All of it was a reminder. How does one accept so many reminders all at once?
They don't. They just have to suffer through them.
Before I left my room, I thought once more of that voice. Why would she sing that song? Why would she sing at all, knowing that I could hear her?
I rolled my chair right back to the window, thumping into the wall and bed a few times, before I reached out and groped for the handle on the blinds. The smooth plastic felt so fragile in my hand. How effortless would it be for me to rip the whole thing down? I wouldn't see it fall, but I would hear it and feel it. Funny how that just wasn't enough.
I twisted the handle and only opened the blinds a tiny bit, or at least I hoped I did. I lifted the window until only a small crack was opened, and I listened.
The heat of summer in Morgan, Utah, was nothing compared to the scorching heat of that desert overseas. No matter how much I wanted to shut out the rest of the world, I couldn't bring myself to keep this window shut. Not when the warm breeze blowing into my room felt so invigorating. Safe.
I didn't hear anything for a while. Just the sound of a car passing by and birds chirping in the trees. Were those trees taller than I remembered?
I'd never know.
When there was nothing else, I finally decided to use the bathroom and go to bed. It took a lot longer than it should have, and my anger boiled all over again. I knew I smelled like the dump truck that hauled away the garbage every Thursday. My breath was awful, too, and I had dropped my toothbrush – again – and couldn't bend down to find it with my leg stuck in a ridiculous immobilizer. If it wasn't for the pillow my mom strapped to my foot, I would be crying out in pain every time I bumped into a wall. The damn leg was up and straight, for now, since my knee repair had been recent. No way bending over to find my toothbrush would be worth the pain.
I rolled back into my room, ignoring the rancid taste in my mouth. In sleep, I wouldn't register the lingering spices from the steak Mom cooked for me. I could deal with waiting until morning no matter how much it irked me. I'd dealt with a lot worse just a few months ago. You get used to sleeping in a box and smelling your sweat and grime. You get used to not having much more than what you could carry.
And you learn to appreciate the fact that you are even alive.
I finally found the window again and sighed with relief. Almost two months of mapping out the house I grew up in and it still took me forever to find something. Mom tried to help me remember the layout. She even placed rough stickers on the walls throughout, signaling me when it was time to turn the chair. There were changes all over the place to help accommodate my situation. It was more than I could ask for, but it was still difficult to adapt to. Once my other arm was working, it would be easier.
Fuck that. It would never be easier because I still couldn't see!
"Stop whining, you asshole," I whispered harshly and took a few deep breaths to calm myself.
There is a reason for my survival. God does not give these trials to those that cannot endure them.
I repeated the words my post trauma therapist had given me, but didn't feel them no matter how hard I tried. Still, I kept at it because I wasn't a quitter.
I had been given a chance to pull myself together. The same people that paid for Mom and Dad to travel to Germany to see me were the ones that provided the counseling that would supposedly help me cope. I was grateful for the help, but doubtful of the success.
I sat by the window for a few minutes longer, listening for the sound of someone moving in that room. Had these two houses always been so close together? I couldn't remember the exact distance, and I could never remember hearing much of anything back in the day. Now, it was as if everything was happening in my room when I heard the rattle of a doorknob.
My muscles tightened, sending an immediate pain through my leg and arm. Was that her? What the hell was her name?
"Are you sure it's okay, Mom?"
"Grace, you need a car. I'll get a ride with Karla in the morning. It'll be fine."
Grace.
Grace Samuelson.
I remembered her, but only because we'd been neighbors since the third grade. I couldn't remember her face, though. Was she the blonde that always followed me around the cafeteria junior year? No, that was the chick who ended up dating my friend, Kyle Gale, later that year.
What about the red head who was in my chemistry class and whose shirts were always too tight? No, that was the chick who ended up pregnant for graduation.
I could only remember the name.
Grace.
I lived next to her for years and couldn't see her face in my mind.
I was an asshole of the highest order for treating my mom the way I did, but this one took the cake. What kind of dick did a guy have to be to not know what the neighbor girl looked like? Did I ever even talk to her?
I couldn't remember if I had.
Wait! I did remember helping to fix her car once. It had saved me from running into Shannon Connors that first day of senior year. Shannon always waited for me in the morning, and being late that day saved me a few more days of her not knowing where my locker was. The girl could be annoying as hell, but she had a body that most of the guys in school drooled over. Sleeping with her was still one of my biggest mistakes.
"Thanks, Mom. I'll see you in the morning then. Goodnight."
The sound of her door closing was the last thing I heard for what could have been more than five minutes. She was just standing there. I would hear if she moved, wouldn't I?
Grace sighed and that's when I heard her footsteps shuffle across the room, then the sound of a zipper. Was she undressing? No, the zipper sounded larger than one would on clothing. Was it a backpack or a suitcase?
A few more moments of silence. Then she spoke. "I'm sorry about the song. I won't sing it again."
She knew I was there, but I couldn't bring myself to move. She couldn't see me, could she? Hell, I could have opened the blinds too far and not realized it. Should I continue to stay still? Pretend I'm not there, just breathing and listening. What would I say anyway?
"I'm glad you're safe now, Merrick."
Those were the last words she spoke before I heard the sound of her window sliding shut.
"I'm not," I replied, quietly.
Because I wasn't. I wasn't glad that I was safe and my friends weren't. I wasn't glad that I made it home while one of my men was still deep in a coma at the hospital in Germany because every time they tried to move him, he crashed. I wasn't glad that my best friend almost didn't make it home to his wife and unborn child.
I was miserable here, and I would be miserable tomorrow.
I struggled to get into bed, quickly giving up on removing my shirt and pants. I would just have to sleep in them and deal with the fight in the morning when Mom came to help me change. I would have to shower, too. That just added a whole new set of humiliations. The last time my mom had to bathe me herself, I had no idea that war even existed. I was a child. Now, I had regressed back to that pitiful state, knowing more about war than I cared to admit.
Sleep never came easy. Tonight was no different. The nightmares plagued me off and on, and I woke too many times to count; the same image in my mind. My brothers, my friends, the men that risked their lives for me every day and whom I risked mine for ... they all surrounded me. But they weren't the smiling, laughing group I had come to know before that day. They were all dead, bloodied and broken. And I was left standing there, unable to close my eyes and block out the pain. I looked down at my body to see my flesh on fire, feel the blood running down my face. I saw my leg bent awkwardly in several places. Then I screamed, knowing I couldn't get to any of them. Knowing I couldn't help them.
That's when I woke up and forced myself to stay awake.
***
"I'm hiring a nurse."
I almost choked on the shitty oatmeal I had insisted on making for myself. Mom wasn't one to drop bombs before saying, 'Hello, sweetie. How are you
feeling today?' No, she was officially done, and I only had myself to blame. It was two days since the blow up with my mother. She'd barely said two words to me in all the time she was here. She stopped staying the night, though, so I figured she was still upset that she actually lost that battle.
"You what?"
"I'm hiring a nurse to come help you. I've tried. You don't want me here, which hurts, but I can deal with it. I don't know what you're going through, and I can't pretend to know, but I can distance myself enough to let you deal. I'm hiring a professional to come and help you get cleaned up, take your meds, help with your therapy, and teach you how to adjust."
"I don't need a–"
"I don't care, Merrick. It's happening and I swear to God if you treat her badly, I will be back here wiping your ass and coddling you the very next day."
Well, she had me there.
"Her?"
"Yes, her. Homecare just took on a new nurse and I'm hiring her to come here."
"Who is it?"
"I haven't spoken with her, yet, but I have no doubt she will be able to handle you."
Handle me? Well, I guess she had me there, too.
"Micah is coming by in a few minutes to stay with you. I'm going to go interview the nurse and, if all goes well, she will be starting tomorrow."
I wanted to scream that Micah was the last person I wanted to see, but he was better than Mary and Mitch. My older sister and youngest brother could be annoying as hell, and they relished the idea of pissing me off. Especially since I'd done nothing but bitch and complain since I had gotten home. Their visits became less and less frequent, including Micah's. But he and I were always the closest, and I had a little hope that he would know to leave me the hell alone today.
"He was working the ER last night so go easy on him. Okay, Merrick?"
"Yeah," I grunted, digging back into my oatmeal. God, I sucked at cooking. If I couldn't make oatmeal taste like food, I was screwed.
I pushed the bowl of mush away from me and attempted to turn my chair toward the hallway. I missed it by inches and crashed into the wall. Mom didn't even hesitate. I felt her grab hold of the handles behind me and turn me before guiding my chair to my room. She wasn't going to let me go without a fight and, for the sake of my sanity the love she had for her second child, I would have to comply.
"You're getting in the shower."
"Mom, I don't want you to hurt yourself."
"You say that every time," she snapped and helped me take off my shirt. "I haven't hurt myself once. You may think you're a tough soldier, but you are still my boy. I don't care how heavy you are, I will always be able to lift my boy."
Mom was just tossing me left and right today. How many times would she put me in my place before Micah showed up?
A shower that should have taken five minutes, took thirty. I tried to dress myself, but it was no use. My hand ached, my leg throbbed, and my entire body felt like it was on fire.
"Did you take any medication this morning?" Mom asked.
I was suddenly grateful that looking her in the eye was not an option.
"I don't need it."
"You do."
It was the shake of a pill bottle that signaled my doom. Before I could argue, she had shoved them in my mouth and forced me to drink water. I hated the pills. I hated the heavy feeling, the numbness. And they made me groggy. It was uncomfortable to sleep in my chair, but when I took the pain meds, it's where I ended up. I wouldn't have the strength to get into bed.
"Right. I'm going to make you boys some sandwiches before I leave. I'm putting you by the window. It's opened."
The way she said it ... it was mischievous. Like she knew something I didn't, which grated on my nerves. Blindness was the worst thing that could possibly happen to me because I hated not knowing what something looked like or what was happening around me.
I'd always been that way, but after the things I saw during my tour, it became pure instinct. A need that I could no longer access.
I sat and brooded for a long time before I felt the pain meds kick in. They took longer and longer to work each time. It only made me hate them more.
My ears picked up the sound of movement on my right, the side the window was on. Mom had at least thought about that in her haste to leave me alone. My right side looked normal while the left side of my face looked ...
Fuck, I had no idea what it looked like or how many scars covered my cheek and jaw. All I knew was that my skin didn't feel like skin and my eyes didn't feel like they were even in my head anymore.
I heard it then. Her voice. It was sexy and smoky, and I could only imagine what kind of face came with a voice like that. She was only humming. The melody was familiar, but I couldn't place it. Not until she started singing and I realized how badly I needed to hear her after only one time.
"Somebody's Heine'
is crowdin' my ice box
Somebody's cold one
Is givin' me chills
Guess I'll just close my eyes.
Oh yeah
Alright
Feels good
Inside."
God damn. Those words, in that voice.
How long had it been since I felt any movement down there? A long damn time. If only I could remember her face. I'm sure I saw her plenty over the years. Weezer was one of my favorite bands back in the day and for her to know that, well, I guess that just means she had seen me plenty, too. The fact that I even considered she was singing just for me showed how much of a dumbass I truly was.
"Say it ain't so
Your drug is a heartbreaker
Say it ain't so
My love is a lifetaker."
I closed my eyes and just listened, not even thinking about seeing. The way she sang the song, one that normally sounded strange; she made it sound like a fucking prayer. She slowed the melody to a pace that could only be considered a love song. And the way her voice hit the notes, as if the song had been written for her voice alone. Damn. It was phenomenal.
Peace.
I felt calm, sitting there listening to Grace Samuelson sing.
I felt like nothing else mattered, except listening to her voice caress each note, each word. It was serenity.
"Say it ain't so
Your drug is a heartbreaker
Say it ain't so."
"Merrick! Can you hear me?"
I pointlessly turned my head, expecting to see my brother's face, but still only seeing blackness. Grace's singing abruptly stopped, and I knew I was caught. I didn't even know if the blinds were open as I shamelessly eavesdropped on her quiet moment.
I clenched my fists, embarrassed that Micah had basically ratted me out. "I can hear better than you think, Micah."
"I've been calling for you since I got here and when I walked in here, you looked like you were sleeping. You were so still. Had to make sure you were alive."
"Asshole."
Micah laughed, which made me want to laugh with him, but I didn't. I couldn't.
"Come on, man. Mom made some killer sandwiches."
I maneuvered my chair with one hand and my good leg, then rolled myself around my bed.
"Hey, isn't that Grace?"
I stopped and hoped he could see the glare I was supposedly sending his way.
"Hi, Grace. How you doin'?"
Closing my eyes didn't hide me, but I still hoped my brother was just playing with me.
"Micah Thatcher. I'm doing well. How are you?"
"Can't complain," my brother called a little loudly, making me flinch away. "I heard you were back in town."
"Yeah, for a while."
"We'll have to get together sometime and catch up."
"I'd like that, Micah."
I could hear the smile in her voice, and I instantly hated my brother. All she would have to do is look at me and her smile would be wiped away. The only chance I had with her was listening to her sing.
A chance with her? What the hell, Merrick?
"I'm hungr
y, Micah, so get out of my way."
I heard my brother sigh and felt his body move to the side of me. Without pausing, I rolled my way into the hallway, away from their voices. Micah was asking about something to do with the hospital and I shook my head. He needed to work on his flirting skills. He was at work all the time. Couldn't he just leave it there?
My bitterness only heightened by the time lunch was finished. Micah went on and on about Mary and Mitch, telling me what they were up to, that they said 'Hi', and they were worried about me. I stayed quiet and ignored the information, pretending not to hear his questions. Once I took my last bite of the delicious sandwich Mom made, I rolled away from the kitchen and placed myself at the window that looked out into the backyard.
At least, I hoped that was where I was.
There was no point in placing myself anywhere because the view was always the same, but Micah took the hint and left me alone the rest of the day. He only showed up in front of me to help with something I should have been able to do myself. I'm pretty sure he took a nice long nap, too.
No nightmares to wake him and no pain to make him suffer. But he left me alone and that's exactly what I wanted.
I was bored, groggy, and in pain. Wishing for sleep and dreading it all at once. By the time Micah left, Mom had returned and was helping me get ready for bed. She hummed to herself as she guided my injured arm out of the sleeve of my shirt. Hell, I could have been wearing pink all day and never known.
"The nurse is going to be here bright and early, Merrick. She's wonderful and I know you'll like her."
"What's her name?" I asked, suddenly curious about the woman my mother was going to trust her son not to kill. I completely ignored the voice in my head telling me why names were suddenly important now.
"Oh, I don't think you know her that well. I'll introduce you tomorrow and show her around. You better behave or I'll tell her where your guns are hidden."
I scoffed and rolled my eyes. The ache I felt each time I moved them was there, but it had dulled and the medication almost made it non-existent. Now, it just felt like holes in my head that throbbed on occasion.
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