Ascent

by M. C. Zappitello

  In short, I genuinely didn't feel like I knew who I was.

  Other uncertainties had naturally followed: If I wasn't sure about me, how could Will be? What if I turned out to be a different person than he remembered, than he believed that I was, and he decided that he didn't want me after all? Maybe it wasn't me that he had wanted all along, but someone he had created in his own mind. Someone that I wasn’t and couldn't be.

  Will’s behavior yesterday surely confirmed all these misgivings. Didn’t it?

  I hadn't planned to have a breakdown―if that's what it was. I didn't handle myself at all well. In fact, I had behaved very badly. And that was part of who I was. How could anyone want that?

  What a crazy roller coaster ride the whole thing had been. Did I really want a life like this? In love one minute, lunatic the next? Or were they really the same thing?

  Question after question, but no answers.

  Maybe too many things had changed too fast.

  Again, I simply did not know.

  "Help!" I cried aloud in my confused anguish. But who would hear, let alone help me?

  The doorbell rang.

  I froze.

  I hadn't gotten around to crying yet―which continued to puzzle me as my insides were certainly weeping―but I still looked awful. I hadn't done anything to myself since early yesterday, and I wasn’t sure that I wanted to be seen, regardless.

  Maybe I should at least check to see who it was.

  I went and looked through the peephole as the doorbell rang again―this time twice in rapid succession. It was Melinda! My heart jumped to see her, but my head was unsure about the wisdom of letting her in right then.

  My heart won, and I opened the door.

  "Well, it's about time," she complained. Yup. Melinda.

  "Would you like to sit down?" I asked too politely.

  "Yes. I would." She went into the living room and sat near one end of the sofa. I followed and sat at the other end.

  She didn't waste any time. "Why are you here instead of at our house?"

  "I, um, need some space."

  "Why? You're embarrassed because you were so upset yesterday that you screamed at Will, and Dad had to give you a sedative?"

  I must have been aware on some level that she would know, but I hadn't wanted to acknowledge it―even to myself.

  "Well?"

  She certainly had a way of cutting to the chase. And, for better or worse, she was right. "I guess so. But that's not all."

  "Okay. Then what's the rest of it?"

  Melinda wasn't going to settle for anything less than the whole truth, so I decided that I may as well give it to her and be done with it.

  "I'm not sure about everything I'm feeling. But I know I can't stand to live with myself any more feeling guilty about all the times I've hurt Will―in the past and the present. And everybody else. And everything feels strange and familiar at the same time. It confuses me so much, I don't know which way is up. And I remember things, and it hurts all over again. And I don't know whether I'm the person I was, or the person I am, or something in between. Damn it, Melinda! I just don't know anything anymore." (Profanity? Me? Whoa . . . .)

  "And?" Melinda crossed her arms and stared at me.

  Finally, the tears. (What interesting timing, I observed to myself.) They multiplied quickly. And my lower lip began trembling. That was adding insult to injury, so I bit down on it. Hard.

  "Well, Cassie?"

  Oh, what difference would it make if I said it out loud? "I'm not good enough for Will! Okay?!"

  Melinda sat back, uncrossed her arms, and, of all things, smiled. "You know, Cassie, that is probably the most stupid idea I have ever heard in my life. And, believe me, I've heard some pretty stupid ideas." She looked briefly thoughtful. "Actually, it would have to tie for the most stupid. Will has been known to say he isn't good enough for you, and that is just as idiotic."

  She sat forward and spoke more quietly. "Cassie, something else happened, didn't it? Did Will say or do something?"

  How could she know? Heavy sigh. Might as well make a clean breast of it. "Actually, it's what he didn't say and didn't do."

  "Huh?"

  This was going to sound so pathetic. Especially with tears streaming down my face. And the lower lip thing. And now my breathing was going haywire. Oh, well. Better get it over with. Sooner said, sooner done. "I a-asked him to h-help me and he didn't even answer me. He j-just called your dad."

  "So that's what he didn't say?"

  "Y-yes."

  "Okay. What didn't he do?"

  "H-he was supposed to stay w-with me while I was asleep. But it was your d-dad that was there after I w-woke up."

  "Is that everything?"

  I thought about it for a minute. "Y-yes."

  Melinda looked at me with a gravity and understanding beyond her years. "Thank you for telling me." Then she quite deliberately sat straight up and folded her hands together in her lap. "Now this is what we're going to do―

  "First, you are going to realize that you are a human being―although with a lot of extra junk to deal with right now―who has bad days, and a temper, and occasionally falls apart like the rest of us."

  What?

  "While you are doing that, I'm going to go out and tell Will what you told me. He's waiting in the car. (He's been so upset he hasn't even been able to read your mind―or whatever you guys call it―so he could find out for himself.) And he's going to come in and explain what really happened. Then you two will kiss and whatever and make up."

  Oh, dear.

  "And, finally, you are going to shower and change as quickly as possible and come have brunch with us because I refused to eat unless Will brought me here and you came back with us, and I’m starving." She paused, putting her hand up by her mouth as she was wont to do when speaking confidentially, "Not that he needed any convincing. You'll see."

  She got up and started out the open front door, leaving it that way. "So there," she concluded before letting the storm door close behind her.

  Since I was already realizing that what she said was true, I worked on slowing down the flow of tears before she returned. With Will.

  It took a few seconds over four minutes―by the wall clock―for her to come back and open the storm door for Will. He stepped inside. I immediately saw that his eyes were not only somewhat red and swollen, they also had circles under them. His face looked pale, and tired, and very sad. I sensed that he was open enough for me to confirm his sincerity, but not so much as to invite unnecessary hurt.

  He cleared his throat. "I didn't answer you because everything I said seemed to upset you more. I thought it would be better if Dad took over and I didn't say anything to you for a while."

  He took a deep breath. "I was with you the whole time you were asleep. When you woke up, you covered your face. I thought you didn't want to see me, let alone talk to me. So I left to tell Dad that you were awake, like he asked me to."

  He cleared his throat again. "The next thing I knew," his voice gave, as it did again when he continued, "you were gone."

  Of course. It had to be something so simple. And foolish―meaning me, not him.

  It felt like my turn. Okay. Crying and lower lip under control, for the moment. "I covered my face because I was so ashamed of myself and the way I yelled at you and everything," control fading, "I couldn't b-believe you would even w-want to be around me any m-more." The last of the control dissolved away as the tears again flowed freely.

  "Silly girl," Will commented lovingly as he opened his arms for me. I rushed into them, burrowing deep into his embrace. “Couldn’t have been more wrong,” he concluded. And I couldn’t have been more relieved about being wrong.

  "Ahem!" sounded almost immediately in our ears. "Starving person here, remember? And I'll bet you two haven't eaten since before this all began."

  "Don't I even get to kiss her?" Will complained.

  "Wait until after she's showered and brushed her teeth. It will be mor
e pleasant then." Interesting.

  "No." He took my face in his hands and gave me one sweet, gentle kiss. "More later?" he asked.

  "Yes, please," I answered.

  "Alright, alright. Let's get going. I'll come help," Melinda offered, putting her hands on my shoulders and steering me toward my bedroom. And she did help. While I showered, and so on (I didn't attempt mascara―my eyes were too puffy), she not only picked out some clothes for me to put on, she also unpacked for me. (I had left my packed suitcase sitting in the middle of the bedroom floor.) "It will save you time later," she stated very practically when I thanked her. "Besides, I like you. In spite of all the PDA's."

  "Why, thank you. I like you, too." I paused. "And, um, thanks for the intervention."

  "No problem." She grinned. "Must be genetic. Dad and all, you know?” Her expression became contemplative. “Actually, you might want to thank Heavenly Father. I wanted to do something, but didn’t know what. So I asked Him. He told me what to do, and I did it. As well as I could, anyway. Seems like it worked,” she concluded, and shrugged.

  Yes. It did.

  "Okay. Let's go," she directed. And we did. Will took possession of my hand when I reached my bedroom door, and barely let go of it for the rest of the day. As if I would have let him.

  Dr. and Mrs. Stuart were quite happy that I came back with Melinda and, especially, Will. "We still need to process what happened, Cassie. But I think it can wait for a while. It looks like the basics have already been taken care of. Why don't we plan on next Saturday, unless you decide you want to do it before then?"

  "Sounds good. Thank you." Then I added, "For everything."

  "You are most welcome, my Dear." I didn't remember him calling me that before. Wait a minute. Yes, I did. "You used to call me that, didn't you?"

  "Yes. Rather often, in fact." That was nice to remember. And nice felt particularly healing just then.

  I probably didn't need to say anything, but I wanted to. "I'm really sorry about all the noise and upset yesterday," I apologized, primarily addressing Will's mom.

  "Oh, Cassie, please don't worry about it. It just goes with the territory. You should hear all the noise Will and Melinda can make when they want to. And it lasts quite a while sometimes."

  "Oh, Mom," Melinda whined.

  "Shall we eat?" suggested Dr. Stuart. As it was almost eleven and everyone was obviously hungry, the resounding response was, "Yes." It was delicious, as usual. Some kind of omelet, and fruit. Oh, and toast. We ate and cleaned up and gathered in the family room. Will's parents and Melinda played a game on the table in front of the sofa, while Will and I didn't watch the movie that was playing for our benefit. Couldn't really help it. We were both exhausted and fell asleep in the corner of the sofa with our arms around each other.

  We had barely moved and still had our arms around each other when they woke us up for dinner. After dinner, we watched while the rest of the family played card games. I was glad Will didn't want to join them, because I had some questions for him that needed answering.

  Why do you put up with me? was the first one, and I asked it as soon as we were back on the sofa.

  He stared at me, dumbfounded. "What in the world are you talking about?"

  Wasn't it ridiculously obvious? I keep self-destructing, and you just . . . .

  "I just what?"

  How to put this. I'm still here. With you.

  "Of course you are. Where else would you be? Where else would I want you to be?"

  Away from you. It was hard to say.

  Now he caught on. "Why? Because you're going through some really hard stuff, and you don't always handle it as well as you'd like?"

  Something like that. Yes.

  He put both arms around me and pulled me close. "You didn't see me after you left."

  You mean yesterday?

  He thought. "Then, too, I suppose. But I mean when Ben brought you here." He paused. "That was much worse."

  How much worse? Was I sure I wanted to know? Yes. I want to see, Will.

  He looked at me, but didn't answer. He did let me sense that he wasn’t at all sure I ought to take that on right away. Yesterday was probably enough for a while.

  But yesterday wasn't resolved for me yet. And it wouldn't be until I saw and understood how he came back from that accident―how he healed. So I could know for myself that he truly had.

  Please?

  I could feel him relenting. "Dad, could Cassie and I borrow your study? We need to . . . talk." "And that would be the safest place right now," he added for my benefit. He was feeling extraordinarily protective of me, and didn't want that to evolve into something we had planned not to do. So, no bedrooms. There was also the issue of sparing his family as much as possible should it be more than I could bear well. Hence, the privacy of his father's study.

  Dr. Stuart studied our faces. "Are you sure?" he asked both of us.

  "Cassie is," Will responded.

  His father deliberated for a moment, then reluctantly nodded. "I'll be right here." He wasn't so sure that I was ready for anything more, either.

  "Thanks." Will led me slowly to the study, making time to sort through the memories of his recovery in order to soften my experience of them. (I just knew.) He closed the door behind us, then walked me around to the sofa. Taking me securely in his arms on his lap, he warned, "I'm going to stop cold if you show any signs of a panic attack, or hysteria―or anything. For my sake as well as yours."

  "I understand." It was reassuring to know he would take care of himself. And that he would do so in spite of my wishes, if necessary.

  "Good," he responded. He said nothing further, but he showed me a lot.

  It began at a hospital. It was morning, with the light from the rising sun increasing through the open blinds in the large window. It must have been the day after we jumped, because Will was lying on his back in a gown in a bed in a hospital room, and had obviously undergone surgery.

  His perspective was foggy. From medication, I guessed. But I could see that there were two rows of metal screw-like things sticking out of each lower leg, the ends attached to two metal bars on each leg running parallel to each other with connecting pieces between them, holding them in place. Some blood and fluids still oozed from the open skin where the metal entered his legs. There was an I.V. in his left hand, and I could feel with him what he explained to be oxygen at his nose. There were other things attached to him, but he didn't remember them very well.

  He did recall clearly how I was lying next to him on the bed―at his insistence and over the nurse's objection―when his father and Ben came in to get me. I noticed that I was still in my clothes from the previous day. Will's memory led me to know that I had stuck to him "like glue" (his ten-year-old expression)―except during surgery, of course.

  It felt as if part of him was being torn away as I got up to leave. I told him I loved him, hugging him around the tubes and all. "I love you, too,” he said, trying to smile. He was intent on making our parting as painless as possible for me. But his heart felt like it ripped clear through when I left the room. By the time his father returned later―knowing that my memory had been sealed so that I no longer remembered him, and that there was no way of telling when we would be together again―Will was sobbing convulsively, which in turn was stressing his already overtaxed body and causing tremendous pain in his injured legs.

  Dr. Stuart did what he could to comfort Will while waiting for the nurse to bring the drugs that eased his son's physical pain and put him to sleep. But the emotional torment continued.

  I only caught a glimpse of the disturbing dreams that harassed him in his sleep before he quickly cut them off.

  I shuddered, and Will pulled me closer. "Still sure?" he questioned me.

  Yes, I answered firmly.

  He took a deep breath, and we continued.

  I could tell that he edited his recollections more extensively from that point on. He allowed me to see the flowers and cards and balloons and visit
ors he had in the hospital. And that his mom slept in the room with him every night. She also stayed there every morning while Melinda was in preschool. She would leave around lunchtime to get Melinda, catch up on things at home, then be back about dinnertime with Melinda.

  Will's dad would come straight from Paladin and the whole family would be together for as long as possible before Dr. Stuart would take Melinda home to bed. In the morning, he would get her ready and take her to preschool on his way to work.

  Will wouldn't let me see the afternoons in the hospital. He did his best to be as cheerful as possible around his family and the hospital staff, or any visitors that might come. But it was so draining for him to keep that up for as long as he did every day, he must have let it go during the time he wouldn't show me. (Some day, I would insist on seeing. But he was right―not today.)

  One thing he couldn't edit out entirely was the fact that he was so used to having me with him and talking to me―both internally and externally―that he would habitually reach for me in one way or another without even thinking. Then, when the reality of my absence struck him yet again, he would react in different ways depending on the circumstances. Sometimes he would try to suppress his grief, attempting to keep it from those around him. Other times, he became angry, pounding on the mattress with both fists until it hurt his legs too much to continue. But from what I could see―which were only the bits and pieces that slipped through Will's censorship―most of the time he would throw his arms across his eyes, trying to smother his anguish until the tears were too much to hold back.

  He wasn't entirely certain about the time frame, but it was at least a couple of weeks later that he went home―to another hospital bed and a wheelchair. The family room in their house had been rearranged to accommodate the bed, the wheelchair, and a bedside commode. There was a welcome home sign, along with balloons and streamers. And a lot of relief on the part of his parents. It was easier to have him home than to continue the rigorous hospital stay schedule―in most respects.