by Holly Ryan
I don’t deserve to be here. This place is for those who have earned it, people like her who are most likely visiting their loved ones who they’ve struggled alongside for years and years. This is a privilege. She’s earned this, not me.
Before I know it, the woman is gone and I’m repeating the same casual movements as before, the ones that produced such good results the last time I was here. Luckily, I slide through the empty halls without seeing another soul. I’m steady now. There’s no longer a desire to grasp for something to keep my panic steady. There’s the confidence of where I’m going, how to get there, and who I’m going to see – repercussions be damned.
Then I’m there. I arrive at the familiar room forty-nine and stop to place my hand on the doorknob. I take one deep breath, getting ready to introduce myself and explain, then quietly push the door open. I peer inside, the same silent way I did just days ago, eager to see what Avery is like when she’s awake. She’ll most likely hate my guts. But this time, unlike a few days ago, the bed is empty.
She’s gone.
The sheets are neatly pressed and folded back into place, and so is the entirety of the room. All of her flowers, cards and decorations are gone. The sterile smell of cleaning agents hits my nose. The room has lost all of her that it once held, and now it’s just as gloomy as the rest of the hospital. Even the curtain is now drawn, creating a dark, dank atmosphere.
I know I should be happy for her; this must mean she’s gotten better. But my heart still drops.
“Can I help you?” booms a voice close behind me.
That’s it. Unless I can play this off totally cool and do it quickly, I’m in for it. I never should have come back. I spin around. The voice came from a nurse, invading my personal space and looking up into my face.
“I’m sorry,” I say, trying my best to hide my surprise. “No. I was just looking for someone, but it looks like she’s gone. Gone home, I mean.”
The nurse peers past me into the empty room. “Avery? Why, yes, she was released today.”
I nod, no doubt looking like a fool. “Oh. Well, good. That’s good. I guess I missed that.”
The nurse doesn’t release my eyes. “If you need anything, you be sure to let us know.”
My saving grace is the nurse walking away, still eyeing me suspiciously, and I take advantage of the moment to slip out as quickly as I can, residing to the fact that I’m sure I’ll never see my father’s only surviving victim again. And that’s just as it should be.
Avery
Well, today’s the day. The day I’ve been dreading is finally here.
Today is the day I’m going back to school. I’ve put it off long enough, and my mom’s not going to stand for me taking any more time off. She keeps telling me I need to go back. Not only that – she keeps informing me that I’m going back.
“Just so you know, you’re going back to school tomorrow,” she said last night.
Today, without question. That’s what I’m facing. We struck a deal: as soon as I could walk on my own I’d go back. It was either that or homeschooling, and I definitely didn’t want to stoop to that level. I guess I’m lucky, though. If she’d had it her way, I would have gone back the day after I was released from the hospital. But I can be pretty stubborn, just like my angry leg, and she caved, so I ended up with that deal and a little more time.
And I can walk now. Sort of.
I’m still recovering. But my twice-a-week sessions with Amy have been going well, and I’ve made huge strides, both figuratively and literally. I no longer get as frustrated, and the workouts and stretches she makes me do don’t hurt as much.
As if to make the whole thing official, my mom returned my wheelchair last week. The moment was bittersweet, but I must say I was glad to see it go. I don’t need it anymore. Still, it’s scary to know that if I did need it again for some reason, it won’t be there. I keep telling myself I’ve been getting around fine without help and I needed to separate myself from such an unhealthy fallback. That I’m doing great and I don’t need it. And it’s true – the only thing that lingers now is a little bit of pain and stiffness. My wheelchair was a crutch, both mentally and physically, and I’m glad she ripped it away like a Band-Aid.
My mind still needs some work, though. I have trouble remembering certain things and controlling my thoughts … which sounds strange, but I’ve been told it’s normal for what I went through. My doctor told me my head injury will take the longest to heal. Something about the brain, they said, requires an incredibly long time to fix itself. Which is too bad for my brain and me.
So now wheelchair-less and facing my first day back, I get out of bed, carefully (the last thing I need today is to aggravate my leg and return with an even worse limp), and I make my way to the window to fling open the curtains. It’s no accident that I woke so easily today; I’m making it a point to appreciate every day I wake up and find myself in my own room and not the hospital. It’s a beautiful thing to be given the freedom to sleep in your own bed, with your own choice of sheets and pillows and mattress. There’s no way I’m going to let that go unappreciated again.
The warm sunrise hits my face. I crack the window open and lean down to smell the fresh air as it pours in. The brisk, leafy air is invaded by the scent of fresh breakfast foods cooking downstairs. My mom has always been an early riser, something I inherited from her, so this doesn’t surprise me.
I take a step across the room before my foot collides with something on the ground, something large and bulky hidden among a bundle of blankets.
“Ow,” says Mara, her morning voice muffled and tired.
“Oh, God. Sorry, Mar.” Good thing it was my healthy leg that did the colliding, or we might have to reschedule my school debut.
She rolls over as best she can in her tangled makeshift bed. “Never spending the night with you again.”
I sit close to her on the edge of my bed and let out a sigh. She knows it’s my first day back, and I’m trying hard to hint that I don’t want to do this.
“I know it sucks,” she says, reading me. “You don’t have to tell me.” She pushes herself up on her arms and blinks hard a few times.
“I’ve been so caught up in other things that I almost forgot how awful first days are. What’s wrong with me? Is that even possible to forget?”
She laughs. “I guess that depends on how traumatized you were by those first days.”
“That’ll change today.”
I moan dramatically and drop my body onto the side of the bed. I let my arm hang limply off the side.
She puts her hand on my shoulder and looks at me knowingly, trying not to break a smile.
“Like I said, it sucks.” She stands, wobbly. “But come on. It’s not that bad. You know everyone’s going to be so happy to see you back. We were worried about you.” She stretches. “And …” She moves closer. “You have me, you know.”
I rest my chin in my hands and stare off into space. “I know.”
I’m getting lost in my own thoughts. I need to cut this out or I’m going to create some sort of uber-dramatic downward spiral.
“Well, let’s get ready,” Mara says.
She gets to work, folding up her blanket, probably so I won’t trip on them. When she’s done, she sets them neatly in a corner of my room.
“Thanks for letting me crash.” She flashes me a peace sign.
“Yep.” I push myself up. “You can shower here if you want. Here.” I walk to the bathroom and return with a fresh bottle of body wash and a loofa.
“Thanks.”
She clutches them against her body. She grabs her clean clothes, adding those to her grasp, and she’s about to leave when she stops.
“What’s that?”
She gestures to my nightstand, toward the flower.
I follow her gaze, then reach over and take the flower in my hand. It doesn’t look as pristine as I thought it had the other night; it’s looking a little worse for wear after having traveled inside my pocke
t, a trip which I’m now regretting subjecting it to. It’s become brittle, and I’m afraid to handle it. I don’t want it to break.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I mean, it’s a flower, obviously ... but I don’t know where it came from. I found it in my hospital room the day I was discharged.”
“Oh, a mystery.” She coos, smiling. “Here, let me see it.”
She sets down the toiletries and holds out her hand. I hesitate before passing it to her.
“Did it fall out of one of your cards?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, that’s weird.” She loses interest quickly and passes it back. She picks up her things and heads toward the bathroom.
“Can I tell you something?” I say, stopping her with my words.
She stops.
“I mean, you’ll probably think it’s weird or something completely drug-induced.”
She takes a seat on the bed next to me, watching and waiting, trying carefully to not drop any of the items still in her hands.
“Spill.”
“Okay.” I play with my fingernails. “I’m pretty sure a stranger came to visit me in the hospital. Several times.”
She lets out a single laugh, then stops. “Are you sure? Isn’t there, like, a law against that or something?”
“I have no idea. But I feel like I saw him several times.”
“You feel like you saw him?”
I nod. That’s the best I can do. I just felt it.
But she doesn’t mind. She’s smiling, and I’m grateful that even if she thought I had been hallucinating the entire thing, I know she wouldn’t call me out.
“Well … it was a him, huh?” Mara says. “Was he cute?”
I smile, too, and nod. “Amazingly cute.”
“Amazingly cute! Avery, the next time you see this amazingly cute, strange boy you need to give him my number. You know how I struggle.”
“Sorry, every girl for herself. The only number I’d be giving him is mine.”
“Jerk.” She fake-punches me again. “I’ll be back.” And with that, she finally slips out of the room and into the bathroom. I hear the shower start, so I take the opportunity to head downstairs. I’m starving for some breakfast, which has smelled better and better that whole time. And maybe some food will calm my nerves.
“Oh, honey!” my mom says when I walk into the kitchen. “I didn’t know you were getting up this early. I was going to bring you some food.”
I shrug. “It’s okay.”
She slides a plate of pancakes and bacon in front of me.
“How are you feeling?”
How are you feeling. That’s a question you have to get used to in recovery. You hear it all the time, over and over again, from everyone from doctors to nurses to visitors to family. It’s a sweet gesture, but it has the potential to get on your nerves after so long. Plus, what are you supposed to say if you feel like crap?
“Good,” I say.
“Good. I know you’ve been worried about this, but try to be excited, okay? For me. I’m sure your friends will love to see you again.”
“I know. They will.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to call your teachers ahead of time? I can let them know everything that happened–”
“They already know what happened.”
“Yes, they do, but I can let them know how to accommodate you. They can try to make things easier for you.”
I shake my head. “No, Mom. Thanks.”
“Well, alright.”
She sits down next to me to eat just as Mara comes down the stairs, scrubbing her head dry with a towel.
“Hi, Mrs. Dylan.”
“Mara. Hi, dear. Would you like some breakfast?” She stands again to get Mara a plate.
“That’s okay. I brought something for myself.” She gestures to her purse, which is stuffed full of books and other items. “Smells amazing, though. Avery, we’d better get going.”
I nod and take one last bite. This doesn’t surprise me – for as long as I’ve known her, Mara has let her hair air dry, even if it means going in public with a wet head. You get used to it. And we are running late. I grab my things, mentally double check I have everything, and together Mara and I head out the door.
“Avery,” my mom yells, “if you need anything, you can call me.”
So far, school isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. Knock on wood. But I’m well aware that my limp is pretty pronounced, and I feel like it’s obvious to everyone I pass. After a while, you get pretty tuned in to the sensation of eyes on you. And because of that, you learn to walk with a sort of slump, looking at the ground to avoid meeting the eyes of everyone else to just keep everything less fucking painful.
I’m getting through. I mean, at least no one’s pointed straight at me and laughed (does that ever really happen outside of teen-angst movies?) and I have yet to catch wind of any nasty rumors going around. Something surprising’s happened: several people came up to me, giving me hugs and saying We’ve been praying for you this whole time, or Oh, Avery, I’m so glad they caught that guy and they can’t believe what happened, Who would have thought? You know, the same stuff I’ve heard a million times. I smile, nod, say, “Me, too.”
My teachers are taking it easy on me, even without my mom’s little phone call of help. Not one of them has called on me to answer a question, something that didn’t go unnoticed, and my history teacher even pulled me aside to say it’s okay if I need an extension on the homework he’s assigning. I told him thanks, but I’ll have it in on time.
Mara’s kept close to me through most of the day – as much as she can, given that we have such different schedules. We only have one same class, but in between all the others she’s met me by my locker. You’d think the girl felt some sort of obligation to watch over me, or maybe some desire to protect me in some way from Cole. Speaking of which, I haven’t seen him. At all. Which is unusual for us. It’s unusual for him, the guy who’s typically on-point meeting up with me during the day, texting me silly things and waiting by my locker to sneak a kiss before the bell. I guess despite all the crap he put me through, I miss him.
It’s noon, between third and fourth period, and I’m waiting for Mara at her locker. I got a text from her a little while ago telling me to meet her here. So far, she’s late. I take my phone out. Mara told me not to text him, but maybe just once. I want to hear his voice and see what he has to say for himself. Maybe he’ll respond with Oh, my gosh, Avery. Where have you been? Because maybe he lost his phone, and hasn’t had it until now. And maybe he didn’t have the address to the hospital. And maybe he just so happened to come down with something, a bad cold, and that’s why he’s not at school.
Avery, you’re ridiculous.
In the middle of all my sulking about where the hell my boyfriend is, and wondering if he’s even still my boyfriend at all, someone catches my eye. It happens as I’m holding my phone, just as I’m placing and removing my thumb from Cole’s name like some kind of crazy person. It’s a tall figure, walking this way. His head of dark hair extends above everyone else’s, and his strong jawline is visible even from this far away. He’s wearing a plain black t-shirt and jeans, both of which show off his well-formed muscles. He’s since turned, now digging into his locker.
“What’s up?”
It’s Mara, sneaking up behind me.
“You scared the crap out of me,” I say, casually stuffing my phone back into my purse.
“I’m late. Sorry. Mrs. Miller made us stay after for explanations of the grades of my papers. You know, the one we worked on together a few weeks ago? She gave me a C, and I wasn’t going to let her get off that easy.”
“Mara,” I interrupt. “Who’s that?”
She pauses, following my eyes. “Ethan Harrington.”
“Have I seen him before?”
She shakes her head. She pulls a few notebooks out of her locker, torn and bursting with papers, and places them in her bag. She holds the s
ides with two hands and shakes it, forcing the notebooks to fall down further. “He’s new here. Started … soon after your accident, I think.”
I love how she calls it my accident. To everyone else, it was my attack. Not to Mara.
“He’s kind of hot. Right?”
She nods and widens her eyes. “‘Kind of?’ Avery, do you have eyes? The boy is beautiful. Even I can see that.”
She’s got a point; Mara does have an unusual lack of interest when it comes to relationships and crushes. She’s too busy with school, trying to earn her coveted Valedictorian title before graduation.
She turns to me and slams her locker. “But good luck. He doesn’t talk to anyone.”
“He doesn’t?” I face her, my over-interest surely written all over my face.
She shrugs. “Well, I’m sure he talks, but he keeps to himself is what I mean. At least, that’s what I’ve noticed. I’ve got Home Ec with him.” She stops, reading me. “You want me to introduce you?”
I stand up straight. “No.”
“Hey, I will. Whatever gets your mind off you-know-who.”
I pretend to be mad that she said that. “No, thanks.”
“Your choice. I’ll see you later,” she says. “I just wanted to do this.”
She leans in and wraps one arm over my shoulder.
I hug her back. “I needed that.”
“I know you did. See you.”
“Later.”
To get to where I’m going, I’m going to have to pass him. I try to control it, but my heart starts to flutter inside my chest. He’s still at his locker, but this time talking to a girl. I clutch my textbook tighter to my chest. He doesn’t notice me, and when I reach him I slide by, invisibly, I’m sure, but as I pass I inhale the air around him. He smells like sandalwood. It’s a strong, masculine smell. I want more.