Reaching Rose (Hunter Hill University Book 3) (5 page)

BEN

"You're gonna sprain an eyelid or two closing them so tight. At the very least you're gonna give yourself a headache."

Her eyes pop open and she moves her joystick so she's backed away from me an inch.

"I don't have leprosy or anything like that, if that's what you're concerned about." I know she isn’t concerned about that, but I wanted to try to make her laugh. I failed.

She turns her chair to the left, positioning her back to the table.

I'm about to say, "It's gonna be hard to eat with your back to the table," but I refrain, realizing she's turned her scarred side away from me. I see the aide walk in with Rose's food and signal her to bring it to the table next to where we're sitting. I move to my table, grab my tray, set it on my lap, and wheel myself to the table that Rose is facing. "Sit here with me?" I ask her, rather than tell her.

She eyes her food, but then looks back at her lap.

"Come on. Really. I don't bite." I try to keep my voice sincere; my intent really isn't to be obnoxious and annoy her.

Her lip quirks, but she doesn't move forward. Instead, she remains with her back up against the other table and stares at her hands on her lap.

I don't continue to stare at her; that would just be rude. So I return to finishing the lunch on my tray and try to come up with something I can say that would make her smile. My brain comes up empty.

"Hey, Ben." I hear his joyful voice across the room. If he could move his limbs, I'm sure his arm would be waving wildly.

"Johnny. Dude."

He maneuvers his chair by blowing into a straw-like tube and makes his way over to me. With a heavy breath, he says, "Mind if I eat here?"

"No, dude, be my guest."

"And you don't mind my being spoon-fed like a baby?"

"Cut the shit. You know I don't."

"Just thought after you saw it once, you might've, maybe, got repulsed by me."

"Right. Johnny, this is Rose," I say, nodding my head in her direction. "Rose, this is Johnny."

Rose's eyes rise, but she doesn't lift her head.

"Hey, Rose. Nice to meet you."

Johnny looks at her, waiting for a reaction, then he looks at me. "The girl who doesn't talk, right?" he whispers unsuccessfully.

I roll my eyes, but out of the corner of one, I see her grimace.

"And he's the boy who can't move," I say jokingly to Rose.

"He's got that right," Johnny says, chuckling, still waiting for a reaction from our mute friend.

"So, how's therapy going?"

"Eh. Same ol’. Someone else moving my legs for me and shit."

I just nod, because, yeah...that sucks.

"It's all part of the game, Ben. Gotta have faith, right?"

Again, I nod, but this time I try to say something encouraging. "Gotta have faith, man. You'll be fixing your mom's gutters again in no time." I just wish I could believe that for him. But he does, and maybe that's all it takes for him to actually do it.

"Damn right I'll be up there. Mom's got no one. She counts on me."

I take a bite of my sandwich, but when I look up, Johnny's got that frown again. Though he swipes it away when he sees me notice.

"Hey, Marti's here." Johnny greets his female aide, with the male name, with a smile.

"Hungry?" Marti puts his tray down and takes the seat next to him.

"You know it."

All the while Marti feeds Johnny, he keeps up conversation, and it occurs to me that maybe his act is just that. It's starting to feel forced, and I'm wondering if he really doesn't believe he'll get better. For his sake, I hope he does.

And all the while Marti is feeding Johnny and Johnny is chatting in between mouthfuls, Rose is watching. Not noticeably, but when she doesn't realize I'm looking at her, I see it. What I'm getting is that she's amazed at Johnny's ability to be happy despite his condition. I could be wrong. Chances are I am. But as I've said before, the mind intrigues me, and so does Rose.

A few moments later, Rose's therapist or nurse, one or the other, pulls up a chair next to Rose. I try not to pay attention, trying hard to focus on Johnny, but paying attention to him is just as awkward since when he's not talking, his aide is spooning food into his mouth, so I stand to get myself something from the refrigerator. When I return to the table, Rose is pushed up against it, and the woman is gently reprimanding her. Again, I'm uncomfortable sitting down while she's telling Rose she needs to eat if she wants to recover effectively, but it'd look more obvious if I walked away from the table again. So I sit and concentrate on eating my pudding. And, of course, I got three of them. One for Johnny, and one for Rose.

"Hey, thanks, Ben," Johnny says, his voice genuinely happy. "You mind feeding me this?" he asks his aide.

"Course not."

When Rose's nurse, or whatever she is, walks away, I place the chocolate pudding on her tray and give her nothing but a smile to go with it. There are a million things I'd like to say to this lost girl, but she's already so timid, and I don't want to scare her away.

"If you're not gonna eat that pudding," Johnny says, looking at Rose's untouched tray, "I'll take it."

It's humorous when Rose narrows her eyes just slightly. I can't read her mind, but I think Johnny throws her off. She doesn't know what to make of him just yet.

"Or I can lend you Marti here," he continues, referring to his lunch aide, "if you're having trouble eating by yourself."

I pull in my lips to stifle a laugh, because, well, that was funny, but my guess is Rose probably won't think so, and looking at her suddenly blushing face, I've guessed right. In fact, she looks embarrassed, and a couple seconds later, she reaches for her orange juice and takes a sip. Seeing this, I pick up her pudding, remove the foil lid, and put it in front of her. Sticking a spoon in it, I say, "The chocolate pudding is outta this world." And then in a softer voice, "If you're in to processed milk-type products."

Her chest moves. A silent laugh. But she takes the pudding cup and holds it between her hands. With a sigh, she looks down at it. Contemplatively. If I could just get inside her mind...maybe I could make her see how this doesn't have to be the end of her world. Then again, how would I know? I'm just a kid studying psychology. I still have a whole mountain of things to learn.

While Rose fights with the dilemma of whether or not to actually eat in front of us, I see her nurse walk in with another woman. In about six steps, they're at Rose's side, and Rose's eyes grow wide when she sees them. Well, when she sees the other woman. Rose's eyes tear up and the woman bends down to hug her. "Oh, Rosie. Oh, baby."

"Rose," the nurse woman says. "We'll push back your therapy for an hour. Let your mom sit with you a while."

The woman – Rose's mom, I guess – stands to thank the nurse. "Thank you, Nina. I won't stay long, I just miss my baby."

"Sure."

When Rose's mom spots Johnny, his aide, and me, she nods and says hello. We greet her back and then she says to Rose, "You mind if we sit over there?" she asks, pointing to the black leather couch area.

Very subtly, Rose shakes her head to the right and back, and her mother pulls her away from the table. After they leave, Johnny asks, "Why doesn't she talk? Is she unable to?"

I take a second before answering. "Nah. I think it's a choice."

"Who would choose not to talk? I don't get it."

Coming up short on an answer, I shake my head and shrug a shoulder.
Why
would
anyone choose not to talk?

ROSE

I love my mother. I miss her so much. Being away at college, I'd pretty much only see her during the holidays and breaks and all, but being here – and the reason for being here – I miss my mother pretty bad.

But I wish she hadn't overheard that Johnny boy asking why I don't talk. It disappoints my mother. More than my missing leg, it breaks my mother's heart that I don't say anything anymore. I'm sure if she could have her way, she'd gladly have her smart-aleck daughter sassing back at her again. Not that I was all that sassy, but if I didn't like something, I made sure to have my opinion heard. That was just me. If it was on my mind, it was out of my mouth. In a polite way though; I always made sure to remain polite, even if I didn't want to be. Now...I'm completely different. I'm not polite. People talk to me; I don't respond. People give me pudding; I don't say thank you. Mother visits; I can't say, "I love you."

But I want to do all those things. It's almost as if my brain won't let me. Like if I start talking, I make this whole thing real. If I start talking, I'm giving in and accepting this fate. I don't want to accept it. I don't want to be a one-legged human being who can't dance anymore. Dancing was everything to me. How can I possibly survive without it?

"Rosie." My mom breaks my train of thought. "I contacted your friend Holly."

"No," I want to say, but I don't.

"It wasn't easy. She's not in the dorms this year, and the school wouldn't give me her new address, but...I went to that bar you mentioned. The one where you said she had gotten a job once. I took a chance, and fortunately, she's still working there."

I don't look at my mother. I close my eyes instead.
You did not tell Holly. Please say you didn't tell her.

"She'd like to come see you."

No, Mom. No. I'm not ready.

"She's so sorry she hadn't made more of an effort to find you. She just thought you were busy with dan..." Mom drops her head. "I apologized for not reaching out to her sooner. It was hard for me..." Mom shakes her head, her eyes still cast on the floor.

I know, Mom. I know.

My mother sighs, and it's so loud I'm afraid the whole room heard her. "Rosie, let her come. Please," she begs, her voice wet with tears she's trying not to shed. "Maybe seeing her will help. Get you to talk again." My mother's hands are shaking. "It hurts to see you like this, baby."

I cover my eyes with my hand to block my own tears. I hadn't shed one since that day I screamed in the hospital, but ever since the other day, they seem to come so easily.

"I told her I'd ask you first, but...I'm kind of hoping she comes anyway. She seemed insistent on it." My mother nods, trying to keep this conversation up by herself. One-sided conversations are hard, I'm figuring. "I did tell her it was only fair to ask you, but you don't want her to come, do you?"

No. I don't. I don't want her to see me like this. I don't want her pity. Anybody's pity. Things will never be the same again.
My breath catches at this thought.

My mother notices. She moves in closer and puts her hand on my leg. My good leg. I notice my mother won't look at my other leg. She doesn't want to accept this as much as I don't. To my face, she says, "Rosie, I want you to come home. But you can't until you know how to use your pros...your new...Oh, Rosie, just please do what they say." She's crying now, she can't help it. "Please, baby, so you can come home. Please. I know you'll feel better when you're in familiar surroundings."

I blink for my mother. My acknowledgment of her plea. Then I lean forward to hug her. She takes my body in hers so fiercely I think I'm going to fall out of my chair.

"Please come back, baby," she whispers in my ear.

I give her a whimper. Because, really, I do want to come back. I just wish I could come back as a whole person.

When my mother pulls away, she wipes away her tears with a tissue and smiles. "Can we go into your room? I'd like to brush your hair."

Because it probably looks straggly and unkempt,
is what she's thinking. It's bad enough Lou has to wash me. I can't expect her to spend time keeping my waist-length hair neat.

"I brought a pair of scissors too. Maybe I can trim it up, like old times?"

Mom always trimmed my hair. It's not like it's hard to do. I have thick, straight, one-length hair. She liked to keep it tidy for me, because it was so thick, it would tangle easily. Anyway, I offer my mom a simple nod. It's the least I can do.

I use my electronic controls to wheel myself to my room, so my mom doesn't have to push me. When we get to my room, she asks if I want to move to the regular chair. I shrug, not sure where I want to sit.

"You can stay where you are if you want."

My mother's gentle touch as she brushes my hair makes me sad. I'm not sure why, because even when I had two legs, I still loved when my mother would bring a brush to my hair. There's just something about your mother's touch. But now I feel sad. I think I'm always going to be sad.

I close my eyes and try not to think. Instead, I pay attention to each brush stroke and try to bring myself back to my life before.

But I can't.

It was so easy three days ago to sink into my past and leave this place, but now...I can't. I'm too much here...in the present. I focus on the wall in front of me, because sometimes that would work, but today it doesn't.
Dammit, I don't want to be here. I want to forget again. Just for a few moments.

I sigh in resignation and let more tears fall.

Before I realize it, my mother has brushed and trimmed my hair. When I turn my chair around and look at the floor, all I see is red. Snapping my head up, I silently ask my mom why she cut so much off.

"It was all dead, honey. You haven't been conditioning it, or even hardly brushing it. It looks healthy now. Take a look."

She wheels me to the mirror that hangs along the bathroom door. My hair now comes to just above my breasts. I guess that means it falls right about to my bra strap in the back. But it does look healthier.

"I know I should have wet your hair first," my mother says, "but I think it looks nice. Don't you?"

I bring my hands up to touch it, and for the first time, I nod. A real nod. Accompanied with a smile.
I love you, Mom. So much.

She kisses the top of my head, and starts braiding my hair. "Now, I know you don't really want to fuss with your hair while you're here, so if you just keep it in a braid, it won't get all knotty. Can you at least do that, Rosie?"

I nod.
Sure, Mom
.

Mom leaves, and I'm back in therapy with Nina, who says I look a little brighter since Mom came to visit.
Yeah, well, I love my mom.

"If you're willing to try today, Rose, I have your temporary prosthetic." She looks at me, hopeful, and begs me with her eyes to be cooperative.

I'm the one who’s been holding this whole process up. My temporary prosthetic was ready when I first got here, but the new uncooperative, impolite me refused to let Nina put it on. Allowing them to put this fake leg on me cements the truth. Makes it real. I'm so not ready for real. But I do want to get back home. And to begin the journey back home, I guess I have to take the first step. I shake my head at the pun and give Nina a distinct nod.
Why not?

"You're shaking your head, you’re nodding, which is it, girl?"

I nod.

"Good. Now let's get you on your feet."

My half-leg had already been prepared with a rigid dressing, but Nina slides on a couple of socks before she attaches this thing to me.

"Okay, we won't be needing this pillow underneath your hip," she says, as she removes the pillow that's been lodged under my hip to keep the lower part of my half-leg from hanging. "Well, we're ready to attach the prep to your stump."

I flinch. I cannot stand that word. I will not use it.

Nina knows I've tensed up. "I'm sorry. That's not the best word to use, is it?"

I don't respond, but Nina gives my thigh a rub.

"Let's get you upright." My metal leg is attached, and she helps to pull me out of my chair.

I'm standing on this plastic-looking foot that is attached to what looks like a metal paper towel tube. It's hideous, and I'm about to break down again. My breathing becomes forced, and I feel my heart pounding.
I can't do this. I can't do this. How can you expect me to live like this for the rest of my life?

"Rose," Nina says calmly, holding on to my shoulders. "You got this. Don't break down on me again. Come on, this is temporary. Your real leg, it's gonna be prettier, I promise."

Prettier? Really? No.

"Please, honey," she begs again.

I lift my hands to grab onto her arms, and I squeeze.
Please don't let me fall.