“Rachel,” I’d responded dryly without even looking at Diane, “She seriously has a fucked up way of telling someone that she loves them.” Rachel had smirked, rolled her eyes, and pushed her pre-maturely graying curly brown hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ears as much as the curls would allow. Then she'd death marched to the chair next to my bed and dropped into it, slumping down. Looking at Diane with narrowed eyes, Rachel said loudly, “You owe me for this.”
Diane and I had laughed as we'd watched Rachel close her eyes the rest of the way and fall into a much needed undisturbed sleep.
“She’ll thank me when she wakes up,” Diane said, winking at me. I just shook my head. “Cass, honey. I’ll stay if you want me to. You know that.” I did. I also knew that Diane was asleep on her feet and needed a break as much as Rachel did. Diane had finished a particularly difficult day on the tail end of a 48 hour shift. She wouldn’t go into detail, and almost never told me about her ‘side job’ outside of entertaining me, but I knew that whatever poor soul had required Nurse Diane’s services, had required all that Diane had. I didn’t think that I’d ever seen her look so defeated.
“No, Di. Go home. Lucky for you, I’ll be here when you get back.”
“Can’t wait,” Diane bit back, but had approached the bed and brushed some hair that had gotten caught on my Phantom mask, out of my face. Her gentle touch and familiar smell healed me more than she knew. In the Real sense. “Rest Baby Girl, you’re safe here.” The last part she'd said quietly as she left the room, and I worried about the weight of the world that Diane carried, and if she’d ever allow anyone to unburden her before the burden stamped out her light.
Those were my last thoughts as I plunged into a black dreamless sleep where there were no pretty faces, no alternate light sources, no razor sharp chocolate eyes that held more love and admiration than I’d known I could cultivate. Where I could blink both eyes and smile with my unsymmetrical face, a world where wishing on fountains was real.
FOURTEEN
I’d survived my first attempt at re-entering society. Survived. “You survived.” I could hear Rachel in my head, reminding me of our daily struggle. I was never going to be able to reconcile my deal, if I couldn’t view surviving as retaining what I was due. But how could I be happy that I’d gotten what I’d ‘wanted,’ to permit anything in order to escape with my life, to allow that in exchange for something no one should ever have to bargain for? Rachel always shook her head when I got to this part.
“Keep searching,” she’d say and pack her things up. “Be well, Cass.”
So I assumed that Rachel would be happy that I’d navigated something that was quite daunting, fairly successfully I might add, minus the tension headache that I’d developed from the effort that it took not to turn my head and stare at the person next to me. She’d probably not like the whole part about my tailspin due to my own accidental use of the word ‘survive.’ But I did it. First lecture under my belt, and despite the announcement of required study groups, I was feeling pretty good. Which, for me, meant chugging water and not jumping puddles in the depths of a sea of despair.
“I should probably try to at least get here on time.” The deep voice so close to me startled me out of my head. In the time that it took to finally turn and look at this personal-space invader with the surprisingly rich voice, and quite possibly the best smelling aftershave or body wash that my nose had ever had the pleasure of sniffing, he was smiling at me. Not that I’d noticed how he’d smelled or anything.
Through the entire lecture, I’d told myself that I didn’t know if the person next to me was a guy or a girl, and that I hadn’t taken note of the fact that said person had been scribbling away furiously with his left hand, invading even more of my space since the attached flip-up desk was designed for a right-handed person. Clearly I was an excellent liar. I couldn’t allow my mind to detach and wander down memory lane. Just the idea of a strange man sitting as close to me as he was had me guzzling water from my bottle and attempting to put as much space between us as possible, while moving in micrometers so as to avoid notice during my retreat…all the while trying to listen.
I must have looked startled because the man’s expression softened and turned concerned, the emotional authenticity in his eyes impossible to ignore. “I’m sorry…I’m so rude.” His anxious expression shifted again, smoothing into a slow smile that eventually blossomed into the most glorious thing that I had ever seen.
Wait…what?
I had been extensively screened for brain injury and cleared; obviously a misdiagnosis due to a fatal error having occurred in the lab.
“I’m Charlie,” which sounded suspiciously like the Peanuts’ ‘wah wah,’ preceded that smile growing impossibly broader as he thrust a large hand at me. All while the most genuine hazel eyes implored me to take his hand.
I took his hand.
It was warm and dry, more callused than I would have guessed, and it engulfed my entire hand in familiarity. Quickly shaking and then dropping his hand, I immediately spotted what must have been plaguing me throughout the lecture; a niggling of discomfort that I had chocked up to my sitting so close to a strange man.
As he pulled out the pack of gum, I identified the previously muted scent, formerly compartmentalized in his pocket. Right as Charlie offered me a piece, I lost my vision. The blackness and the cinnamon swirling around me brought me to a place that I had prayed I would not go to on my first day back at school. There.
I must have shaken my head because Charlie put the gum back in his pocket, once again stifling the offending odor. Thank god he didn’t take one for himself. I would not have been able to sit next to a strange man who smelt of cinnamon.
All of this transpired as the Professor wrapped up his lecture, reminding us of the Exam schedule and how quickly time flew when scheduled around keg parties. Collecting my things, I rapidly exited from the opposite side of the row from Charlie; I had to escape. It was just too much.
Thankfully I had a break in between classes and I drowned my nerves with a matcha latte and poppyseed muffin at the campus café. Immersing myself in the book that I’d brought just for this, I went through many of Rachel’s relaxation techniques. I’d already exhausted counting and breathing, so my next stop was imagining myself in a calm and comforting place. Realistically, though, I was going to deny everything that had happened and read my book. This approach was not Rachel-approved.
I fingered my cell phone in my pocket, toying with the idea of texting Diane, but then decided against it. I was better than that. I would not drag down a bedraggled and overworked Diane, just because I was having a ‘difficult moment,’ as Rachel termed it. I usually just thought of it as losing my shit.
I did that a lot these days.
I’d survive, I reminded myself.
I’d Survived.
Finally realizing that there would never be enough time to prepare, I packed up my stuff and headed to my next class. Journalism had always interested me, and I’d been the editor of our school newspaper in High School. Back then, I was into ‘hard-hitting’ exposés and uncovering dirt on reputable people or businesses. These days, that wasn’t as interesting as it once was, but nothing really was. I was still going through the motions.
Rachel said that this was ok. Humans relied on routine for peace of mind and efficiency. Habits were easily formed; the rest would follow. So every time that I plastered a mask on my face, or did something because it was expected of me, I reminded myself that Rachel said it was ok that my heart wasn’t in it.
I’d have to have a heart to begin with.
I wondered if there was a surgery out there that could put a heart back inside of me.
TWELVE
“Diane, why don’t the other staff like you?” It sounded harsh, but seeing as I was permanently attached to a hospital bed, I had been doing my own observation in my spare time *insert eye roll*. I had noticed that Diane really wasn’t as popular as you’d think. Hey, I thou
ght that she was pretty great, but for an attractive woman in her mid-thirties with a successful career and pretty nice body to constantly be avoided by the hottest doctors, something was wrong. It was like every time that she entered the room, the doctor present found a reason to slip out. Like even seeing her was a bad omen.
What the Fuck?
Because, I’d also observed no ring on Diane’s finger, nor one on any of the several good looking doctors’ left hands. And this hospital seemed to have an inordinate amount of attractive male doctors…and plenty of good looking female doctors as well. I’d deduced that being a teaching hospital that worked closely with the University with which it shared a campus, it was a feeder Hospital and apparently the Pre-Med students at the University had figured out a guarantee when they saw it. Rounds and Mercedes and Nannies were likely dangled in front of their impressionable eyes daily, regardless of the slide that they were analyzing or the consultation that they were sitting in on. Impressionable University students who could barely discern the flotsom and jetsom of gram negative rods from gram positive bassilus, could clearly see the timeshares and ski trips to Vail.
That University…where I used to be a student.
Add to my list of observations: Diane’s chocolate brown hair that matched her chocolate brown eyes perfectly, those eyes which embodied warmth, and mirth, and a lot of hard truths. Perhaps it was that hardness that turned people off; that glint that flicked in the cocoa, reminding people that there just might be a razor blade hidden in the marshmallows.
“Honey, are you really going to make me burst your happy bubble that we’ve been working so hard to toughen up?” We both knew that this was tongue in cheek.
“Yes, I’ve been feeling too bubbly as of late.” Diane rolled her eyes.
“Cass, I’m an abuse and rape survivor. I stand up for other survivors who can’t speak for themselves. I’ve made waves, I’m a woman; I’ve been nontraditionally elevated in my position. Who knows, maybe it’s my killer beauty…” But Diane’s hardened eyes told me more than she had wittingly exposed. “Does it matter? If I wasn’t such a personable person, you and I may not have met!”
When Diane smiled like that, she reminded me of a shark.
Maybe one day I’d get her to share more about her former life. Maybe one day I’d care more. Right now, I had a hard time with care. If I were someone else, I’d call me callous. Then again, at that moment I’d do just about anything to be someone else. Well, not just about anything… Once again, an off-handed thought like that sent me back. I was bargaining all over again, praying to any entity that would listen that I wasn’t betting on the wrong horse.
THIRTEEN
I’d managed to not pass out once at school, which I regarded as a small miracle, and one of my greatest accomplishes to date. I was even sort of getting used to the fact that Charlie sat next to me everyday in Lit. Once he saw me in Journalism, it was like he thought we were friends or something. I didn’t get it. I could barely get myself to look at him, let alone talk to him.
Everyday like clockwork, after I’d grabbed my muffin and coffee from the Student Union, and had finally gotten comfortable, Charlie would breeze in just under the wire and slide right into the seat next to me. Seriously, there were a ton of empty seats! I just didn’t know how this made me feel.
There was also the small problem of my inability to concentrate while sitting so closely to him. I told myself that this was normal; I was nervous when I was in close proximity to people, and just because I knew his name and he happened to be rather good looking, that was all that it was. I’d only recently been able to actually catalogue his features. I could barely meet his eyes, partially because they were such a glorious gold, and partially because they seemed a little too perceptive. Like, he never looked at people, he saw them.
“Cassandra!” Charlie greeted me loudly, either oblivious to the fact that the professor had just started the lecture, or more likely, just not caring. That was also something that I had observed about Charlie, his utter lack of self-consciousness. He never seemed to take much seriously, but he’d speak up in class and I saw his quiz grades, so I knew that he was pretty intelligent. But it was the way that he’d so casually dissect a concept that the professor was trying to impart to our eggplant brains, lazily raising his hand and then wittily and precisely analyzing or rephrasing the concept for clarity, that exemplified his intellect.
I, on the other hand, would be getting an A+ in Charlie. It was nearly impossible for me to concentrate at all, feeling overstimulated and completely unable to focus. Thankfully I’d realized this quickly, so along with my notes, I also recorded the lectures. This was key for when I was at home, staring at a blank paper and failing to remember a single thing that the Professor had said, but remembering that Charlie’s T-shirt had been just the right tightness around his biceps, and had a little bit of a worn edge on the hem.
It actually pissed me off, because here I was, trying trying trying to masquerade as a college student, and actually attempting to maybe learn something, and here was this guy who did not seem to need to pay attention in lecture to know the subject like the back of his hand, constantly distracting me. What both irritated and scared me was that I wasn’t even sure if it was post-trauma discomfort that made him so distracting. That at least would have made sense. But my fear was that it was something else, something very Charlie about him, that caused me commit to memory his commentary on the professor that he made under his breath throughout the lecture, or be cognizant of exactly which t-shirt he’d thrown on this morning in a seeming disregard, that magically came together to form the perfect combination of lack of care and put togetherness. I was terrified that it was much more about him, and less about me, than I was comfortable with. Which not only made it about me, but I was already uncomfortable enough with me to begin with.
So despite my arriving early to lecture every day, then spending fifteen minutes praying that Charlie would choose another seat, I was actually a tiny bit thrilled when he’d breeze in and drop down next to me. And he always said hi, always said, “Good morning, Cassandra,” my name which he had gotten from the professor on the first day of attendance taking, despite my muttering “Cass” to Charlie when he’d first addressed me. I’d corrected him a couple of times, because no one ever called me by my formal given name, but Charlie seemed to make his own rules in life and had somewhere decided that he preferred to call me Cassandra. I guess it was better than getting my name wrong, but I also wondered if I wouldn’t prefer it if he just didn’t know my name at all.
Because that was the constant Gemini battle within me; I wanted to be left alone and I wanted to put myself out there. A teeny tiny eensie bit at a time. I wanted to dip a toenail. But Charlie seemed to want to just toss me in and I knew that he was behaving like an actual human being, so I couldn’t really blame him. But my quarrel wasn’t with Charlie’s approach to all things life, my war was with the fact that I suspected somewhere deep deep inside of me, I liked his attention, I liked his larger than the world persona and I might one day appreciate having it directed at me.
At the very least, I would miss it if it weren’t.
But I told myself that was ok, because it was all very superficial, all very contained to a sliver of my life. I could keep Charlie compartmentalized, I could keep him at arm’s length, even when he was spread out and taking up my armrest of my seat in lecture. His familiarity wasn’t personal, I reassured myself. Charlie was simply Charlie, and as long as he was just there, it was ok. Right? I didn’t even have the guts to run this faulty logic past Rachel.
Because the reality was, as much as Charlie was becoming a part of my new lease on life, it scared the hell out of me.
FOURTEEN
I was at Diane’s apartment, one of the few places that I willingly went outside of school and therapy. We were sitting on her couch, iced teas sweating on her secondhand coffee table, and Diane was thumbing through a tabloid. She’d once explained to me that despite t
he abundance of discarded trashy magazines at the hospital, she bought her own. “I’m not taking that…Fomite…dripping with bacteria and fecal matter!” she’d hollered, when I’d naively suggested that she save her money and just abscond with the plentiful questionable reading material.
Despite our 12 year age gap, I’d never known a kindred spirit before, but Diane was definitely mine. We didn’t have to talk about anything and we had a good time. My mom was still skeptical of our relationship, but let it go when I told her to talk to her therapist about what bothered her or confused her about our friendship. Amazingly she must have, and apparently, she may still not have understood it, but at least she’d let it go. Or, more likely, she was still too terrified to “upset” me.
It sucked to be viewed as a victim all the time.
“Rachel wants me to talk to you,” Diane said offhandedly, as she flipped the page. I remained silent. It felt like she was talking to me. Without looking up, Diane continued. “Rachel wants me to nonchalantly inquire about this boy in your class, but make it seem like it’s your idea to talk about it.” She looked up finally, closing the magazine. Meeting my eye, she looked at me expectantly. “So, who is this guy and why is Rachel concerned?”
God I loved Diane.
“I don’t know,” I finally supplied miserably. “He’s just a guy. Named Charlie.” Diane nodded and her eyes narrowed slightly.
“So what is this guy’s deal, this Charlie? Is he interested in you sexually?” Diane pulled no punches. “I mean, we’re not dumb, Cass. You can appreciate why Rachel wants to know more…I mean, clearly you’ve said something to make her dial up her protective mode.”
TWELVE MINUTES Page 5
