Over the Edge
Page 50
'I can see why.'
We watched a flock of sea gulls peck at the rocks. Breathed in nosefuls of brine. He crossed and uncrossed his legs. Put his hands in his lap and gazed out at the ocean. Two gulls got into a fight over something edible. They kicked and squawked until the weaker one backed off. The victor bounced several yards away and feasted.
'You look good,' I said.
'Thank you.'
'Dr. Levi told me you're doing amazingly well.'
He got up and gripped the chain-link fence. Said something that was drowned out by the waves. I got up and stood next to him.
'I didn't hear you,' I said.
He didn't respond. Just held on to the fence and swayed unsteadily.
'I feel pretty good,' he said after a while. 'Achey.'
'Are you in pain?'
'A good pain. Like a ... good night's sleep after a strenuous day.'
Moment later:
'Yesterday I took a walk.'
I waited for more.
'With Susan. Once . . . maybe twice . . . she had to hold me up. Generally, my legs were okay.'
'That's great.' At first the neurologists hadn't been certain if the damage done to his nervous system would be permanent. But he'd regained function rapidly, and I'd been told this morning that optimism was called for.
A minute of silence.
'Susan helps me a lot. She's a ... strong person.'
'She seems very fond of you.'
He looked out at the water and began to cry.
'What is it?'
He continued to weep, let go of the fence, stumbled, and sat back down on the bench. Wiping his face with his hands, he closed his eyes. Tears seeped out.
I put a hand on his shoulder. Touched jutting bone covered by the merest sheath of skin.
'What's the matter, Jamey?'
He cried some more, composed himself, and said:
'People are being nice to me.'
'You deserve to be treated nicely.'
He hung his head, raised it, and began moving slowly along the rim of the cliff, taking small, tentative steps, holding on to the fence for support. I stayed by his side.
'It's . . . confusing,' he said.
'What is?'
'Dr. Levi told me I called you. For help. I don't remember it,' he added apologetically. 'Now you're here. It's as if . .. nothing happened in between.'
He backed away from the edge, turned around, and walked in the direction of the bungalows, holding out his arms for balance, moving slowly, carefully, like someone getting used to a false limb. I walked with him, forcing myself to slow down, sinking ankle-deep in clover.
'No,' he said. 'That's not true. A lot's happened, hasn't it?'
'Yes, it has.'
'Terrible things. People are gone. Disappeared.'
He bit back more tears, stared straight ahead, and kept walking.
Fronting the bungalows, two hundred yards in the distance, was a picnic area, redwood tables and benches, the tables shaded by candy-striped umbrellas. A red figure rose from one of the benches and waved. Jamey waved back.
'Hello, Susan,' he said, although she couldn't hear him.
'It's normal,' I said, 'for someone who's gone through what you have to be confused. Give yourself time to get reoriented.'
He smiled faintly.
'Sounds like you've been talking to Dr. Levi.'
'Dr. Levi's a very smart woman.'
'Yes.' Pause. 'She told me you were friends.'
'She was a psychiatric resident when I was a graduate
student. We were on a crisis team together. You're in good hands.'
He nodded.
'She's putting me back together again,' he said softly, then veered toward a stand of cypress.
We passed a middle-aged couple sitting on a blanket with a girl of around eighteen. The girl was chubby and wore a shapeless, colorless smock. She had a painfully beautiful face dominated by vacant eyes and long dark hair that she knitted, using her fingers as needles - wrapping, twisting, letting go, starting all over again. Her father wore a dark suit and tie and sat with his back to her, reading Michener behind dark glasses. Her mother looked up sheepishly as we walked by.
We passed through a clearing in the trees, into a cool shady bowl, cathedraled by branches, padded with dry leaves. Jamey found a stump and sat on it. I leaned against a trunk.
'Your finding Dr. Levi for me,' he said. 'It's strange.'
'How so?'
He cleared his throat, turned away, embarrassed.
'You're safe now,' I said. 'It's okay to talk. Or not to.'
He pondered that. Wet his lips with his tongue.
'I called you and you responded. You helped.'
His incredulity was sad. I said nothing.
'Before, if I needed a doctor, Uncle Dwight generally - ' he stopped himself. 'No, that wouldn't make sense, would it?'
'No.'
He looked around at the columns of tree trunks and said:
'Too cold in here. Can we walk some more?'
'Sure.'
We climbed the lawn toward the hospital in silence. He tried putting his hands in his pockets, but his legs buckled, and he started to fall. I took him by the arm and held him upright.
'Let's rest,' I said.
'Okay.'
He folded like a deck chair, allowed himself to be lowered to the lawn. Touched his nose again and said:
'I'm getting better at it.'
'You're healing.'
Several minutes later:
'They all hated me,' he said. Matter-of-factly, without self-pity. But his eyes were tortured, and I knew what they were asking: What did I do to make them feel that way?
'It had nothing to do with you,' I said. 'They dehumanized you in order to justify what they did to you.'
'Disappeared,' he said unbelievingly. 'Right off the screen. So hard to believe.' Picking a dandelion husk out of the clover, be brushed it against his lips, rubbed it awkwardly between his fingertips, and watched the silky threads float skyward.
'That's me. Sailing through space with no ... moorings.'
'Do you like that?'
'It's freedom. Sometimes.'
'And the other times?'
'It's terrifying,' he said with sudden passion. 'Makes me want to be ... subterranean. Packed tightly. Do you know what I mean?' 'I know exactly what you mean."
He exhaled audibly, closed his eyes, leaned back, and warmed his face in the sun. His forehead grew wet with perspiration, though the bluff was cooled by an ocean breeze. Opening his mouth wide, he yawned.
'Tired?'
'They stuff me with food. Red meat for breakfast. It makes me... logey.'
Several moments later:
'They're very nice to me.'
'I'm glad. Dr. Levi tells me you're sleeping better.'
'Somewhat. When the pains don't come.'
'The memory pains?'
'Yes.'
'They sound rough. Like bad dreams.'
'Maybe they are. I don't know.'
'They must be pretty frightening.'
He looked down, and his pupils dilated, black intruding on blue.
'I can just be lying there. Not doing anything. And something - something dark . . . and ugly floats up in the front of my brain . . . forces itself into consciousness.'
'What kind of dark thing?'
'That's just it, I don't know. Sometimes it seems like . . . trash. Something rotten. Foetid. A clot of garbage. I can swear I smell something, but when I try to focus on it, there's no odor at all. Does that make sense?'
When I nodded, he continued.
'A few nights ago it seemed like the shadow of a monster - a friend . . . Jack the Ripper hiding behind a grimy stone wall. That sounds . .. deranged, doesn't it?'
'No,' I assured him. 'It doesn't. Any other images?'
'I don't know . . . maybe. It's definitely ugly. Insistent . . . scratching against the inner surface of my forehead but . . . hiding. Lurking. Maybe it
's insectile, I don't know. I can't get hold of it. So frustrating.'
'Like a word on the tip of your tongue?'
He nodded.
'It's maddening. Makes my head throb.'
'Brain strain' Deborah Levi had called it. 'There's a ton of repressed material fighting to push through prematurely. When he tries to force it, he gets severe headaches that keep him awake at night. He calls them memory pains. I've told him they 're his body's way of saying slow down, that he needs to pace himself, not to push it. He's still highly compromised, Alex. His bloodwork's clear, but for all we know, he may still be toxic at some subclinical level. Not to mention all the shit he's been through.'
'What do you think?' he asked.
'It's normal for your situation,' I said. 'It will pass.'
'Good,' he said, visibly relieved. 'I value your opinion.'
A red blur moved peripherally: Susan rising from her bench again. Standing, in anticipation.
'Dr. D.,' he said, 'what's going to become of me? Afterward. After I'm all patched up?'
I thought awhile before replying - long enough to choose my words but not so long as to make him anxious.
'I know that question seems overwhelming now, but when the time comes for you to leave, it will be manageable. Maybe even answer itself.'
He looked at me doubtfully.
'Think of a calculus text,' I said. 'Open it in the middle, and it's incomprehensible. Start at the beginning and progress steadily, and when you reach that same spot in the middle, it just glides by.'
'Are you saying it will be ... a simple . . . stepwise progression?'
I shook my head.
'Far from it. There'll be constant challenges. Times when you seem stuck and aren't moving at all. But if you take it at a reasonable pace - value yourself, care for yourself, allow yourself to be helped - you'll handle the challenges. You'll surprise yourself at how well you cope.'
He listened, but edgily. Like someone who'd craved ice cream and had been offered celery.
'Do you still remember my number?' I asked.
He recited the seven digits automatically, then looked amazed, as if he'd spoken in tongues.
'Call me if you want to talk,' I said. 'Dr. Levi says it's okay. When you're through up here, we'll get together, do some planning. Okay?'
'That would be - I'd like that - I'll look forward to that.'
Susan had started walking toward us. He saw her and stood. Extended his hand.
'It was good to see you,' he said.
I shook the hand, released it, and put my arms around him. Heard a sharp intake of breath, a suppressed sob, the sound of a lost child finding a familiar signpost. Then two whispered words:
'Thank you.'
The End
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31