7.

ROSE.

I'm not ready to get back out there, but at least the tears have stopped. Not sure what came over me, but I had a complete meltdown in front of Nina and didn't stop crying for thirty-six hours straight - give or take a few minutes. Dr. Rappaport keeps telling me that it was some kind of breakthrough, but I don't feel better, I feel worse. But it doesn't matter, because he insists I leave my private room and move back in with my roommate, Kimberlee. Which makes me feel bad for Kimberlee, because I know she is uncomfortable around me. I'm uncomfortable around me. Kat rolls me into my old room after dinner and Kimberlee is sitting in the corner chair, watching television. She looks at me before averting her eyes and returning her attention to the television. She's in here because she had a stroke and had to relearn how to do many mundane things, including talking, which I must say she does very well now. Kimberlee was talkative the first night I moved in, telling me all about how she is p.r.o.ne to seizures and that those seizures were related to her stroke. She had to relearn how to walk, and eat with a utensil, and write. Everything. But she recovered fast, and I'm sure she'll be going home soon. I wouldn't know though, because that's the last time she spoke to me. When someone doesn't respond to you at all, there is no reason to keep communicating with them. I didn't respond. She doesn't talk to me anymore.

Since I broke down and cried two and a half days ago, it's harder to keep my emotions in check. My throat is constantly hurting from holding back more tears, and my eyes burn from keeping them from falling out. But Dr. Rappaport doesn't want me to be by myself. He says that would be counterproductive and so I need to be out and attempting to socialize with the rest of the patients and staff. Socialize? I've forgotten how to do that.

The night is quiet and I fall asleep quickly, one thing that hasn't been hard for me since the accident. I love to sleep. I long for it during every waking hour. But morning comes too soon when I wake to Lou nudging me in the arm.

"Come on, love, it's time to get up." She places some wipes and a washcloth on my table tray and helps me sit up in bed. "Let's try to do this on your own today. Please?" she asks, and I feel bad that I've been so uncooperative. But today, I find myself reaching for the wipes.

I know Lou wants to scream with pleasure, because, yeah, I just attempted to do something for myself, and I don't even know why. But she refrains from singing "Hallelujah," and I'm grateful.

"Would you like me to leave you alone?"

Yes, I do, but I don't think I can stand on my own yet. Not because my good leg may not be strong enough, but because one look at my half-leg may send me straight into another breakdown and I'll fall. And if I fall, how will I get up? These are the thoughts that scare me. The normal everyday tasks I took for granted before my accident have become the exact things that scare me now.

I attempt to shake my head, so Lou knows I don't want her to leave. It's a start, right? Shaking my head, as imperceptible as it may have been.

Lou's smile brightens. "Come on, girl, let me help you up." She lifts me up, and instead of putting me in my wheelchair, she places a walker in front of me. "I think it's time now, sweetie, to use this. I know this is all new to you, but you need to help yourself. You got fitted for that prosthesis, and it's going to be here any day now. You need to be ready, and..." She pauses, because she sees me frown.

She sits me back down on the bed and sits next to me. With her hand on my left thigh, the thigh that doesn't have a whole leg attached to it, she sucks a breath in. "I know this is hard on you, honey. And I'm not your psychotherapist or psychiatrist, I'm just your nurse, but as your nurse, I'm telling you how important it is for your recovery to do things for yourself. Sitting here in this slump you've been in-" she shakes her head "-it's not going to help you move forward." She tips her head in Kimberlee's direction, even though the curtain's drawn. "Look at our friend over there...you over there, Kimberlee?"

"You bet I'm here," Kimberlee announces joyfully.

"She came in here with no idea if she'd ever be normal again, and look at her. She's ready to leave. You know why?"

She waits for a response from me, but I don't offer one.

"Because I rock," Kimberlee responds for me.

"That's right," Lou agrees, "she rocks. She knew right from the beginning that her att.i.tude was key in recovering." Lou sighs. "I know not everyone who keeps their head up gets the results they want, but I do know that if you don't even try, there is no possible way to recover. The physical wound may heal, but your heart and mind won't, and then where will you be?" She raises her eyebrows at me in question.

I answer her with the slip of a tear that I did not want to let out. She uses her thumb to wipe it away, but more follow, and now I'm afraid that they won't stop again.

"Use those tears for good, Rosie. They mean you care. They mean you want to move forward."

Kimberlee's bed squeaks, and next thing I know, she's standing in front of me. "I know you don't like to talk," she says to me, "but talking about it, getting it out, it helps. s.h.i.t, I couldn't talk in the beginning, and that was rough. My brain was screaming. But once I figured it out...you couldn't shut me up." Kimberlee sways her head from side to side. "Well, you shut me up," she says of my refusal to respond to anything she'd said to me. "But seriously, Rose. You're only hurting yourself. I'll shut up now." Kimberlee winks and walks back behind her curtain.

"Come on," Lou says, getting up and pushing the walker back in front of me. "Let's get you cleaned up."

I use the sleeve of my robe to wipe the rest of my tears, but no more are shed. My tears don't continue, so maybe I'm breaking through after all.

During physical therapy, Nina can't believe her eyes. "Girl, look at you," she exclaims, singing my praise, because I'm finally walking along the parallel bars on my own. "Look at those guns. So, you do have muscle in those skinny arms of yours."

If I were talking, I'd say, "My arms ain't skinny, they're strong." Because they are strong. I've always been strong. It's one of the reasons I'm a good dancer.

Was a good dancer.

As hard as it is, I try to shake it off.

I'll never be a dancer again.

But I'm not dead, and so I guess I need to at least learn to walk.

I take a deep breath and push myself forward. After about ten minutes of "running relays" through the parallel bars, I joke to myself, my arms hurt. As strong as they used to be, I guess not using them weakened them.

"Good job, Rose." Nina literally pats me on the back. "I'm proud of you. I know today was rough, but you made a huge stride. Please keep that in mind...please," she almost begs.

I blink my eyes, knowing that isn't the best of responses, but it's the best I can give at the moment.

"Do you think you can manage on your own in your chair?" She looks me in the eyes.

Do I want to keep depending on someone else to push me everywhere I need to go? I certainly know how to use this power wheelchair, so do I continue being an obnoxious a.s.s and have someone push me around, or can I continue with my efforts and direct the chair myself?

I respond by pushing on the chair's joystick and rolling forward a foot.

Her grin widens as she nods. "Atta girl. C'mon, I'll walk with you to get some lunch." Which is a good idea, because I don't trust myself to move on my own once I'm by myself. "I'll get you to the rec and then I'll have someone bring in your lunch. Good?"

She looks at me for a response, but all I can manage is a blink.

"I'll take that as a yes," she says and keeps one hand on the back of my chair while I wheel myself to the rec room. It's only been three days since I sat in here, but it feels longer. And it may be egotistical of me, but I'm afraid everyone is staring at me, so I keep my eyes on the floor in front of me. "Girl, look where you're going," Nina reminds me. "You gotta look at the road ahead of you, Rose."

I look up, and the first person I see is Ben. Looking right at me. Quickly, I drop my head down again and stop wheeling myself.

"Rosie, what's going on?" Nina asks, exasperated. "C'mon, girl." She gives up on me and pushes me to an empty table. "I'll have your lunch brought to you." Nina walks away, leaving me alone and paranoid.

I'm so hyper-aware all of a sudden. It's as if that breakdown I had the other day broke my shut-off valve and turned on my emotions. I don't like it at all. Closing my eyes, I try to slink back into my daydreams and shut the room out so that I'm alone with my past. But it doesn't come. I close my eyes tighter, willing my past life, before the accident, to appear behind my eyelids, but it remains black, the sounds of the rec room breaking in too loudly for me to get there. Wetness takes the place where my dreams should be. No. I won't let them fall. d.a.m.n these tears. Why did I have to break down the other day? Why couldn't I just remain empty and emotionless? d.a.m.n that chocolate pudding. He did this to me. He broke through my resolve. He made me feel again.

8.

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 s.h.i.t. 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 s.h.i.t."

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.

"d.a.m.n 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 embarra.s.sed, 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 h.e.l.lo. 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?"