by Cylin Busby
I fell asleep clenching my right hand tight enough to feel my nails digging into my palm, letting go only when I felt a soft hand touch mine. Olivia. “Hey, you could feel that?” she asked, her dark eyes growing larger. “You felt me touch your hand; you moved. You are coming around, the doctors were right.” The sun was up, my room was washed in light. I couldn’t even see the clock, but it must have been midmorning. I noticed Olivia didn’t have her IV stand with her as she pulled a chair closer to the bed. She had the same look on her face that she did when she learned that I was going to be able to be in a wheelchair—happy for me, but not really. A little bit worried, too.
“Well, if you’re getting all grabby, I should be a little more careful, huh? You know you almost got me in trouble last night.” She gave me a sideways look, obviously a little embarrassed. “And I thought I could trust a paralyzed boy—I thought you loved me for my mind.” She flipped her long hair over her shoulder, then laughed. “Seriously, we did almost get so busted. I woke up about two seconds before Norris did her checks. Can you imagine?” It was good to see a big smile on her face, to hear her laugh for real. “I would have had some explaining to do!”
She took my hand and looked at my face, getting quiet for a moment. “You’re thinking hard about something, what is it?” I moved my eyes to the drawer.
“You want to write something?” She took the board out and raised the back of my bed up slightly. She put the pen into my right hand and I grasped it quickly. “My favorite student, you have been practicing!”
I felt my chest expand with pride. Of course she was the first person to notice. She held the board up for me and I wrote one word.
“Mirror? You … want to see a mirror? For yourself?” Olivia let out a little laugh. “What, I sleep over with you one time and you want to check yourself out, see if you still got it?”
I blinked no, but she was having too much fun to stop. “I should have known. All you good-looking guys are all the same. You want to fix your hair just right, make sure you’re still hot … okay, I get it. I’ll be right back, pretty boy.” Olivia shook her head as she opened the room divider, but then she turned around. “Actually, I think I saw …” She moved around the bed to the small table and opened the drawer. Watching her look inside made me feel sick with déjà vu. A little girl looking in the drawer for something. Crying, dripping blood. Was that something that really happened?
“Here we go, handsome.” Olivia was holding up a mirror with a short plastic handle. She held it tightly to her chest, so I couldn’t see it. “Are you ready to see how gruesome you’ve become?” she joked, then turned the mirror around, close to my face.
I was me. Same hair, but longer. Too long. And it looked dirty, like I hadn’t washed it in a week. I tried to remember when was the last time a nurse washed my hair, but I couldn’t. My eyes were still hazel-green. I had a little stubble on my face, just a little. I only had to shave about once every couple of weeks, so that was new for me. I looked older. Sort of better, actually. I could see the respirator tube, connected to a big white plastic neck brace. I was glad you couldn’t actually see it going into my throat, or where the hole was. The tube just disappeared into the neck brace. It looked like something the football players wore under their uniforms. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.
“Do you need more time—I mean, should I leave you alone with your pretty self?” Olivia joked. “Just let me know if you need some privacy.”
I blinked no and she took the mirror down; now I was just looking at her face. I was happy to be right, to be me. Olivia smiled and pushed my hair back. “Did you like what you saw?” She wasn’t joking now; actually, she looked a little concerned.
I didn’t want to blink yes or no. I did like what I saw, because it was me and not someone else, someone who did terrible things. But I didn’t like how I looked now—with long greasy hair and stubble growing in patches all over my face—for Olivia’s sake. I wanted her to see me the way the girls at school saw me, put together and clean. Wearing jeans, not a hospital robe. I wanted her to see me like that.
“You’re a great-looking guy, West. You must know that.” Olivia put the mirror back into the drawer and slid it shut. “I know the girls at your school must go crazy for you.” Again she had read my thoughts. She slipped her hand into mine and looked out the window. “I can see it too, don’t get me wrong.” She looked back at my eyes. “Yeah, you’re hot,” she said reluctantly. “But … getting to know you here,” she said, and let go of my hand and motioned to the room around us. “It’s not about that, it’s about this.” She put her hand on my chest and held it there. “Even if your pretty face had been messed up in the accident, I wouldn’t care. You’re still you.” She moved her hand up to my cheek and sat looking at me for a long time. I couldn’t help but think of what was going unsaid. That even though I couldn’t walk, I was still me. That even if the surgery didn’t work, I was still West. And somehow, Olivia had gotten to know me, in spite of all that. And she liked who I was. She liked me, the way I was now.
“The things that happened to us, to both of us, changed who we are, but—” She stopped herself. “Maybe we’re not that different from how we used to be, right?”
I looked at the board and she understood I wanted to write something. She reached over to hold it up. It was a long word, so it took me a second. I wrote the word beautiful. Olivia took the board and held it in her lap, looking at it. Then she leaned across me, putting her lips on mine, kissing me, softly at first, gently, then hard and fast, her hands on my face, and in my hair. No one had touched me so roughly, so close since the accident. She stopped just as quickly as she had started, leaning in to me and whispering my name in my ear. “West …” She sat back and looked at me. “Your mom is coming to take you for a walk today; it’s Saturday.” She jumped up and straightened her robe, glancing at the clock. She stopped for a second, picked up the board, and read the word again to herself.
“I’m going to take this with me, if you don’t mind.” She smiled and hugged the board to her chest as she walked around the foot of my bed, to the divider wall. “But I’ll see you later.” She gave me one last glance as she slid the door shut and I heard her let out a little laugh, like this was crazy, insane. And she was right. It was crazy. What was going on? Olivia was into me. And I was falling for her. I was in the hospital, paralyzed, and crushing on the most unusual, confusing, beautiful, mysterious, amazing girl I’d ever met.
Chapter 15
“Hey, look at you!” Mom walked in about half an hour after Olivia left. “You look great today!” I had been thinking about Olivia, so it must have been all over my face. I was never very good at hiding my feelings.
“So today is a big day; I’m taking you for a walk. Outside!” Mom was so thrilled, she was practically clapping. Even though she could be annoyingly enthusiastic sometimes, I was pretty psyched to see her so happy. Her past couple of visits had not been the best. “And as soon as we get you into your chair”—she glanced up at the clock—“I have got such a surprise for you. Really huge.”
The male aide with red hair walked into the room behind her. “Are you ready?”
“Oh, we are ready,” Mom answered excitedly. He moved to the side of the bed to raise me up higher, then dropped the bed so my legs would hang down.
“We like to have them sit up for a couple of minutes before they go in the chair, just to get the blood going,” he explained. He went to get my wheelchair from the corner of the room and set it up next to the bed. “I’ll be right back.”
“Isn’t he handsome,” Mom murmured. “Reminds me of Mike a little. Or what Mike could look like if he cut that hair. Speaking of.” She moved closer to me and brushed my long bangs back. “What are we going to do about this? I wonder if they have a nurse here who can cut it, or if I should bring someone in….”
The aide walked back in behind her and moved over to the bed.
“Are you going to do this all by yourself?�
�� Mom asked nervously.
“It’s easier than you think. Actually, you could do it. We’ll teach you how to transfer him before he goes home,” the guy explained.
“Oh no, he’s not going home with a wheelchair—he’s going to have surgery next week. We’re hoping for the best!” She crossed her fingers and gave the guy a big smile.
“Is that so,” he said, raising his eyebrows. He didn’t look too convinced as he leaned in to me and put his arm around my back, much like Olivia had done but with a little more strength and the smoothness that comes with practice. He tilted me over his back and transferred me into the chair in about two seconds, snapping the armrests up and moving over the IV bag. “This is always the last step,” he explained to Mom, turning off my respirator, then reattaching the tube to the back of the chair. He flipped the switch and I heard the portable turn on, pumping air into my lungs. “That’s it—just in case you ever need to know,” he said.
“Oh, I don’t think I will,” she said, but Mom’s face looked nervous, like she was unsure herself as she watched him slip my feet into the footrests.
“He’s ready to go. This is the brake.” He showed Mom the pedal as she stepped behind the chair. “Any questions?” When Mom shook her head, he turned to leave. “We’re around if you need anything.” I was glad to see him go. Something about the guy was annoying, patronizing, like he didn’t think Mom could push me in a wheelchair, or that I was never getting out of here. He was a dick.
“He sure made that look easy,” Mom said to herself as she pushed me slowly through the door. “Let’s head down to the nurses’ station real quick.” Mom pushed the chair to the right and I could see the low counter where the nurses hung out—a few computers and lots of paperwork scattered around. “Hi,” she said brightly to the nurses on duty. “We are expecting a few visitors today and I just wanted you to know that we’ll be … oh, look, here they come!”
Through the double doors at the end of the hall, I could see three people walking in: one was Mike, his red hair impossible to hide. Another was my dad, tall and thin; I would know him anywhere. The third person was a little girl in a long black coat; it took me a second to realize that it was Allie—my Allie, with her hair all tucked under a hat. When they got inside, she took her hat off and shook her blond hair out, none of them realizing that I was sitting just a few feet away until Mom called out.
“Hey, there, guess who!”
“Oh man, it is good to see you.” Dad made long strides and reached me first. I could see tears in his eyes, or maybe it was just really cold out and his eyes were watery. He knelt in front of the chair and put his hands on mine. “You look good—last time I saw you, you were not feeling so hot; you had a high fever, but wow… . Would you look at him?” Dad stood quickly and turned to Mom and gave her a big hug. “He looks good, he looks great, right?”
Mom was standing behind me so I couldn’t see her, but I could hear that she was sniffling. I turned my attention to Mike and Allie. “How’s it hanging?” Mike reached over and gave me a half fist-bump on my knuckles, then stood there awkwardly looking around.
“Hi,” Allie said quietly. “You do look a lot better; you were really pale before, and you were burning up.” She reached out to touch my forehead under my hair. She was here when I was sick? When was that? How come no one told me? I thought of Olivia—she had to know, she knew every time someone came to see me. And she didn’t tell me.
“Let’s all sit down. I brought sandwiches, and the nurses said we could have the TV room to ourselves for a bit.” Mom turned my chair and led the group down the hall, toward the TV room. We went by my room, then Olivia’s. I strained to look inside, but only caught the end of her bed, I couldn’t tell if anyone was in it or not. Maybe she would come by the TV room to meet my parents. I was hoping she would, except that Allie was there, and that might be weird.
Mom rolled me into the TV room and over to the long table. Everyone else grabbed chairs and sat down. “Oh, I left the sandwiches in his room. I’ll be right back,” Mom said, turning to go.
Dad and Mike were talking about a football game that was on the TV screen. “I wonder if they’ll let us turn up the volume,” Mike said. “When I bring music in, those nurses practically have a stroke….” Mike caught himself. “I mean, no offense, do they have, like, actual stroke victims in this hospital?”
Allie shot him a look. “Seriously, Mike.”
“What? Who cares? It’s not like any of them can HEAR ME!” He yelled out the last two words.
“You’re not funny,” Allie said under her breath.
“I’ve been here a few more times than you, so I think I know better what goes on at this place, okay?”
So maybe Mike did know that we’d broken up. I wanted to tell him that it was okay, that I was fine with it, but he wouldn’t look at me. Instead he put his head down on the table for a moment.
“It’s okay to be nervous, Mike, it’s okay.” Dad patted Mike on the back awkwardly.
Mike kept his head down, but I could still hear him. “It’s this place, it just—it sucks, it’s not right.” Mike slammed his hand on the table hard, making the puzzle boxes rattle. “This whole thing sucks!”
Allie looked away, horrified. I knew Mike was embarrassing her.
“I’m going for a walk.” Mike shoved his chair back and, without saying anything to me, stormed out of the room with his head down.
“We haven’t forgotten how hard this has been on you guys,” Dad said, moving over to sit by Allie. “It’s hard for everybody, and I just really want to thank you for being here for West; it means the world to us.”
Allie looked down at the table, sniffling. Jesus, was she going to start crying too? What kind of shitty surprise was this anyhow? She put her head back up just as Mom walked in with a deli bag. Whatever was in it smelled delicious.
“Where’s Mike?” She looked to Dad, who shook his head slowly.
“He’ll be back,” Allie volunteered. “Here, let me help you,” she said, and took the bag and sorted through the sandwiches, handing them out. I watched her move around the table, carefully placing napkins and sodas by each person’s place. I had been hanging out with Olivia for so long, I had forgotten how pink and bright Allie looked—her cheeks rosy from the cold, her curly blond hair glowing gold in the sunlight. She was gorgeous, there was no denying that, but Olivia had her own look too—a colder, darker kind of beautiful.
“So.” Mom unwrapped her sandwich and looked over at me. “We told Mike and Allie about your surgery and they just wanted to come and wish you luck, right, Allie?” I noticed that when she talked to me, she spoke a little bit louder.
“Yup.” Allie didn’t meet my eyes; instead she focused on opening her soda, then glanced at me quickly. “I know it’s going to go great, Mrs. Spencer, and … and then …” Allie paused and collected herself, I could tell she didn’t want to cry in front of my parents. “Well, it’ll be just like it was, everything will be … fine.” She unwrapped her sandwich and put it in front of her, but I knew she wouldn’t eat it.
Mike walked quickly back into the room and pulled out a chair, like nothing had happened. “Wow, thanks, Mrs. S, this looks awesome.” He chomped into his sandwich and ate about half of it in two bites. “So who’s in the room next to West? That kid’s mom looks like a model or something.”
“Please, don’t talk with your mouth full,” Allie said angrily. I could tell that she and Mike—who could barely stand each other when I was around to run interference—had not been getting along in my absence.
“I think it’s a young lady; I don’t know much about her,” Mom offered. “Actually, I think she said she was a dancer—or maybe her daughter was a ballerina.” Mom shook her head. “I can’t remember.”
“Is there a Mr. Ballerina in the picture?” Mike asked, his eyebrows going up and down a few times like a sleazebag.
“Seriously, Mike,” Allie huffed. “Some respect? Her daughter is in the hospital.”
>
Mike shrugged and bit into his sandwich, finishing it off. “I’m just curious about who’s spending time with my man West here,” Mike said, winking over at me. “That’s all.” He looked at Allie’s skeptical face and grinned, wiping his hands on a napkin. “Thanks again for the sandwich; tasty,” he said to my mom. “Next time I’m hanging with West, he’ll be eating one, too, right, buddy? No more eating through a tube for you.” Mike pushed back his chair and came over behind me. “Can I take him for a spin? Just down the hall, nothing crazy.”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Mom said quickly.
“Let him, it’s just down the hall.” Dad sighed.
Mom shot him a look but said, “Okay, five minutes, Michael.”
Mike backed my wheelchair away from the table and rolled it slowly out the wide doorway. “Back in five,” he said over his shoulder.
The second we were out the door, he started walking—and pushing—faster. “Damn, I hope that chick didn’t leave already, you have got to see her.” He stopped outside Olivia’s door, peeking in. “Gonzo, let’s see if she went this way….” He raced down the hallway, pushing me way too fast toward the nurses’ station. The second we rounded the corner, he slowed way down. “Hello, ladies,” he called out to the nurses, who barely looked up. He rolled me over to the same double doors where he had come in.
“That’s her,” he whispered, leaning in close to my ear. Outside was a tall, thin woman in a dark coat, belted tightly around the waist. I noticed her legs first. Even though it was cold out, she had on fancy boots—black, with high heels. Then I saw her face. It was Olivia’s face. It could have been Olivia—only older, with shorter hair and dark lipstick, eye makeup. The way she brought a cigarette to her lips and inhaled deeply, then blew the smoke out into the cold air, she looked like she was in a movie.