Something Like Lightning

by Jay Bell

  But first he needed to close his eyes, just for a moment, so he could marinate in these waves of bliss.

  Kelly wasn’t sleeping. Not exactly. A trance? Is that what this was? His body felt far away, his mind happy to entertain thoughts and images with little form and even less purpose. Most of all he was content, which made it all the more jarring when someone shook him.

  “Kelly? Oh Jesus! Honey, wake up!”

  He opened his eyes a fraction, wincing against the volume of his mother’s voice. Then his lids shot open because she was holding the prescription bottle, lips moving as she read the chemical name. Then she turned and shouted another name.

  “Doug! Get in here! Something’s wrong with Kelly!”

  “I’m fine,” he grunted. “Calm down.”

  His mother turned to him, her relief only fleeting. “How many of these did you take?”

  “Just one,” he lied.

  “Why do you even have them?”

  “Phantom pain,” he lied again.

  His mother shook her head. “These aren’t for you. If you’re having problems, we’ll go see the doctor.”

  “They wouldn’t give me any more painkillers. You know that.”

  “So you asked Bonnie’s sister for these?”

  Kelly sighed. He needed to keep blame away from that family. The last thing he wanted was his mother to start making phone calls. “I took them myself. I was looking for aspirin at her house when I noticed them.”

  “You stole these?”

  “They were trash,” he said. “They made Eli sick, and she didn’t need them anymore.”

  “You don’t either,” his mother said. “You only need what the doctor gives you.”

  Kelly didn’t agree, but what really upset him was his mother walking out of the room. With his pills. “Wait,” he said, sitting up. “I’m fine. You know that, right?”

  “I don’t know that, but I’m getting your father.”

  “Okay, but hold on. Just leave the pills here, all right? You don’t know what it’s like. My leg hurts.”

  “Then we’ll take you to the doctor.”

  “They won’t give me what I need!” Kelly said, his temper rising, even through the fog of opiates. “If they do, it’ll be the same pills, so there’s no sense in them going to waste.”

  His mother looked him square in the eye. “I’m getting rid of these pills, young man.” She turned to leave again.

  “Fucking stop!” Kelly shouted. He tried to stand to go after her, and he made it a few hops, but his head was still swimming and he lost his balance. Before Kelly could right himself, he toppled over, slamming a shoulder against the dresser. The pain came slower than it might have usually, but it was still enough to make him wince.

  “Doug!” his mother shouted, tossing the pills aside and kneeling to help him. Royal showed up first, then his father. Kelly, feeling humiliated, was helped to the bed. He rubbed his shoulder, ignoring his mother’s tears and his father’s questions. Instead he stared at the carpet, where the bottle of pills sat. Then he made himself look away, hoping they would be forgotten.

  “I’m fine,” he said, answering their questions at last. “Everyone is freaking out over nothing.”

  “Are you really overdosing?” Royal asked skeptically. “Wouldn’t you be puking? Or convulsing.”

  “Exactly,” Kelly said, grateful for his brother’s big mouth. Now he just needed everyone out of his room. And away from the pills. “Isn’t it dinnertime? Let’s go. We can talk while we eat.”

  “What’s going on?” William appeared in the doorway, took in the concerned expressions, and rushed into the room. His foot kicked the pills, causing a rattle. When he heard the noise, he stooped to pick up the bottle, face still concerned. “Is everyone okay? What happened?”

  Kelly didn’t answer. Instead he felt anger as his mother snatched the bottle of pills from William and left the room, shaking her head as if it were his fault. It wasn’t, but Kelly couldn’t help noticing that, once again, William had inadvertently cost him his happiness.

  Allison Cross, LPC, NCC Kelly kept glancing between the name plate on the desk and the actual woman. Allison was currently stapling together papers that his mother had filled out. While doing so, she idly chatted about last night’s thunderstorm, which had brought down both trees and power lines. The words were mostly lost on Kelly, as he tried to decipher what the abbreviations after her name meant. Licensed Pill Curer? Narcs Can’t Crave? Neither was remotely likely. He knew at least one “C” stood for counselor, because that’s who he was here to see.

  So far he wasn’t impressed. Allison didn’t have her own secretary. The small waiting room held only a few chairs, all of them empty. People weren’t exactly lining up to have their heads examined by her.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  Kelly nodded. He didn’t have a choice.

  Allison opened the door to another room, this one larger and more impressive. Kelly swung in on his crutches, noticing two couches facing a table. To one side was the classic reclining-patient couch with a chair next to it. No way was he doing that. He headed for the couch, noticing that his mother had remained in the waiting room, the door to it shut now. He took a seat, Allison sitting directly opposite him on the other couch.

  Kelly avoided looking at her, choosing instead to examine the many potted plants. Or the fat candle with three wicks, which seemed superfluous since plenty of natural light came from the large window on the far wall.

  “Hello there!” The woman waved to get his attention. “I’m Allison. Nice to meet you.”

  “Kelly,” he responded. Was this the first test because... “We already did intros in the front room.”

  “I know,” Allison said, “but sometimes when I show up somewhere new, I get a little flustered and the details pass me by. Especially if I’m nervous.”

  “I’m not nervous,” Kelly insisted.

  “Great. How are you feeling?”

  Aside from nervous? He considered the question. Allison watched him with wide eyes. She looked concerned and genuinely interested, but then again, that was her job. He decided to be honest. At least it would give him a chance to vent. “I’m upset,” he answered.

  “Okay. What about?”

  “I don’t want to be here. I shouldn’t be because I’m not crazy.”

  “Definitely not,” Allison said easily. “If you were, you wouldn’t be talking to me.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m a counselor, not a psychologist. I’m not here to diagnose or prescribe medicine. I’m just here so we can talk. And maybe we can work through a few of your problems along the way.”

  “I already have friends I can talk to,” Kelly said.

  “Sure, but sometimes a fresh perspective can be invaluable. It’s also nice to have someone you can trust with your secrets. Some things you can’t say to your friends because the truth might hurt their feelings. You don’t have to worry about my feelings, Kelly, and your secrets are safe with me.”

  He considered her again. This was all a trap, right? Then again, what did he have to lose? The worst of it was out already. “I took a few pills the other night,” he said. “My mom found them and flipped. Now she thinks I’m a pill junkie like my Aunt Mary, which is ridiculous, because I’m pretty sure you need a steady supply of pills before you can become an addict.”

  “That would certainly make it easier,” Allison said. “So what drove you to take those pills?”

  “The pain,” Kelly answered instantly.

  “Your leg?”

  Kelly huffed.

  Allison studied him a moment. “Ah, that sort of pain. I can relate. I used to get pretty blitzed in college. In retrospect, I wasn’t just drinking to feel drunk. I was drinking to stop myself from feeling other things.” “Like what?”

  “The pain caused by my father’s death. I’d get a little drunk, and usually start crying over it all, but I knew if I kept drinking, I wouldn’t feel a thing. Well, beside
s plastered that night and hungover the next morning. But at the time I thought the discomfort was worth it. What about you?”

  “I don’t have any booze to get plastered with.”

  “No, I mean why do you take pills? The buzz feels good, but is there something you’re trying to escape?”

  “Myself,” Kelly answered, his throat feeling tight. Allison nodded as if this made sense, but it couldn’t, because Kelly barely understood it himself.

  “If you could travel back in time one year and give yourself a bottle of pills, do you think the Kelly from back then would take them?”

  “No,” he said instantly. “I didn’t need them then.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because that Kelly had everything. Maybe I didn’t realize it then, but I had it all.”

  “And now you don’t?”

  Kelly frowned. “Nope.”

  “Tell you what,” Allison said. She slid a pad of paper across the table to him. Then she tossed him a pen, forcing him to catch it. “Why don’t you make me a list of all the things you’ve lost in the past year. Take your time. I’m going to sit here playing Bejeweled on my phone. It’s a dumb game, but personally, I can never concentrate if I know someone is staring at me.”

  “You want me to write down what I’ve lost?” Kelly asked incredulously.

  “Yup.” Allison already had her phone out and was pressing buttons. “Oh! Be sure to write ‘What I’ve Lost’ at the top and underline it. That’ll make it feel more official.”

  He stared at her, but she didn’t laugh. In fact, she already seemed completely absorbed in her game. Well, she wouldn’t get much play time out of him. This was going to be a very short list. He wrote out the title of the paper, just as she asked, then on the first line he wrote the first and last entry.

  My leg.

  Simple as that. He was about to hand back the pad of paper when he hesitated. Maybe it wasn’t so simple. His parents had made him attend an amputee support group once, and some of the people were chipper and cheerful. He didn’t understand how that was possible. He certainly didn’t feel optimistic, so he added another line to the paper. Then another and another. Before he knew it, he had a list of eight. He reread it, feeling vulnerable by how much truth had been spelled out in so few words.

  “I’m finished,” he mumbled.

  Allison pressed a few more buttons, then tossed aside her phone as if she’d been burnt. “Ugh! So addictive. And so very pointless. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  Instead of scanning the list in silence, she read each line aloud. “Your leg.”

  “It’s no longer there,” he explained patiently.

  “Fair enough. Next one. Happiness?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You never feel happy anymore? Not ever?”

  Kelly hesitated. “Maybe I should have written satisfaction instead. Or contentment.”

  “There aren’t any wrong answers. I’m just trying to make sure I understand you. As for your handwriting, I will have to take points off your final grade.”

  Kelly raised an eyebrow. “What?”

  “I’m kidding,” Allison said. “Although your penmanship really is atrocious. A hyperactive monkey with a fistful of broken crayons could do better.”

  Kelly smiled at the visual image. Okay, so maybe he could still feel happy. But the rest of the list...

  “Hope,” Allison read aloud.

  “I’m not going to get better,” Kelly explained. “I’m never going to walk again. I tried a prosthetic leg and it’s not for me.”

  “Yeah, but you should still have something to hope for,” Allison said. “Just because you can’t walk, doesn’t mean you have nothing to look forward to.”

  “Maybe you should keep reading,” Kelly said.

  “Independence. Meaning others need to help you?”

  “Yes,” Kelly said. “There are little things I can’t do by myself anymore. If I drop a bunch of pencils, how am I going to pick them up?” “By getting on the ground, just like the rest of us.”

  Kelly rolled his eyes. “You don’t get it. Everything is harder now, and I’ve got pride, okay? I try to manage on my own, but sometimes there’s no choice and I need help, even if I don’t want it.”

  Allison raised an eyebrow. “Same here. Same with anyone. Listen, I didn’t have you make this list just to shoot it all down. The point isn’t to prove to you that you haven’t lost anything. But you’ll have to do better than this. None of these justify you popping pills.”

  This time she wasn’t kidding. He felt like grabbing the pad of paper back from her. Instead he nodded at it. “Keep reading.”

  “My dream,” she said. “What’s your dream?”

  “To run in the Olympics. And don’t start spewing crap about the Paralympics. Maybe they’re a pale imitation, or hell, maybe they’re harder than the normal kind and more worthy of praise. I don’t care either way, because we’re talking about my dream, and that’s not what it was. I was going to be in the Olympics.”

  Allison studied him a moment. “I always thought it was bullshit that disabled athletes aren’t allowed to compete in the Olympics. I hope that changes someday, because it smacks of segregation.”

  “Yeah,” Kelly said. “It does.”

  “If that were to change, would you still want to compete? Or would you only want to win on your own two legs, like in your dream?”

  “I don’t want to answer that because it’ll sound petty.”

  “It won’t,” Allison said. “There’s nothing wrong with mourning a dream, so long as you don’t let it stop you from finding a new one.” She glanced back down at the list. “What’s this about photography?”

  “It was a hobby of mine.”

  “And now?”

  “I can’t hold the camera still enough. I could use a tripod, but the best photos are those you snap spontaneously. When you see something special, you have to act quickly before it disappears. A steady hand is crucial.”

  “You might be more limited now, but you could sit at street-side cafe and keep your eyes open.”

  “And be lower than the subject I want to capture? I can still take photos, but without total creative freedom, I’m no longer interested.” “Very well.” Allison looked down at the list again, then back up at him. She did this a few more times and snorted. “Sex appeal? You’ve got to be kidding me. Hold on, I’ll get a mirror, because—don’t take this the wrong way, I’m a happily married woman—but you are ridiculously handsome.”

  Kelly couldn’t help smiling. He felt pretty good about his appearance, but he hadn’t said he’d lost his good looks. The problem wasn’t that simple. “I don’t feel okay about my body anymore,” he said. “When I’m nude, I try to hide my amputation.”

  Allison waved a hand dismissively. “If anyone out there has a problem with it, send them packing. You’ll soon find someone who doesn’t mind. For some people it’s a huge turn-on.”

  “I’m not sure I’d like that either,” Kelly admitted. “I just wish it wasn’t an issue. I never had to think about stuff like that before. I could just be me.”

  “But even then you probably had a feature you felt insecure about,” Allison said. “Everyone worries about something. When I was little, I used to wish my hair was straight like the white girls. And lately I’ve been hitting the gym to make sure this booty keeps its bounce.”

  Kelly was surprised by this confession. Allison seemed in good shape to him.

  “My husband keeps saying how fine I look,” she continued, “and that flabby or firm, he’ll still love my butt and the rest of me. Regardless, I keep looking in the mirror and driving myself crazy over it.”

  “I used to worry about my ass hair,” Kelly confessed, mostly just to comfort her. “I even tried shaving it once and got such bad razor burn that I couldn’t sit for days. At least you don’t have to worry about that.” “That’s what you think,” she said with a wink. “You see my point? Everyone worries about someth
ing, and most likely, that hang-up doesn’t even matter to other people. Now you’re worried about your amputation instead of your hairy crack. Believe me, the older you get, the longer that worry list becomes.”

  Kelly laughed. “Okay, fine. I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

  Allison smiled back down at the list. Then her face grew more serious. Kelly was glad, because it matched just how twisted up his stomach felt, even before she spoke the name.

  “William.”

  “Yeah,” Kelly said, his voice hoarse.

  “Tell me about him.”

  Oh boy. Where to even begin? Dancing around the truth seemed pointless. “How do you feel about gay people?”

  Allison leaned back and exhaled. “How can I put this?” After a moment’s thought, she continued. “You know when you first tell someone you’re gay, and assuming they aren’t a homophobic nitwit, they usually mention some other gay person they know? No matter how random it is, they’ll mention a distant cousin, a family friend, the local butcher, or even some character on TV. And you know they mean well, but you’re not sure how to react, because it’s not like all gay people know each other. Am I right?”

  Kelly laughed. “How do you know all that? Are you—?”

  “No,” Allison said. “My best friend is gay. Oh great, now I sound like everyone else! I was trying to prove I’m cool by flaunting my insider knowledge. The thing is, my best friend is more like a significant other. I might already be married to a straight man, but nobody—and I mean nobody—comes between me and my gay husband!”

  Kelly grinned. “Well, I don’t have a husband, but my boyfriend just happens to be gay.”

  “William? Tell me about him.”

  Kelly did, starting at the beginning. He smiled through most of the story. Then he reached the morning of the accident and hesitated, but Allison’s expression was open, so he kept talking. As soon as he reached waking up to discover he’d lost a leg, he stopped, because he knew how Allison would react.