With Malice (7 page)

The computers looked like they had been donated around the time when Madonna wasn't a living mummy and people wore neon. Anna flicked a computer on, and it heated up, giving off a vaguely toxic burning-plastic smell. There was a sign taped to the wall in a page protector stating that patients had to sign up for a time to use them and were limited to thirty minutes unless there was no one waiting.

“What are you looking for?” I asked.

“No way you're going to believe me. You better see for yourself.” She looked over her shoulder at me. “You're famous.”

As she clicked through, a photo of a tiny red car crunched almost beyond belief flashed on the screen. My stomach lurched. Was that the car? Why was a car crash in Italy a big news story? I figured when I flew home, our local TV station would do something, but I never imagined it would be all over the Internet.

“You sure you want to know all of this?” Anna asked.

I nodded, and Anna turned the giant box monitor to face me. The headline ripped the air out of my lungs.

CHEERLEADER ABROAD KILLED IN JEALOUS RAGE?

I wheeled my chair closer to the table. I skimmed the article, each word detonating like a bomb, shattering my reality. I kept trying to rearrange the sentences to say something else, but it was clear.

People thought I'd killed Simone on purpose.

Adventures Abroad Program Application, November 21

Name: Jill Charron

High School: Jefferson High

Please explain to the selection committee what you feel you will gain from this experience in 300 words or less.

My reasons for applying to the program include supporting my long-term academic goals, as well as my desire for personal growth. I feel this trip to Italy accomplishes both objectives and better prepares me for my future while also giving me the opportunity to be a better world citizen.

I have a long-standing interest in history and look forward to having the opportunity to walk in the steps of Galileo, Caesar, and Michelangelo. I've read that over ten million tourists visit Rome each year, so imagining the millions and millions of people who will have stood in the same places I will be standing is awe inspiring. It makes me feel insignificant in the shadow of all this history. At the same time, being connected to all that went before makes me feel a vital part of it. As I will be leaving for Yale in the fall, I know this experience will raise my awareness of art and history and leave me better prepared for college.

Almost more important is the chance for personal growth. Saint Augustine said, “The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only one page.” I was born and grew up in a small community. I've been fortunate enough to have supportive family and friends. However, I feel the opportunity to go somewhere on my own without this structure will allow me to grow. How will I know who I can become if I don't give myself a chance to try new things, to push myself beyond my normal boundaries? Who might I be if I am away from the things that I currently use to define myself?

I hope you give my application serious consideration. Thank you.

Applicant meets all requirements. Approved.

Liz Ochoa, Program Director

TRANSEUROPE AIRLINES

Employee Incident Report

Flight 4727, 12 April

Crew Member: Ian Bovery, First-Class Steward

This occurred at approximately 22:30 on the Chicago-to-Rome leg. Dinner service had been completed roughly one hour previous, and cabin lights had been dimmed in the plane. The majority of passengers were sleeping or watching the in-flight entertainment system.

I noted a passenger, later identified as Simone McIvory, had left her seat in coach and snuck into the first-class section. After a period of time (approximately five minutes), she encouraged another passenger, Jill Charron, to join her. I observed they had a brief argument over the idea, and Ms. McIvory pulled the other girl into first class. They sat in the two seats that were empty as a result of the assigned passengers having missed their connection.

I approached the girls and pointed out that they were not in their designated seats. I was aware they were part of a large school group that was on the flight. They stated that the rest of their group had gone to sleep and that they wanted to see what it was like in first class. Although I know it is against company policy, I allowed them to remain, as they indicated they would behave and that this was a “once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.” They were quiet, the seats were empty, and it seemed a positive experience for two high school students, so it did not seem to me to be a problem. I stated they could remain for a few hours, but would need to return to their seats prior to breakfast service, and they agreed. They were not disruptive to the other passengers. They seemed focused on talking about their upcoming travels.

Approximately thirty minutes later, my co-worker Jessica LaPointe noticed the girls and demanded to know why I hadn't asked them to move. She said that this was company policy and a possible safety risk. Ms. LaPointe, as the senior crew member, escorted the girls back to their seats and indicated that she would be writing me up for disciplinary action.

This is my statement of the event. I have read Ms. LaPointe's statement and note that she accuses the girls of taking two small individual wine bottles from the beverage cart. I did not observe this, nor were any bottles found when the seats were cleaned. I do not believe there were any safety violations, as the two girls did use their seat belts and were not “skipping back and forth” between coach and first class as Ms. LaPointe reported. While I am aware company policy does not allow passengers to change seats without approval of the senior officer, I do not feel that my violation was significant, and it was done as an attempt to improve customer satisfaction.

EMAIL

FROM:
[email protected]

TO:
[email protected]

SUBJECT:
Trip

12 April 22:38

Mom—

I am on the actual plane! This is HAPPENING! I know you won't get this email until we land and I get some Wi-Fi, but I wanted to say—thanks so much for helping me convince Dad to let me take this trip. I know you think I'm being overly dramatic—but I honestly feel like this adventure is going to change my life. There's something about going someplace where I don't know anyone (except for Simone!) and can sort of do anything or be anyone. You're the best mom ever for letting me go.

And yes, before you say it again—I'll be safe. I won't carry too much cash. I won't take drinks from anyone I don't know. I will make sure to stay with the group, blah, blah, blah. : ) And I'll take a million pictures so I can share everything with you, and I won't change so much that you don't know me anymore. Ha!

Love

J

Simone McIvory's Facebook Page

The laminated card had a list of colors—red, blue, green, yellow—but the ink color didn't match the word. The word
blue
might be printed in green, for example, or the word
red
was in bright yellow. Dr. Weeks would have me read each word on the page and then suddenly switch and have me instead list out what color the words were printed in. It shouldn't have been that complicated, but I kept getting confused. It took all my energy to stay focused. This didn't bode well for a future career in law.

I clenched my jaw. I wanted to rip the card in half, but it was encased in thick plastic. That would be the only thing more frustrating than doing the test, being unable to destroy it.

“You doing okay?” Dr. Weeks asked. She had a tiny mouth; like the tied end of a balloon. It annoyed me for some reason, and then I was irritated at myself for being annoyed over such a stupid thing.

I put the card down. “I don't see the point of all of this.” I motioned to the table behind her that held a whole bunch of tests. Blocks I had to put together. Pictures I was supposed to copy. Lists of words she would tell me and then ask me to recall a few minutes later. Endless stacks of bubble sheets. I was buried under bubble sheets.

Dr. Weeks leaned back. She was wearing reading glasses with another pair perched on top of her head. This was not exactly instilling a lot of confidence. “The Stroop is a frustrating test. But all of this will help us get a baseline of how your brain is working.”

“It's not working,” I said. “I can't read for more than a few minutes without getting a migraine. Three times this morning, I forgot the name of the nurse who brought me breakfast. I can't talk without forgetting the most basic—” Gone. Again. “Fuck!” I shoved my hand across the table, and the papers on it went flying to the floor.

“Well, that's one word that's still there.”

Great. I had just lobbed an f-bomb at my neuropsychologist. This wasn't like me. I'd never even had a detention in school. “Sorry.” It was a good thing I could remember that. It was a word I needed to use frequently.

“Getting frustrated is normal. So is feeling like your emotions are on a roller coaster,” Dr. Weeks said.

“I've been through a hard time, blah, blah, blah,” I said.

“That too, but I meant it's more than that.” She spun around in her chair and took a plastic model of the brain off her desk. “This is your brain,” she said. “Well, not yours, but you know what I mean.” She winked.

She pointed at parts of the model. “Here we have the frontal lobe, this part here is the occipital lobe, the temporal, the parietal, and here at the bottom, we've got the stem.” She smiled at my expression. “Don't worry, there's no test. Think of the brain like a company. Different parts are in charge of different things, like departments. The frontal lobe is the executive office. That's the part that does the problem solving, keeps your impulses in control, things like that. The parietal looks over things to do with movement and orientation—think of it like the transportation department. The brain stem looks over all the basics. It's the facilities department. They keep the air moving, heat regulated, that kind of thing. You with me?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“So the kind of trouble a person might have depends on where the injury happened. As if there were layoffs in a certain department. The bigger the injury, the more layoffs and the more difficulty performing that task.”

I traced the ridges on the model. Braille brain. “Where was my injury?”

“You had some shearing in the frontal lobe area. That basically means your brain, which is sloshing around in your head in a bunch of fluid, slammed into your skull.” She slapped the front of the model with the palm of her hand. “That means you're going to have some challenges with problem solving, regulating your mood, things like that.”

“Great.” I wanted to rub my forehead.

“You also had some bleeding in the temporal lobe.” She tapped another section with her pencil. “That's why you're having memory trouble and language issues. You've got some amnesia of events leading up to the accident, but otherwise your long-term memory looks pretty good. You're having a bit of trouble getting things from your short term into your long term. That's like the brain's filing system. It doesn't mean the information is gone, just that your brain can't remember where it filed that piece away. That's why you'll have trouble with recalling people's names, or what you just read. It's going to take a while for it to either get better or for you to learn some strategies to manage it.”

“So there's a chance it might not get better.”

“Yes. The brain sometimes makes a workaround, transfers staff to the department that's short, but sometimes the brain just has to learn to work with what it's got. There are some good signs. You're young. Teen brains tend to bounce back pretty well as compared to really small kids or elderly adults. And we've already seen some improvement with your word finding. However, you need to know that this may be as good as it gets.”

I liked that she didn't soft-pedal the truth, but it still made me tear up. She handed me a tissue from the box on her desk. I bet she went through Kleenex by the case lot. I took a deep breath. Her office smelled like freshly sharpened pencils, which I found oddly comforting.

“I'm not crying. It's just a frontal lobe thing,” I said.

She smiled and slid a bowl of Hershey's Kisses across her desk in my direction. “Chocolate. Best medicine out there.”