by Laurie Loft
“Todd, eat! I have to get back to Gimondi’s.”
Todd shoveled the remainder of the fish into his mouth and then, using his fingers, fed himself the beans one by one. Glancing down, he realized he’d dribbled chicken a la king down the front of his hospital gown. The gown itself bore flowers sprinkled over a field of sky blue, just the shade to bring out the color of his eyes.
Of his eye, damn it.
“Todd, I gotta go.” Sebby had risen and stood twisting his hands. “I can’t use sick leave, ’cause we’re not family. They’re understanding, but to a point.”
“Of course. I regret being a . . . an inconvenience.”
“You aren’t. I’ll bring dinner, and we’ll have a nice long talk, yes? It’s just, now, I have to get back.”
Once again, Todd held out his arms, thinking that if Sebby didn’t hug him this time, he would cry himself to sleep. But Sebby hurried out, stopping at the last moment to warn, “If you remember I’m bringing you food, don’t eat the dinner they bring you.”
With a little wave, he was gone, and Todd stifled the urge to call out again. There must have been something he’d done to offend, something he’d forgotten.
The afternoon passed quickly, as Todd was visited by three therapists in succession. “Speak, spirit,” Todd said wearily in way of greeting, when the third, a speech therapist, arrived. “You are the spirit of therapy yet to come?”
The therapist laughed. “They warned me you were a feisty one.”
The physical therapist labeled Todd a fall risk. To Todd, it was something of a humiliation, since it meant he wasn’t allowed to dress himself or visit the restroom without supervision. Todd was ready to complain bitterly when Sebby arrived. As Sebby peeled back the foil, though, the mouthwatering aroma of freshly sizzled fajitas drove all thoughts but appetite from his mind.
“Ye gods!” Todd exclaimed, eyeing the peppers, onions, steak, and tortillas. “However did you manage it?”
“Rehab is just down the hall and to the right and down another hall, and they have a kitchen—for patients to practice in? They let me use it.” Sebby was smiling, but his eyes had a tightness about them that Todd attributed to worry and lack of sleep. “You’re dressed,” Sebby noted. To Todd’s frustration, he again retreated and slid into the faraway chair.
“Thanks to the capable hands of an insistent occupational therapist, I am in a state of clothedness.” He was also clean and clean-shaven, due to the same therapist, though he had been unable to wash his hair because of the bandage. “Does it make me more attractive? Or do you enjoy seeing me with my bum hanging out?” He waggled his eyebrows, and began folding steak and peppers into a tortilla.
“It doesn’t hang out,” Sebby said, in a tone that suggested eye rolling. “Not when you’re bedridden.”
“Aren’t you going to eat?”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full. And I will later.”
“Have some of this. I can’t eat it all. Here, I’ll make you one.” Todd began scooping food into another tortilla.
“I know how much you eat, Todd, and, yes, you can.”
“Ah, but the capacity of my stomach has shrunk due to recent bedriddenness. Come hither, cielito lindo.” He waved the filled tortilla in the air. Sebby uncurled, but Todd sensed hesitation and adopted a wheedling tone. “I’ll get indigestion of loneliness.”
Slowly, Sebby got to his feet and came several steps closer, close enough that Todd could see he was biting his lip white. Todd kept his own expression neutral, offering the folded fajita.
Todd’s mother spoke from the doorway. “Something smells good! Oooh!”
Sebby turned so fast that Todd was unsure he had really seen Sebby’s face twitch in panic before smoothing out into a welcoming smile. “Hello, Lois.” To Todd’s astonishment, Sebby, on tiptoes, hugged his mother.
“Is there enough for me?” Todd’s mother grabbed the tortilla from his hand, and Todd was too stunned to prevent it. She took a huge bite and mmmed in pleasure.
“Sure,” said Sebby. “Todd can’t eat much.”
“There’s something wrong with you if you can’t eat much of this, Toddy,” she mumbled, and Todd noticed that Sebby said nothing about her talking with her mouth full. Sebby only stepped away and switched on the television. Todd’s mother swallowed and mmmed again, closing her eyes.
“Oh. I brought your glasses.” Holding the tortilla in one hand, she twisted in order to rummage through her purse with the other, cursing under her breath and finally producing an eyeglass case. “I ordered them before I left Minnesota, and it took this long for them to get here.” She placed the case in Todd’s hand, which was still outstretched, and seated herself on the sofa.
”Oh. God. Thanks.” The glasses settled firmly enough over the bandage. “I can see!” he cried, making a show of gaping wide-eyed and turning his head to gaze about. “It’s a miracle!”
Everything seemed to jump out at him with laser-edged clarity, and he marveled in the novelty: the sight of Sebby’s neat form; his fetchingly curved ass under the pressed trousers; his shoulder blades standing out against the fabric of his polo shirt stretched tight due to Sebby standing with arms folded; his head tilted back to view a football game on the wall-mounted television.
Football?
Todd’s mother snorted. “If it was a miracle, you’d see out of both eyes.”
“I have a lovely view of the inside of a bandage. Sebby, turn it to TCM.”
“It’s the Vikings.” Sebby did not take his eyes from the screen. “And they’re playing Green Bay.”
“I can see that,” Todd said. “And a more venomous rivalry doth not exist. But since when do you—”
“I got money on this game,” Sebby interrupted.
“My land,” his mother said, around another mouthful. “You boys and your sports.”
“I’ve fallen into an alternate universe. Any second now, Spock-with-a-beard will enter.” Todd rubbed his forehead. Gambling was an activity that Sebby abhorred, calling it the nonplanner’s retirement plan.
“Eat, dumbass!” Sebby commanded, glaring.
Todd goggled. “W— But— Ah . . .” He looked down at the half-eaten fajita on his plate, up again at Sebby’s tight lips, and again at the television screen. He grinned suddenly, and Sebby’s eyes narrowed. “Touchdown!” Todd cried, throwing his hands in the air, just to see what Sebby would do. Sebby stared at Todd uncomprehendingly.
“Who?” His mother finished her tortilla and licked her fingers. “Minnesota or Green Bay?”
Turning belatedly to the television, Sebby shook his head. “Todd’s being a dumbass. No one scored.” Quite ungracefully, he plopped his butt down on the corner of Todd’s bed and continued to watch the game as though football were his life.
“What down is it?” Todd asked, moving so he could prod Sebby with his toes. Catching Sebby out ought to be easy.
“Third, Green Bay,” Sebby responded promptly. “They’re on their twenty-six yard line.”
He was doing better than expected. “What’s the point spread?” Surely Sebby wouldn’t know what that meant.
Sebby turned to punch Todd’s foot with his fist. “Five.”
“Ow.” Either Sebby had pulled a number out of his ass or he knew what he was talking about. Probably the latter, Todd realized; he had gotten a taste of sports statistics from Christopher, and the accountant in him must know all about things like wagering and odds. He finished his fajitas, watching Sebby watch the game and listening to him chat with his mother. Sebby’s attention rarely wavered from the screen, but he showed no reaction to fumbles or penalties or touchdowns. The sky outside darkened to dusk, and Todd found himself nodding off.
“Todd’s tired. I can watch the rest at home,” Sebby said. Todd jerked awake to see Sebby standing and holding his hand up for a high five. “Vikings lead, fourteen–six, buddy!”
There was that word again! Todd allowed Sebby to slap his hand. What the fuck is going on? he wanted to
shout.
Lois stood to hug Sebby good-bye, and Todd, watching them, felt his insides tighten in wistfulness. “I want cookies,” he declared. They blinked at him, moving slightly out of their clinch, Sebby’s hands on her shoulders, hers on his elbows. “I want cookies! By God, can’t a man in the hospital get cookies?”
“I have Fig Newtons in my purse.” His mother sidled over to grab her purse.
“Fig Newtons aren’t cookies!” Todd asserted. “I want a proper cookie.”
“What kind? I can make you some and bring them tomorrow.” Sebby stepped back as Lois dropped her purse with a thump.
“I said a proper cookie! Not some organic, carob-chipped, fat-free wafer. I want a cookie made with real butter and so drenched in sugar that it sparkles like Disney on Ice.”
“I have real butter and sugar. Organic real butter and raw sugar,” Sebby said.
Having fished her billfold from her purse, Todd’s mother straightened with a groan. “I suppose I have to head down to the snack shop. They’re open till ten, and they have fresh-baked cookies.”
“Oh, no, no, Todd can’t have those,” Sebby insisted, laying a restraining hand on her arm. “They probably use commercial premade dough, and it’s full of preservatives and artificial ingredients.”
“What the fuck, Sebastián, let me have a cookie!”
“Lois, don’t get him one. They’re bad for him.”
“I want a cookie! Motherfuck!”
Both Sebby and his mother regarded him with alarm. “Did his brain get that thing where you swear all the time and you can’t help it?” his mother asked.
With a censorious glance at Todd, Sebby said, “Remember, they said he’d have some irritatedness, that’s normal with brain surgery.”
“It’s been about a week. Seems like he should be over his irritatingness by now.” His mother shook her head. She bent to replace her billfold in her purse, and Todd realized he wasn’t going to get his cookie.
“Irritability! English, people, it is a language! One might also say tetchiness or petulance, did this category apply to me, which it does not. I just want a motherfucking cookie, goddamn it!” He flushed. He was at their mercy; they could thwart his desires in any way they wanted. “I don’t have to eat your food,” he growled at Sebby.
“You’ll eat what I bring you, and you’ll say thanks. I know what’s good for you.”
“The hospital menu has cookies. You can’t stop me from getting one.”
“Your tumor. It could grow back, you know,” Sebby said.
“From a cookie?” Todd asked, now thoroughly confused. Was this conversation about what he thought it was?
“Oh, they said the chance of that’s so small,” his mother put in.
“So was the chance of a seizure.”
Spoken so quietly, Sebby’s words seemed to weigh pounds apiece, and Todd felt at a loss. Were they keeping something from him? Perhaps his situation was more serious than anyone had let on. He tried for flippancy. “Should I die, I want the autopsy to show that I died a happy, cookie-filled man.”
His mother rolled her eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic. You’re not dying, I told you that already.”
“He probably forgot,” Sebby said. “Lois, are you staying here tonight?”
“I don’t know. My back has been bothering me.”
Though he never thought of his mother as good company, the picture of himself alone in a darkened hospital made Todd’s heart jitter. “You stay with me,” he said to Sebby. “Ensure I do not sneak illicit cookies.”
“I’m not family. Bye, Todd. See you in the morning.” With this abrupt good-bye, Sebby exited, leaving Todd perplexed and grieving. Sebby must know, he reasoned, that with a kiss or a touch he could get Todd to agree to anything, including cookie abstinence, yet his manner was just short of cold.
“Mom.”
Looking up from handbag rummaging, his mother regarded him with pursed lips. ”You’re not going to bug me for a cookie.”
“Fuck the cookies. Is Sebby mad at me? Did I, er, do something, say something I don’t remember, something that pissed him off?”
His mother shook her head and went back to her purse. “He doesn’t seem mad to me.” She came up with a flask in her hand. “Are you going to give me a hard time about this? If you are, tell me now, and I’ll leave.”
“No, ma’am,” said Todd, making a snap decision that a drunken mother was better than no companion at all. “Ah, he’s . . . not quite acting like himself, and . . . he’s always in a hurry to leave.”
Twisting the cap from her flask, his mother glared at him. “You’re the most ungrateful person, Todd. You should thank your lucky stars for a friend like him. If you knew how he’s fussed and worried over you. Almost as much as me.” She paused and tossed back two quick swallows, then bared her teeth and exhaled. “If he’s not himself, it’s ’cause he’s worn out with worrying and trying to have a job and spending all his free time here. Bringing you meals, and then you whining for cookies. It’s a wonder he’s not mad at you.”
Todd lay back against his pillows, trying to absorb his mother’s words. “I’m sick; you’re supposed to be indulgent,” he muttered. “Jesus, I feel as though I’ve a memory of my life, of the world, and reality is playing me false. I’ve only one eye, and it is forced to see the truth, whereas those with two eyes can choose what they see.”
“You can still choose what to see with one eye.” She took another swallow and paused, running her tongue around the mouth of the flask. “I don’t know about seeing truth. You probably see less of it now. If you don’t want to see something, you can turn a blind eye.” She laughed, and the sound reverberated in the flask before she tipped her head to drink.
Todd snorted. “I’ll try to be less ungrateful, ma’am.”
“You never appreciate me, either.” She screwed the cap back on the flask. “You act like you had the worst childhood, like you were abused or I don’t know what, with your Al-Anon and your meetings, and I’m not even that bad of an alcoholic.” As if to prove her point, she removed the cap for one more swig before closing it up and putting it away.
“No, ma’am. Not that bad.”
A container landed on Todd’s tray, and Sebby ripped back the lid to reveal a pile of golden-brown cookies. Todd, who’d been assisted to a chair by a CNA, lifted a cookie reverently, turning it this way and that, disregarding the crumbs and grains of sugar that fell to his lap. The cookie glittered in the early sunlight as though encrusted with gems.
“Ave,” Todd breathed.
“Ave?” Sebby repeated. “Is that ‘thank you’? ’Cause it better be.”
“It’s Latin for ‘hail.’ But I do thank thee, yea, verily, Sebastián.” Marveling, he picked up another. Sebby was smiling at him, Todd had cookies in hand, and all was right with the world.
“My land,” Todd’s mother remarked, sitting up and yawning with an operatic howl. “You must have been up half the night, Sebby.”
“No. Todd, cookies can be your breakfast. And here’s coffee.” He poured a cup for Lois as well.
Todd dunked his cookie in the fragrant beverage and sank his teeth into the dripping confection. The cookie was crisp on the outside, buttery and chewy within, and Todd closed his eye in bliss. “Heaven.” Opening his eye, he smiled at Sebby. “Thank you for temporarily giving up the organic obsession.”
Sebby smiled tolerantly in return. “Didn’t. They’re organic, dude. Close your mouth.”
Todd did so, wondering anew at Sebby’s attitude, dunking the cookie and finishing it in a subdued manner. “I am humbled.”
There was a burst of laughter from his mother. “That’ll be the day!” Laughing, she rolled out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom, taking her purse with her.
Todd felt the need to explain. “She never has breakfast.”
“I know,” said Sebby.
“Unless a little nip counts.”
“It doesn’t.”
Todd nibbled at an
other cookie and watched Sebby stare out the window. “Nice day,” Todd commented.
“Yes.”
“Not that I’d know firsthand.”
“No.”
“Gracias for the cookies.”
“De nada.”
When Lois emerged from the bathroom, Sebby turned, but she proceeded out into the corridor without a word, and Sebby went back to staring.
In the silence, Todd nibbled at another cookie. The food felt to be congealing into a flabby lump in his stomach. He took a long swallow of coffee. “I don’t wish to seem unappreciative, but I feel . . . uncomfortable that you are going to such lengths to ensure that nothing of which you do not approve passes these lips.” He dabbed at his mouth with a napkin.
“No lengths,” Sebby said, evidently either fascinated by the view or bored with Todd’s conversation.
“Please, I’m concerned about you.” Though he was not supposed to without assistance, Todd shoved the wheeled tray aside and pushed himself up from the chair. His legs felt weak, but they held.
“I’m fine, Todd.”
Gripping the chair’s arms, Todd took a careful step, testing his balance. “You’re not ‘fine.’ You seem distracted, perhaps because you are exhausting yourself, and I don’t wish to be the cause of . . . of . . .” Feeling a trifle unsteady and finding nothing to cling to, Todd let go of the chair, leaned forward, and stumbled to the window, trusting in momentum to avert a fall. He ended with his palms out, slap, against the glass.
Sebby whirled. His eyes raked Todd’s form, his expression betraying something like panic. “What are you doing!”
“Please don’t continue to bring me meals. Hospital food won’t harm me. You’re being overly cautious—”
“I have to be! Because you’re reckless!” Grasping Todd’s arm so tightly that it hurt, Sebby steered him across the room.
“Ow!” Todd protested.
“Set your ass down!”
Todd did so.
“Eat your cookie!”