As the sun began to peek through the curtains, I managed to get my arm to move to my side. It was not a controlled move, and it crashed heavily onto the mattress.
Nineteen days to plan and practice. Nineteen days before I saw Kurt and Junior at school.
***
Eleven days till The Takedown—every mission needs a title—had me drowning in guilt. Despite being able to move my hands, arms, legs, lift my head off the pillow, and whisper semi-understandable words; I still hadn’t made contact with mom. If I told her I was recovering she would no doubt tell dad, and they might tell their friends and it might get back to Kurt and Junior. So I continued to play the vegetable, keeping my head skewiff and staring at the wall as I planned how to take down the person who put me in this situation.
***
A week before The Takedown I managed to sit-up in bed. It was a struggle, rolling onto my side, and using my shaking arms to push me upright. Then I fell back onto the mattress. But for a nano-second I was sitting up. I waited to hear if mom had heard me. Silence. The night had swallowed the sound.
The next morning mom looked drawn. Her forced smile macabre as she performed her duties and chatted monotone. “We’ve been using the cannabis oil for a while now, and I …” Her gaze met mine.
She’s going to stop with the treatment. I felt the buzz of fear down my spine—oh fear, welcome back. Maybe it was the cannabis making me better or maybe it was just time, but I wasn’t willing to risk the progress I had made. So I looked into mom’s eyes and blinked.
Mom narrowed her eyes at me. I blinked twice. She shook her head slowly. “Zoey, if you can understand me blink twice.”
This was it, the moment I was dreading and hoping for simultaneously. Mom would know and maybe she would tell Kurt’s mom. She exhaled, her face dropping, but her gaze still held mine. I blinked twice.
Mom dropped the face washer on my bare stomach. I would need electric shock therapy to erase these sponge baths, but I had to keep my face impassive, I couldn’t reveal too much of my progress. She placed her hands either side of my face. “Blink twice again if you are in there?”
I blinked twice.
“You’re in there.” Tears welled in mom’s eyes and sobs contorted her face; ugly crying was a Saunder’s family legacy. “How long have you been awake? Is it the cannabis? Can you move?”
I wanted to respond so badly, but I couldn’t—not yet. I blinked twice.
Her red hair stuck to her tear stained cheeks, and she jumped off the bed. “I need to tell your father … and … and …” Chewing her lip, she looked from side to side, and slowly lowered herself to sit beside me on the bed. “Maybe we should wait till there’s a little more progress.” She breathed deeply, grimacing. Her gaze met mine. “I want to tell your father … but his greatest fear was your mind waking up and your body remaining asleep … So how about we give the oil a few more weeks to work before we tell him about your progress, it can be a surprise when you're up and about again.”
She squeezed my hand. I left mine limp. In seven sleeps she would see the extent of my recovery.
“So what would you like to wear today?” She asked throwing open my closet and grabbing a pair of my jeans. “Blink once for 'No' and twice for 'yes.'“
I'd made first contact. Soon I would blow Kurt away.
***
Three days. I love the night. Alone in the darkness I've mastered sitting up and walking while holding onto the bed. The darkness was broken with my quiet chatter, the times tables, songs I loved, and practice conversations with Kurt and mom.
The distance between my bed and desk was four paces. With my physical capabilities, it felt like fifty miles, but I needed my iPad.
The green digital clock clicked over 12:01. I could hear my breath in the silence as I swung my legs onto the floor. “Here I go.”
Pins and needles prickled in my feet and up my calves. The first step into the open space made me shiver. I wobbled like an inflated pin with water in the base, the room spun, but I managed to stay on my feet. The next step was easier, but the third was tricky and I fell into my swivel chair hard banging my thigh on the desk. I rubbed the spot. Pain was starting to lose its wonder, a sure sign I was recovering.
The glass-topped desk still contained my books from the day of the accident. My iPad lay in the only place uncluttered by medication or photo frames. I picked it up to discover the battery was flat. With a little effort I managed to plug it in and waited for the battery to charge sufficiently to turn it on.
Eleven minutes. It took eleven minutes for my iPad to have enough charge to turn on. I keyed two-four-zero-three, Kurt's birthday, to open the device. There were eighty-nine updates available. My email folder boasted 479 unopened emails. I flicked to the screen with the familiar blue f, and opened Facebook, time to get some intel on the enemy. There were 126 notifications, but I didn't bother to go there. I opened my profile, which had a photo of Kurt and me smiling. That would be the second thing I changed on my profile after my status to single.
My page was full of messages from friends and family. The most recent posts had been made on my birthday three months ago.
My best friend, Anna, had a new selfie wearing hideously oversized sunglasses. She looked older. Did I look older? Her message read. “If we lived in Australia you'd be legal. Happy 18th.” Two birthdays. I'd spent two birthdays as a vegetable. Gah. Anger coursed through my veins, I'd lost eighteen months of my life because of Kurt texting and driving.
I began searching to see if Kurt had written anything.
The light flicked on in my room. “What the … ”
***
Chloe stepped into my bedroom, her eyes wide and face paler than when she wore her goth makeup. I stood too fast causing the room to spin.
“Please don't tell anyone,” I whispered loudly.
Muffled sounds filtered through my parent's closed bedroom door across the hall. I stepped toward the bed, and tripped over my own feet. The carpet rose to meet me, and my hands cushioned the fall only slightly. Okay, I was totally over pain. I crawled toward the bed. Chloe wrapped her arm around my waist and half dragged, half carried me to the mattress.
“Chloe?” Mom's voice echoed across the hall.
I struggled to pull the blanket up. Chloe slapped my hands away and fixed the covers three seconds before mom walked through the door. Mom's hair looked like she'd been dragged through a bush backwards, and her pupils were way too big.
“Is everything all right?” Mom asked, scratching her head.
“I had a bad dream and wanted to check on Zoey,” responded Chloe, fiddling with the hem of her pajama top.
Mom nodded, a knowing look in her eyes. “I still have nightmares about the accident too.” She crossed the room to stand beside Chloe and me. “You know Zoey is going to get better, she's already getting better.”
Chloe furrowed her brow. “How do you know?”
Mom beamed at me. I blinked twice. “You see Zoey's already communicating. She blinks once for ‘no’ and twice for ‘yes’.”
Chloe narrowed her eyes at me. “Is that true?”
I blinked twice.
“Why didn't you tell us?” Chloe asked Mom, crossing her arms over her chest.
“You know how your father has struggled with my decisions … He worries so much about Zoey … “ Mom forced a smile. “But she's going to get better.”
Chloe looked away. “I'm sure she will.” She was pissed with me, but for some reason she wasn't selling me out.
“It's a lot to take in.” Mom wrapped an arm around my sister. “How about we all get some rest and we can talk more in the morning?”
“Can I just have a few minutes with Zoey?” Chloe said. “I just want to talk to her.”
Mom chewed her lip. “It's after midnight …”
“Tomorrow is Saturday. I can sleep late.”
Mom looked between us. “There’s still church in the morning.”
“But it doesn’t start
till ten, so I can roll out of bed at nine-thirty, and make up for any lost sleep during the service.” Chloe shrugged.
Mom shook her head smiling. “Haha, not funny … Fine, but only ten minutes. Then I'll text you from bed, if I'm not asleep.”
We all knew mom would not be asleep; she wouldn't sleep till everyone was safe in bed. She hugged Chloe and kissed my forehead and left.
Chloe grabbed the iPad and charger and plugged it in near the bed. She dragged the swivel chair from the desk to sit beside me, her eyes full of accusation. She pulled an iPhone from her bra, and showed me that she was clicking on the Snapchat app.
I opened Snapchat on the iPad. Chloe was already typing.
Chloe: Mom is listening. Message me.
I blinked twice, and she glared at me, before continuing to type at light speed.
Chloe: What the hell????? How long have you been walking and talking? How could you do this to mom?
Me: I thought I was dead all this time. I woke up about a month ago and have been training myself since.
Chloe: That doesn’t explain why you haven’t told mom!
Me: Do you know how my accident happened?
Chloe stared at the screen till well after my message had disappeared. A red blush crept through her blonde roots.
Me: It didn’t happen the way Kurt said it happened. He was texting.
Chloe’s head snapped up, so that her gaze met mine. “That worm!”
I pressed my index finger to my lips. “Shhhh.”
My sister’s fingers flew across the screen.
Chloe: That lying filthy low life scum. I hope he falls in a vat of honey and gets eaten by fire ants.
Me: Ditto.
Chloe looked into my eyes, and whispered, “I need to go to bed or Mom will come back. Still why didn’t you tell her about your recovering?”
“I don’t want Mom to tell Kurt’s parents in case he deletes the text he sent Junior,” I replied. “I want to catch him red-handed and publicly shame him like he shamed me.”
Chloe rolled her eyes. “You don’t need his phone. All you need is his phone records.” She tapped her black polished fingernail on her bottom lip. “Louie just started as a paralegal for Mr. Tyrol the personal claims lawyer …” Louie was Chloe’s best friend’s brother, who was six years my senior. Abel who was Chloe’s best friend often said that she was their seventh sibling, so if anyone could garner a favor from Louie, it was my sister. “Although I think texting and driving would be a criminal suit … Leave it with me. I’ll get you the phone records. How do you plan to take Kurt down?” Mom’s bedroom door clicked. Chloe grabbed my iPad and stuffed it under my pillow. “Goodnight,” she said too loudly, and dragged the swivel chair back to its place and turned out the lights. Chloe was out of the room before Mom could make her way across the hall.
Darkness filled the room. I listened as Mom said goodnight to Chloe and went back to bed. I waited for a few minutes, before pulling out the iPad and messaging Chloe.
Me: Are you there?
Chloe: So what’s your big plan?
I exhaled, and began typing. “I was thinking you would wheel me up to the lunch table Monday and I would stand up and take Kurt’s phone and tell him to tell everyone how the accident really happened.” It had seemed like an excellent idea, but looking at it on the screen made it seem small—insignificant.
Chloe: That’s your part. Let me do the rest. Practice walking and talking and rest up.
Me: What are you talking about?
Chloe: Don’t you worry your disabled self. Operation Destroy Kurt is on.
Me: What do you mean?
I waited for five minutes. Nothing.
Me: Chloe?
Still nothing.
Me: Hello?
She didn’t answer. My quaint little plan was taking on a life of it’s own and I wasn’t sure what to make of it.
***
Since Chloe knew about my recovery, acting paralysed became even harder, but she didn’t act any different the next morning. Everything was business as usual, until Chloe asked Mom if she could push me to our pew at church.
Mom’s voice was filled with pleasure behind me. “Of course. I think Zoey will really like that.”
We attended a church that looked older than the Bible, complete with stained glass windows and a huge pipe organ, which took up the front of the church. A piano played quietly off to the side of the pulpit and traditional pews lined either side of a long aisle, making our church one of the favourites to get married in.
Kurt and Amanda were standing beside the third pew from the front, opposite where my parents usually sat. Amanda was wearing a skirt short enough for a brothel and a top that left nothing to the imagination. I told myself not to judge, since church really shouldn’t be about externals.
Chloe picked up speed halfway down the aisle. Even without looking behind me, I knew she was up to something. We were headed straight for Kurt who had his back to us. I wanted to tell Chloe to slow down, to move or call out, but I couldn’t give away the game. My ears buzzed as the image of crashing into the tree flashed into my mind. I closed my eyes, hoping Chloe would slow down and swerve into our pew.
A few seconds later, Chloe called out, “Kurt.” I opened my eyes in time to see him turn before Chloe slammed my wheelchair into his legs. The safety belt kept me from falling out, but my feet fell from the footrests and my head flicked forward. Chloe rushed around to return me to my original position, while still brandishing her mobile.
“I’m so sorry, Kurt,” she said, fixing my head and placing my feet in the stirrups. “I was just checking Facebook and I didn’t notice you there. Are you okay?”
She rose from the floor to meet his gaze.
“I’m fine,” he said, his face flushed.
“Gawd, you should be more careful,” Amanda snapped, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “You could have hurt someone.”
Chloe cocked her head. “I guess I shouldn’t use my phone when I’m supposed to be paying attention to my surroundings. My bad. I’m sorry. I hope you can forgive me Kurt.” Her words came out so genuine; I could hardly believe it was my sister saying them.
“It’s no problem,” Kurt said, stepping back.
“You’re bleeding,” Amanda huffed, pointing to a small red stain spreading on the shin of Kurt’s pants.
Chloe covered her mouth with her hand. “I’m so sorry. Here I’m sure mom must have a bandaid here somewhere.” She started rooting around in the bag that hung from the back of my wheelchair. “Here.” Chloe handed him a skin-toned bandaid. “I think Mom uses these when she has to change the feeding bag from Zoey’s left arm to her right.”
Kurt held his hands up in refusal. “I’m fine, there’s no need for the bandaid.”
“Are you sure?” Chloe asked sweetly.
“What’s going on here?” Dad asked, his voice hard as steel.
“Nothing,” Kurt said, his face testing all the shades of the awkward colour wheel. “We were just about to sit down.” He grabbed Amanda’s hand and pulled her toward the front pew. Dad wheeled me to the opposite side of the church, and Chloe fell in beside me.
“Don’t ever talk to those people Chloe,” Dad said. The cold in his voice made my blood freeze in my veins. He parked my wheelchair at the end of the pew and walked past me without seeing me.
Chloe shrugged, and sat beside me. “Sorry Dad.” She typed on her phone, holding it at an angle so that only she and I could see the screen.
Stage one of Destroy Kurt complete.
***
Despite trying to Snapchat, Skype, Facebook and text Chloe, it wasn’t till Sunday after lunch that I finally got to talk to her. She asked mom if she could take me for a walk in the woods behind our house, and after much negotiation and a long list of instructions we finally left the house and followed the broad fire track into the woods.
My wheel chair bounced on the dusty road used by emergency vehicles during forest fire season. A green canopy
of leaves kept the burning sun at bay. Birds flitted across the track collecting food for their spring chicks. Chloe pushed my wheelchair off the main road down a winding track, which led to a small open space beside the creek. It was a spot which few people frequented, because only the local kids who played there knew about it. Our family had shared many picnics in the quiet clearing when I’d been younger.
With summer fast approaching it was full of white, pink, yellow and lilac wild flowers. Chloe parked the wheel chair and spread out a picnic blanket on the grass.
“Here,” she offered me her hand. “We’re safe here. Let me help you sit a little more comfortably.”
I took her hand and stepped out of the chair and slowly moved to the rug. It looked so inviting, I imagined lying on it and looking up at the clouds, but common sense took over. “I don’t think I can get up if I sit down there.”
Chloe shrugged. “I’ll help you.”
“I don’t know if I can get down there without hurting myself or ripping out my crap sack.”
My sister wrinkled her nose. “That is disgusting. Sit back in your chariot.”
I wanted to sit on the rug and run my fingers through the grass, but I wasn’t strong enough. The future held plenty of picnics; just be patient. I settled back into the wheel chair.
The warm breeze created ripples on the surface of the water. “This is beautiful,” I said, taking a deep breath.
Chloe shrugged. “It’s a place where no one would think to look for us, and we can have our privacy as there is only one way in and not many people know about it.”
“When did you become so sneaky?”
“About the same time you became veggie-capable.” She sat down on the blanket, stretching out her legs in front of her and leaning on her arms so that her face was pointing at the sky.
“Ha-ha, you’re a regular comedian.”
The right corner of her lip curled ever so slightly.
Spectral Tales: A Ghost Story Anthology Page 18