A Five-Minute Life

by Emma Scott

  I exhaled all my stupid, baseless hope.

  “Two years, Miss Hughes,” I said.

  Two years and five minutes.

  Chapter 8

  Jim

  Alonzo was in the rec room when I brought Thea in for her drawing time. As I collected pens and paper, I felt his gaze at my back.

  “Thank you, Jim,” Thea said with a bright smile. “You’re a pal.”

  “Yup.”

  A pal. Not Marc Antony. Not the guy who sang to her and gave her the chills. I was no one again.

  Walking toward the door, I felt ill.

  “You look like you just came back from a date that crashed and burned,” Alonzo said.

  “Rita needed help,” I said, crossing my arms. “So I helped.”

  My boss narrowed his eyes. “Uh-huh. I hired a new guy. Starts in a week. That’ll help too.”

  I nodded.

  “You remember what I said about Miss Hughes?”

  Every muscle in my body tensed, my stomach tightened. “I remember.”

  “See that you do, son,” he said, pushing off the wall. “Because she never will.”

  That night, I picked up my guitar and sang “Sweet Child O’ Mine.” The lyrics came out fluidly, without hesitation or self-consciousness. The music drowned my life’s customary soundtrack—the rattle of a chain-link fence, the taunts of bullies and Doris’s poisonous commentary.

  I’d sung to Thea Hughes. Out loud. Because she liked my voice. It made the hairs stand up on her arms. She thought it was sexy.

  It turned her on.

  I buried that thought deep. Thea wasn’t capable of consent and it’d been wrong to fantasize about kissing her. But I could take care of her. Protect her from the deafening silence of her mind. Maybe do what Mrs. Marren had told me years ago.

  Find your voice, Jim. Don’t let it fade away because the words don’t come easy. Or because you’re afraid of looking weak. You’re not weak. Not so long as you do what’s right for yourself.

  What was right for me was doing right by Thea Hughes.

  I put my guitar away and read some of Fight Club. A story about a guy who created another version of himself. A stronger, better self who didn’t give two fucks what anyone thought of him. Who had no failings. No stutter.

  I read until my eyes drooped, then slept.

  I dreamed I had two selves, like the narrator in Fight Club, and I met up with the two selves of Thea Hughes. The four of us stood before the oil painting in the foyer of the Blue Ridge Sanitarium: the stuttering orderly and the resident with unalterable brain damage. The orderly did his job and gently assisted the resident back into the dim confines of the sanitarium.

  But the beautiful artist took the stutter-less version of me by the hand and led him out into the bright light of day.

  That morning, before shift, I sat around the employee table with Rita, Joaquin, and the head nurse, Anna Sutton. Over snacks and sodas, they shot the shit about the Netflix shows they’d seen lately, while I struggled for a way to bring up Thea without sounding like an obsessed psycho.

  “What’s our budget for rec rooms activities?” I said at the first lull.

  All heads turned toward me. “Why do you ask?” Anna said.

  “Mr. Webb does the same jigsaw puzzle, day in and day out,” I said. “And Thea Hughes needs better supplies. A canvas. Real paint and brushes. I was wondering what the budget is for getting some new stuff in here.”

  Anna gave me a dry look. “Mr. Webb does the same jigsaw puzzle every day because it’s part of his therapy. When he’s ready for a new puzzle, he will begin a new puzzle.”

  Fuck. Stepped in that one.

  “As for budget,” she continued, “we have none. Blue Ridge Sanitarium is a rarity. Not many memory care facilities deal solely with brain injury. The money goes toward staying open. Paying salaries.”

  “Why would Miss Hughes need a bigger canvas anyway?” Joaquin asked. “She can’t remember that she’s only had paper. She doesn’t know one way or the other.”

  Inhale. Exhale. “What if she does?”

  Joaquin laughed and kicked his feet up on the table. “Please welcome our new neuropsychologist, Dr. James Whelan.”

  Under the table, my fists clenched.

  Sure, tell them about the word chains. Doris sneered. I’m sure they’ll come as a huge shock to everyone who’s been working with Thea for years.

  “The actual neuropsychologist has been all over this case a hundred times,” Anna said. “And in any case, Miss Hughes is regurgitating what her brain picked up. That’s all.”

  “Isn’t that memory?” I asked.

  “No, Jim,” Anna said slowly, as if I were a child. “It’s a groove of routine. She cannot bring anything to mind, therefore she has no awareness of her quality of life, so long as we keep her calm.”

  Rita put her hand on my arm. “Is that what you’re worried about? That Miss Hughes is suffering?”

  “How could she not be?”

  “Because she can’t remember,” Anna said, shooting Rita a hard look. “Without conscious awareness of her situation, how can there be suffering?”

  It sounded plausible, but the itch in the back of my mind wouldn’t leave me alone.

  “Why is she so accepting of her situation—wherever she is and whoever she’s with—when a reset hits?” I asked.

  “Didn’t Alonzo give you the rundown?” Joaquin asked.

  I crossed my arms. “I want to hear it again.”

  “Miss Hughes didn’t accept anything after her accident,” Anna said. “It took months before she stopped becoming hysterical with every reset. She’s calm now because underneath the bells and whistles, the brain’s most basic function is survival.” Lips pursed, she stood up, checking her small gold watch. “Time to clock in. Are we satisfied, Dr. Whelan?”

  I shrugged. Not fucking remotely.

  Joaquin clapped his hand on my shoulder. “If there was something more to do for Miss Hughes, one of them smart neuro-psychs would have put it together by now.”

  “Are they still looking?” I asked. “What about that new doctor? Christina Chen?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t get involved in resident care and neither should you. If Delia Hughes finds out you’re messing around with her sister, she’ll have you canned.”

  Because Thea should have paint instead of goddamn Magic Markers? Or some music? A better quality of life?

  After the others left, I turned to Rita. “Why would it bother Delia to know we give a shit about her sister?”

  “Delia has her reasons,” she said gently. “She’s protective. Afraid of upsetting her, afraid of any publicity. And she’s also watching the money.”

  “What money?”

  “Their parents had a life insurance policy that left them a million dollars each. Blue Ridge’s funding isn’t consistent. Some years, we have cutbacks. Most years. Delia wants to save every penny if Thea needs care somewhere else. She’s cautious.”

  She’s got a million bucks in the bank and won’t buy her sister some fucking paint?

  “It doesn’t make any sense.”

  Rita checked her own watch and stood to go. “It’s sweet you want to make things better for Miss Hughes,” she said. “But if you bought her a canvas and paint, she’d forget all about it the second they were out of sight.”

  But she’d have it in the moment. Doesn’t that count?

  “Rita.”

  She stopped at the door and looked back at me.

  “I think she knows,” I said.

  “I don’t know, honey, but she isn’t hurting.”

  “But—”

  “It’s like Anna said. If she has no conscious awareness about her situation, she isn’t suffering.”

  “What if the awareness is deeper than consciousness?”

  “There is no awareness without consciousness.” She smiled gently. “That’s why they call it unconscious.”

  I rubbed my hands over my face. “What about music? T
hea loves dance and techno.

  “She listens to a classical station sometimes. Delia’s orders. She’d read Mozart stimulated the brain.”

  I stared. “That’s it? That’s Thea’s entertainment?”

  “Well, no. She has a TV. Her favorite show was The Office. She watches that, though I don’t know that she can keep up with the plot. Like being here, it’s just routine.” She smiled gently at me. “And when I shut off the radio or TV, she doesn’t remember they were ever on.”

  Her expression was full of pity as she left. Joaquin had looked amused. Anna wanted me to mind my own business and stop trying to diagnose a complex neurological situation I had no training or education for. They’d all given up on Thea.

  Rita popped her head back into the room. “Before I forget, Jim, can you take Miss Hughes for her walk today at one o’clock? I know it’s your break time but—”

  “Yeah, I can do it,” I said.

  Because I wasn’t going to give up on her.

  Chapter 9

  Jim

  The day dragged until one o’clock. I grabbed my phone and a set of earbuds from my locker and shoved them in my pocket. I approached Thea at her table in the dining room, a half-finished plate of cheese, crackers, and sliced green apples in front of her. I let her see me first.

  “How long has it been?” she asked.

  “Two years.”

  She nodded. “I just came back. You’re the first person I’ve seen.” She looked at my nametag. “Hi, Jim. I’m Thea.”

  “Would you like to go for a walk and get some fresh air?” I asked.

  Her smile was painfully stunning. “I’d love to.”

  We stepped out the back door and into the stifling heat of the summer day. Instead of wilting in the humidity, Thea came alive. Despite her bland clothing, she was vibrant and beautiful. I suspected that Thea Hughes, pre-accident, wouldn’t have been caught dead in khaki pants and loafers.

  “It’s so nice out, Jim,” she said. “Is Jim short for James?”

  “You can call me Jimmy,” I said because I was sick of our usual script.

  She nudged my arm with a laugh. “I was about to ask, mind-reader. You are a Jimmy. You have kind eyes.”

  At least that line I could listen to a hundred more times.

  “It’s so quiet,” Thea said.

  I gripped the phone and cords in my pocket, wondering if introducing music was a good idea. What if it set her off? But Thea’s five-minute world was always quiet, and I was tired of second-guessing myself. So fucking tired of not doing something.

  “I was thinking the same thing,” I said slowly. “Do you like music?”

  Music is life.

  “Do I? Music is life. What’s your fave?”

  I wasn’t going to let her turn the conversation on me. “This and that,” I said. “What do you like?”

  “I’m a dance and techno gal.” She frowned. “But funny… I can’t think of anyone I listen to.”

  “Hold on,” I said, pulling out my phone and earbuds. I quickly scrolled iTunes for popular dance songs. “Bad Romance” by Lady Gaga popped up first.

  “Try this.” I gave her the earbuds and hit play, bracing myself.

  Instantly, Thea’s face broke into pure joy and she began to bob her head, eyes closed, listening to her favorite music for maybe the first time in two years. “Oh my God, this is amazing,” she cried. “Here. Share.”

  She took one bud out and gave it to me. We stood in the heat of the afternoon, face-to-face. She was lost in the music and I was lost in her. I’d never seen anything so beautiful in my life. She swayed like a willow tree, slender and delicate, while I was the oak rooted in front of her. Between her and the world, protecting her as best as I could.

  The song ended and Thea took out her earbud. “I want your love… Love, love, love…”

  I stared. That’s the song, you idiot. Not her.

  Thea laughed and gave me a playful shove. “I love it, but I can tell it’s sooo not you. You are not a dance house, club kid kind of guy, am I right?”

  “Not really.”

  She tapped her fingers on the muscles of my forearm. “I can’t picture you on the dance floor. You’d be the bouncer at a club, making sure everyone behaved themselves. A Marc Antony. Have you heard of Marc Antony?”

  “Sounds familiar.”

  “Marc Antony was a general who fought with Julius Caesar during the civil war. After Caesar died, Antony was put in charge of Egypt, where Cleopatra was queen. They had an affair that nearly started another war. He was Cleopatra’s love. Strong. Noble. A soldier, but he fought only because he had to.” She raised her eyes to mine. “You look like you’d fight, but only if you had to.”

  “Only if I had to.”

  I’d fight for you.

  Our eyes held another moment, then Thea drew a deep breath. “Oh my God, Jimmy,” she said, her arms out wide. “I feel so awake.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Like I just drank six Red Bulls or something.” Her smile turned warm and flirty, and she tapped my phone. “You got one more song in there for me?”

  “I have hundreds.”

  She raised her crystal blue eyes to mine and for one precious moment, something deep in her connected to something deep in me so hard and fast that my chest constricted, trying to hold on to the air that had been punched out. Thea’s eyes widened and so did her smile. The radiance inside her burst through the cracks of her broken mind and I saw her. This girl whom, if we had longer than five minutes, I’d make mine.

  But no sooner did I get a sweet taste of mine when the familiar confusion rolled through Thea’s gaze. She was resetting. I was resetting, going from protector to threat. From friend to stranger. From Jimmy to…

  No one, Doris finished. You’re no one.

  My hands itched to grab Thea and hold on, so I didn’t vanish.

  She took a step back. “Who…?”

  “Jimmy,” I said. “My name’s Jimmy.”

  We did that scene three times that afternoon. Three times, I waited for the curtain of her mind to close and open again and we started over. Actors in a movie, reading a script, but the cameras and crew were hidden from sight. The same words, take after take.

  Every time, the confusion swept across her eyes, wiping everything away. Erasing our five minutes. Erasing who and what we were to each other.

  Nothing. We can’t be anything to each other because she has nothing to give. No way to give it.

  Eventually, we made our way back inside, each still with an earbud in our ear, listening to a dance song together. We sat at Thea’s table, still tethered, a techno beat thrumming in our ears.

  “You like this one?” I asked. “BOOM” by X Ambassadors.

  Thea nodded to the beat. “I love it.”

  She loves it. She’s happy. Delia can shove it up her—

  “What is going on here?”

  I flinched, and the earbud fell out of my ear. Delia Hughes stood by the table, her hard stare going between me and her sister.

  “Delia!” Thea shot to her feet, then immediately froze, gripped by an absence seizure. I watched her to make sure she was okay until it released her, then turned to her sister.

  “Hello, Ms. Hughes.”

  Delia started to speak, and I was pretty sure it wasn’t to tell me what a great job I was doing. But Thea came around the table and threw her arms around her neck.

  “You’re here. How long has it been? Where are Mom and Dad?”

  Delia’s voice was a stone. “Two years, and they’re on their way.”

  “I’m so glad you came.” Thea hugged Delia again, then stopped short when she saw me. A shy, soft smile came over her features. “Oh. Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  “I’m Thea Hughes.” She stuck out her hand, and I shook it, drowning in déjà vu.

  “Jim Whelan.”

  “So nice to meet you. This is my sister, Delia.” Thea laughed at her sister’s sour look. “Oh my God, Deel, you’re
such a crank.”

  “You’re an orderly, yes?” Delia asked me. “Where is Nurse Soto?”

  “We’re shorthanded today,” I said.

  Delia pursed her lips. “I see. Well, I’m here now. You may go.”

  I glanced at Thea who rolled her eyes and mouthed I’m sorry at me.

  An hour later, I was pushing a mop down the hall outside the rec room and saw Rita, Alonzo, and Delia in a huddle. They looked up as I approached and Delia turned to me, arms crossed.

  “We can ask him, himself. What were you doing with my sister?”

  Shit. I’m going to lose my job. Thea will be alone in the silence.

  “N-N-Nothing,” I said. “Just listening to music.”

  “Is that in your job description?”

  “N-N-No.”

  “Are you nervous? Guilty? What’s wrong with you?”

  Rita interjected. “Jim’s been taking Miss Hughes for her daily exercise on days when I—”

  “When you can’t because you’re short-staffed,” Delia finished. “I don’t pay to have Thea cared for by an orderly.”

  “Jim is a fine employee,” Alonzo said. “One of our best.”

  Delia sniffed, shouldered her purse and leveled her gaze at me. “Stay away from my sister unless you want to find another job. I can’t imagine your stutter would make that easy.”

  Rita’s eyes widened and Alonzo cast his gaze to the ground. Silence fell as Delia’s short-heeled footsteps clopped down the hallway and vanished.

  “I’m sorry, Jim,” Rita said. “She’s upset because she’s protective of Thea. I’ll talk to her.”

  “Don’t,” Alonzo said. “We should just do what she wants.”

  “I’ve got three other residents to deal with since Nurse Fay quit,” Rita said. “Unless Jim takes her, Miss Hughes misses her FAE. I’ll explain it to Delia. She may be a grouch, but ultimately she only wants what’s best for her sister.”

  Alonzo frowned. “I suppose,” he said. “But Jim shouldn’t take Miss Hughes for FAE until you get the okay from Delia. The last thing we need is for her to get Dr. Poole involved.”