But the sounds . . . Well, for those of us who can hear, they traveled through the house. I couldn’t imagine how Carli missed it, but she did. Those sounds, and what I saw today, were just about worse than anything that man could do. Physically, at least.
She didn’t meet my eyes after I read.
Me: Why are you sharing this with me?
A small ghost of a smile crossed her face.
Matti: Well, who you gonna tell?
I laughed. I reached out and put my arm around her, pulling her into my side. She placed her head on my shoulder, allowing me to give her some small comfort. Sure, we didn’t know each other. But we both loved the woman in the room behind us.
The doctor came out of the room and stood in front of us. We both rose to our feet, mine still twitching. He began speaking, talking to both of us. I tried to catch a word or two, but I couldn’t focus. Matti listened, talking back and forth with the doctor. He walked away, only to return a moment later with a yellow legal pad in hand, writing. He turned it to me when finished.
Carli has a concussion. We’re going to do a CAT scan to rule out any bleeding in the brain.
He waited until I finished reading. I nodded, and he walked off. I reached for my phone, and when I finished typing, I handed it to Matti.
Me: Thank you.
THE GOOD NEWS: the CAT scan showed no bleeding or any other extenuating injuries. The bad news: it diagnosed Carli as having a mild traumatic brain injury. Since she was four. First time I’d ever been right and wished like hell I wasn’t. Her headaches weren’t normal—they were due to her brain injury.
Her concentration issues were also related. I hadn’t pegged that one.
She curled up in the passenger seat, and I let her rest. One of my hands clutched the wheel; the other held Carli’s. She agreed to let me take care of her. In fact, she almost seemed relieved. The day had faded away while we were in the hospital. Now the sky was dark and the streetlights shined. I didn’t turn on the light in the car in order to communicate. Carli had been forced to stay awake and alert all day. I’d give her this small window to rest. Especially since I had to wake her every two hours.
I pulled up to my apartment and parked the car. In the dim light, I realized Carli wasn’t resting; she was crying. Each time I thought my heart couldn’t break further, it did, for her. I undid our seat belts and wrapped my arms around her, pulling her into my chest. I brushed her hair back, then rubbed my thumb against her damp cheek.
She looked at me, and I didn’t know what to say, what to do. What could I possibly do to make up for what she’d been through? I kissed her, soft and sweet, doing my damnedest to let her know she was loved, cared for.
I wasn’t one to rush, certainly not in matters of the heart. I’d been burned in that department before I could shit in a toilet. Times of trauma, of strife, made or broke a person. They removed whatever lens a person viewed the world with and forced the individual to look without any filter.
I was looking at Carli, bruises and all. She held my heart.
No longer temporary, if temporary was ever really an option. She had me. Forever. There was one match for my heart, and she was it. End of story.
I brushed her cheek again when I ended the kiss. At least her cheeks were now dry.
The kitchen light shone from the apartment. I hadn’t even shut the door before Willow pulled Carli into a hug.
Val studied
Carli’s mangled face. “You look awful,” she said in both languages.
Carli turned to me. “What did you tell them?”
I shrugged. There was no way around the truth. Either I told them, or they’d be asking a hell of a lot of questions right now.
Carli turned to Willow. She pointed to her left ear. “Can’t hear . . . hearing aid.”
I touched her shoulder. “Same.” I couldn’t help but find some humor in the situation.
Carli stared at me and then began to laugh. Only her laughter soon faded and she held her head.
I hated seeing her in pain. At least this time I had an appropriate medication for her. I pulled out her OxyContin bottle we’d filled at the hospital. Then I grabbed a cup of water before handing both to Carli. She took out one pill and swallowed it down with water.
“Do you need anything?” Val asked.
Carli’s large eyes met mine. Her mouth moved, and she pointed to me. A small piece of my torn heart mended. Foolish, really. Carli’s own mending remained a long ways off.
In my room she changed into one of my tee shirts and climbed into bed. Her eyes met my clock and the time blaring proudly there: 11:00 p.m.
“Wow, long day,” she signed.
I placed a hand on her face. “Yes.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry I’m broken.”
Air brushed my eyeballs with how wide my lids had opened. “What? No. You’re not broken.” I kissed her, soft and sweet, willing her to believe me. “You’re perfect.” She was. Perfect for me.
Carli managed to find her phone.
Carli: Brain injury. Not perfect.
I stared at the words running across the screen.
Me: Perfect. Look at how far you’ve come with a brain injury. You are amazing.
How could she not see this? She was a college senior with an undiagnosed brain injury. Her crazy study habits were her way of coping. She’d come so far on her own where another person would have suffered without help.
I took in her face and the doubt clearly spelled out in her eyes. Then I took in the bruises, growing darker and stronger since I first saw her. To think, I had been doing my laundry when my girlfriend could’ve died. That long space between texts, coupled with the uneasy feeling, could’ve become permanent. Holding back, being cautious, and I almost had to say good-bye before saying I love you.
I ran my hands through my hair, the overwhelming reality of the day hitting like a punch to my own head. How close had Carli been to death? If her sisters hadn’t interfered when they did, would one more punch have taken her from me? Was a difference that close?
Me: When I first saw your face . . . I could have lost you. This could be much worse.
Carli: I don’t know if I can work. Ever.
Me: Sleep. Rest. Don’t jump to conclusions before you have time to recover.
She nodded, and I collected our phones before placing them on the nightstand. I climbed into bed with her, pulling her close. Carli normally squirmed a bit before settling down. This time she was asleep before a single squirm.
I lay there, arms wrapped around her, staring at the light glow of electronics on my ceiling. I shifted my head, placing it gently on top of hers, to the point where we barely touched. I almost lost her today. My heart sped up. I wasn’t sure I could survive losing Carli.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Carli
AS INSTRUCTED, REED woke me every few hours. I moaned, grumbled, and batted him away each time. I just wanted to stay asleep. He forced me to answer a question or two, then let me go back to slumber land.
The light shined through the shades by the time I woke on my own. I rolled over to see the clock: eleven thirty. I had slept, on and off, for twelve hours. For a full minute—I checked—I lay there, staring at the bumps on his ceiling. I did nothing, not a thought in my head, not a desire to do anything. Then the sticky surreal sense of reality floated back to me. Normal wasn’t normal anymore. I wasn’t normal anymore, if I ever had been. With any luck I had survived the absolute worst day of my life. Time to retire that list.
My hands glided over my throbbing head. I didn’t dare apply more than a whisper of pressure. I felt broken and battered. Even with the soft touch I found the swelling from my father’s blows. At least my neck still connected it to the rest of my body. But my thoughts . . . jumbled together. Like I climbed up and down at the same time, moved forward yet walked backward, ran yet lay down. Stuck in an Escher painting. I tried to focus on something, anything, but the thoughts kept floating past, sometimes at warp speed.
My left ear felt blocked. I snapped my fingers by my right ear and heard the sound. Then I snapped them by my left ear. Silence. I put my finger in my ear and wiggled it around. No difference.
If my left ear didn’t work, if my brain didn’t work, how was I supposed to be a productive member of society? How could I teach without a clear brain? How could I teach without two working ears?
Congratulations, Carli. You’ve made it to your senior year of college. Thanks to your father, you are now destined for a life on welfare. Lucky me.
The sudden urge to run away, from everything and everyone, overwhelmed me. I lifted my head, only to have a freight train of pain start at the back and rocket to the front. Pain traveled everywhere, so intense I tasted the bitter metal of it. With slow movements, I put my head back on the pillow and curled up into a tight ball to protect myself from the outside world.
Protect myself. When the pain got bad, I always curled up, I always protected myself. Not from the pain, I now realized, but from experience.
My father deserved his own beating until his head hurt like mine did. Until his back hurt like Lesli’s did. Until he knew fear like all his unwanted daughters did.
Tears spilled down my cheeks when two hands joined mine on my head and warm lips pressed into my hair. Reed took me into his arms and held me close as I soaked his tee shirt. I grasped onto his shirt, wanting to climb into him, anything to take away this pain. This reality. When I calmed down and let go of his shirt—leaving wrinkles in my hands’ wake—he fetched my meds. I didn’t fight him. I just took them.
“How . . . feel . . . today?”
I rubbed my hands over my eyes. Processing the signs was like squeezing my brain into a vise.
“Awful.”
“Want . . . ”
I knew this sign. I’d seen it before. I’d used it before. But I had no clue what it meant. Tears slid down my cheeks again. I reached toward my phone, and Reed retrieved it for me.
Me: Can’t focus, can’t concentrate. Sign hard. I’m sorry, so sorry.
He leaned on the bed and kissed my forehead, lips pressing with determination. Then he pulled back and looked at me, speaking without words. Only I could no longer follow the words. He picked up his phone.
Reed: Second day always worse. Rest up.
He tucked the covers back around me and left me to rest. I stared at his dark wood furniture and let my mind drift to a happy, desolate place. Sleep didn’t claim me, but neither did boredom.
I, Carli Reynolds, was as good as a vegetable.
Later—again, I had no clue how much time had passed—I heard something I couldn’t quite place. The door opened a crack and a hand reached in, flicking the lights on and off. Willow stuck her head in. “Want . . . ?” she said in both languages. I understood the want only because of her signs. My right ear tried to process the rest and failed.
I shifted myself upright and was thrilled to find my pain down to a normal level.
Normal meant I still had pain. Lucky me.
I pointed to my hearing aid. Willow—who stood patiently waiting for me to get my head into some sort of functioning order—grabbed it and handed it over, before joining me on the edge of the bed.
“I can’t look good.”
She laughed, her voice now discernible. “Oh, you don’t. If you ever want someone to think Reed’s mean to you, now’s the time.”
“I don’t know
what’s going to happen from here. I can’t hear. I can’t focus. Reed tried signing to me, and I couldn’t process the words.”
“You were just beat up. Let your body heal first. This all might be temporary. Even the headaches usually last only three to six months.”
I glared at her. “I’ve had mine for almost . . . almost . . . ” 22 − 4 = ??? “Since I was four.” Why couldn’t I do the math? My breathing hitched, and my brain stuttered and refused to work.
Willow grabbed my arm. “Calm down; it’s okay. Breathe. We did some research. For starters, don’t try to work your brain this week. Take it easy. Let your brain heal. Give yourself time. Don’t worry yet. Promise me.”
I nodded. “But work, school . . . ”
“You’re on break this week, no school. I’ll give your father this much credit, at least he has good timing.”
The door opened and Reed stuck his head in. “You hungry?”
Was I? Had I even eaten yesterday? “I should be,” I said and signed without even thinking about it.
“What do you want?”
I shrugged.
He came into the room and brushed a thumb over my lips. “Pain less?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
He gave me a kiss and left.
“He’s worried about me,” I said to Willow.
“He’s pacing like a 1950s father in the maternity ward.”
My eyes flew to the closed door. He’d been as affected by this as I had. I didn’t need to wallow in self-pity. Willow was right; I had to let myself heal. I could try to behave normally.
“Help me up.”
Willow did as I asked. My feet touched carpet, supporting my weight in spite of her assistance. I made my way into the kitchen, where Reed pulled together something for me to eat. He paused when he saw me. I walked right into his arms and put my head on his chest.
Whatever he held clanged to the counter as his arms went around me and held tight. Protective. Here I was safe. He let out a breath, like he’d been holding it for a day. He probably had.
I looked into his eyes. “Food later. Help shower.”
