Reaching Rose (Hunter Hill University Book 3)

by Grider, J. P.

  He looks at me again and then says, "Probably something funny. I have a feeling Johnny needs to laugh."

  Yeah. I'm sure he does.

  Look at me, feeling sorry for myself having only one leg, when poor Johnny can't even move. I sigh, and a painful-sounding noise escapes my gut. Quickly, I cover my mouth, but not quick enough to hide the noise from Ben.

  "Are you all right?"

  I nod, but I'm terribly embarrassed, and I feel myself start to cry. In an attempt to be normal, I force the tears back. Though, in doing so, I'm sure I look like a complete idiot.

  "Hey. Johnny's gonna be okay." He pulls a hand out of his pocket and takes my elbow. "And so will you," he whispers.

  Did you ever really not want to cry in front of someone so badly that you try really hard to hold back your tears? Your throat hurts, your face freezes, your eyes go wide because if you close them you'll just release them faster. That's me right now. And I'm sure I'm looking all kinds of foolish. But I can't help it. I'm not strong enough to barricade the tears, so I turn away from Ben and slowly hobble out of the room.

  I don't have to turn around to know that Ben isn't following me. He's too polite for that. I've figured that much out about him already.

  The hallway is a blurry mess in front of me, so I move to the side and lean against the wall, attempting to wipe away the tears that are causing it.

  "Rose?"

  I look up to see Nina in front of me.

  "I was just coming to get you. What happened?"

  The tears don't stop. Not at all. They rush out of my eyes like Niagara Falls.

  Nina wraps her arms around me, but I push her away and slink to the ground. If I could run, I would, but I can't, so I sit.

  "I'm gonna go get Dr. Rappaport."

  A couple minutes later, Nina is back with Dr. Rappaport and they're both struggling to lift me off the ground. Not because I'm too heavy; I've probably dropped down to ninety pounds by now. No, they're struggling because I am fighting them with every deconditioned muscle in my mutilated body. Soon, there are two male aides, and I'm being hoisted up and onto a stretcher. But I fight that too, and before they can strap me down, I roll off and fall flat on my face, my hands and arms too weak to keep my nose from hitting the ground. Now I'm in physical pain on top of everything else.

  That's when I do it.

  That's when I let out all the emotions I'd been keeping in for the last two and a half months.

  That's when I am finally able to speak.

  And it's not just normal speaking.

  I let out sounds so deep and so loud, that I can’t believe they come out of my mouth.

  From somewhere deep in my gut, I scream, "God, why? Why did you do this to me? Why? Oh, God, nooooooooooo, nooooooooo, not me! Oh my God, no, no, no, no."

  The words go on forever, and they echo throughout the hallway.

  By the time I am done screaming, only Dr. Rappaport is left. And he is sitting by my side, rubbing my back. Someone brings a pillow and places it under my head. I don't know how long I was screaming, but at the end of my meltdown, I am exhausted. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally.

  I am sitting in Dr. Rappaport's office sometime after, and instead of not speaking, like is usually the case, I’ve been yelling. In my old life, I never yelled. Never found the need for it. Now. Now, I'm this person I don't even recognize. Half a person. Who screams at the top of her lungs. Now. Is this who I'm going to be for the rest of my life?

  "This is not who you are going to be for the rest of your life, Rose," Dr. Rappaport says in response to my question, which evidently I said out loud. "You're going through the second stage of grief. It took you a while to get there, but you're there now. And it's good."

  "Second stage?" I ask, screaming the words at him, digging my fingernails into my folded arms.

  "Anger. The first one is denial. The second, anger. You're making progress."

  I shake my head. "I don't want to make progress!" I touch my neck. My throat is awfully dry. I'm on my third glass of water since I've been sitting in here. "I want this to never have happened," I yell, pleading for time to rewind.

  "But it did happen, Rose, and now you have to make a decision."

  A decision? I just glare at the doctor.

  "You have to make the decision to either take control of this situation, or let it control you."

  I stand up, and let me tell you, it isn't easy, since I still don't know how to use this metal leg attached to me, and the new bruises I incurred from my fall are raw and aching. "God decided already," I scream. "He decided I should walk around life on one leg and never dance again. It isn't fair. It isn't fair." I sit back down, because I hurt and I'm exhausted. "It isn't fair," I whisper, punching both my thighs.

  "It isn't fair, Rose. Not at all."

  "And that's supposed to help me?" God, I'm being so fresh, but what am I supposed to do? This isn't the life I wanted. This isn't me. This isn't me. This isn't me. My tears find their way back, and I just want to go to sleep.

  "Rose. You're beat. If you want to stay here and talk things out, then stay. If you want to rest, I'll have one of the nurses bring you back to your room. Besides, you really need to ice your face some more. I think that pack isn't cutting it anymore."

  No, it isn't, since it's been lying on the chair next to me, keeping the chair nice and cold.

  Nina helps me to my room and takes off my metal paper towel tube. Then I almost vomit when she takes off my protective socks and dressings. Usually Lou or Katrina does it, and I never watch. Gone are the days I can just mind-travel back to sunnier days and ignore the present. So when I see the mutilation that is my left leg, my stomach lurches, and I think I'm going to puke for real.

  "I know today was rough," Nina says, looking up at me while she's tending to my missing leg, "but you should have been taught how to do this already, Rose. It was infected for a long time, so your incision is still healing. Don't think it can't get infected again, because it can. And then that will just prolong getting your permanent prosthetic. You need to care for your own stump."

  That's when I hurl. All over my lap and Nina. I can't stand that word. Stump. It's an ugly word. It makes me feel ugly.

  "Oh my God, Rose. Really?" Nina says, standing up, her arms held out, her face disgusted by the vomit spewed all over her Scooby-Doo scrubs.

  Now we both have puke on ourselves, but only Nina can clean herself up. I'm stuck on the bed with no chair, no cane, no nothing to help me get up.

  So, like the baby that I'm being, because I don't know how to act grown up with this deformity, I kick the side panel of the bed with my heel, and grunt something incoherent, even to myself.

  Nina comes back in my room with Lou, and both of them tend to cleaning the vomit off of me. Afterward, I'm asked whether I want to be put in my chair, but I shake my head and pull the covers over my legs. The only thing I want to do is sleep. Even watching a funny movie with Ben tonight holds no appeal.

  12

  BEN

  Johnny and I were disappointed when Rose didn't show up to watch a movie with us last night. Truth be told, I was the one disappointed. Johnny seemed uninterested in even watching the movie. The poor guy gets tired easily, and last night, he looked beat. His curtain is closed this morning, and it sounds like he's still sleeping, despite it being nearly eleven in the morning.

  Saturdays are a little more laid back, and we only have one therapy session, so we're allowed to sleep in if we choose to. I chose not to and had breakfast in the cafeteria with a lot of the center's employees and the patients' visitors. There were some patients eating in the cafe, but I think most of them were outpatients. The inpatients usually eat in the rec center.

  But after breakfast, I came back to the room to see if Johnny wanted to hang. Since he's still sleeping, I head down to the rec and promise myself I'll sit and rest my leg when I get there. It's hard to sit still, but Craig insists that I rest it, and because I still have some pain and weakness, I inten
d on obeying him. I grab a soda out of the fridge, sit on one of the reclining couches and give my mom a call.

  "Benito, it's so good to hear your voice," she says upon answering.

  "Hey, Ma. Miss you."

  "Miss you too, Benny. How's pain?"

  "Pain's not too bad. I'm doin' good. They unlocked my brace, so I'm walking around again."

  "Oh, so good. When you come home?"

  "Not sure. My therapist said another week."

  "Good. Good. Papa and I come see you tomorrow, yeah?"

  "Yeah, yeah. That'd be good. Listen, Ma, can you or Dad call the doctor? Craig said he wanted me to get an MRI on my knee, but I didn’t want to call the doctor from here. So you think you can call?

  "Sure. I'll call Monday. I don't think he's in on Saturday. I'll try though, yeah?"

  "Yeah. Thanks, Ma. See ya tomorrow?"

  "See ya tomorrow, baby. Love you."

  "Love you too. Bye."

  Just as I slip my phone into the pocket of my sweats, I see Rose walk in with one of the weekend nurses. The nurse is talking to her, and Rose is just nodding. When the nurse points over to the lounge area, Rose shrugs, and then she sees me. I hope this encourages her to sit here.

  She looks down at the floor, but I notice she allows the nurse to lead her over here.

  "You want to sit here?" the nurse asks, pointing to the couch that sits adjacent to mine.

  "Rose, why don't you sit here?" I speak quickly, before she has a chance to respond to the nurse.

  "Oh, you know each other?" the nurse asks, taking Rose by the elbow and guiding her in my direction. "Okay, if you need anything, just press the button on your pager."

  "You have a pager?" I ask Rose after her nurse leaves.

  I expect her to nod in response, but she presses her lips together then opens them and takes a breath. "I guess they give them to the patients who can't get around on their own."

  Oh my God, her voice is soft, and sweet, and childlike. I nod and stare. And then I come back to Earth. "You have a sweet voice. You should use it more often."

  Her peachy complexion turns more peach. "Thank you," she says very softly.

  "We missed you last night."

  She just nods.

  "Cat got your tongue again?"

  She closes her eyes and shakes her head, but she does present me with a close-mouthed smile.

  "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I was trying to make a joke, but...it wasn't funny. I'm sorry."

  Again, her eyes close briefly, and she laughs one silent laugh.

  "Please don't stop talking again on account of my being an ass. You have such a sweet voice. It's meant to be heard."

  "S'okay." She barely opens her mouth, but at least she says something.

  "Do you have therapy at noon too?" I'm trying to make small talk, but it's difficult. I don't want to say anything that might offend her or trigger her tears. I'm not sure what I said yesterday to cause them, but I'm afraid to do it again.

  Now I know I have the option of just leaving her be. Not paying any attention to her. Hey, if someone doesn't want your friendship, why try to attain it? But I don't think that's the case with Rose. I believe with Rose, it's a matter of helping her see through this. It's not that she doesn't want me as a friend - it's that she doesn't know how to be a friend in her new body. She doesn't know how to exist in her new life.

  Rose holds up her fingers, and at first I think she's telling me to, "Wait a second," but she's actually telling me she has therapy at one.

  "Ah. Mine's at noon...obviously."

  "Are...you here long? At...rehab?" Her voice is tiny, but it's beautiful. It flows, like a song.

  "No. About another week. You?"

  She shrugs. "Guess it depends on me." She frowns.

  "On you?"

  "I...I haven't been well behaved," she speaks under her breath; I can barely hear her.

  "Well behaved, did you say?"

  "Mmm-hmmm."

  "You're the quietest girl I've ever met. I don't believe you have it in you to misbehave.”

  She closes her eyes again. Only this time, she keeps them closed, and I'm hoping I haven't caused her to cry again.

  "Rose?"

  She turns her head and looks at me. Right in the eyes. "I'm not a happy person. And I haven't been very cooperative."

  "I'm sure it's not easy facing a substantial lifestyle change." While I'm speaking the words, I'm wondering if I shouldn't be saying them, but I want to get close to this girl. I know she intrigues me, but she also smells so. Damn. Good.

  "It hasn't been. No," she admits quietly.

  She's struggling. I hear it in her barely audible voice. I see it in the way her fists are tightly clenched. And I see it in the rigid way she holds herself.

  "I have no way of knowing what you are going through right now, but I imagine you'll learn to adjust. Eventually."

  She only nods. Her fists are still clenched so tightly, her knuckles are bright white. I'm also guessing her fingers are in an awful lot of pain as well.

  "You're in good hands here. My coach thinks so anyway. He's the one making me be here."

  I laugh at the confusion on her face.

  "I had meniscus repair surgery. I could have recovered from home. Gone to therapy a couple times a week as an outpatient. But he's ensuring that I'm fully capable to be back on the field for the spring season. His words. Not mine."

  "Baseball?"

  "Yup. Pitcher."

  She nods her approval.

  I want to ask her if she does any sports, but thankfully, for a change, my mouth doesn't spew before my brain has a chance to register what it's going to say, and I refrain from asking her something that I'm positive would trigger tears. At the very least, resentment.

  I'm just about to ask her what kind of music she likes, but there's a guy wearing athletic gear and an unbuttoned lab coat standing at the door, searching for Benito Falco.

  "That's me," I answer, standing up.

  "I'm your PT today."

  "Oh." I look at Rose. "Hopefully I'll see you later?"

  She just nods. But I get a smile. Complete with dimple and all.

  13

  ROSE

  Thank God he left.

  I couldn't stand talking to him.

  It took all my mental strength to not scream or, and this is new for me, to not punch something.

  Ben is sweet. He's funny. He's so darn cute. In my old life, I'd have loved every single moment he'd pay me any attention. But today. Now. Me being a total mess. Scarred down one whole side of my body. I couldn't not be preoccupied with how I probably look from his eyes.

  Will I be this self-conscious the rest of my life?

  Before the accident, I never gave a second thought about my appearance. Yes, I took care to look neat and put-together. And yes, I kept myself trim so I'd look good dancing on stage.

  But I never.

  Never.

  Cared how I looked while having a conversation with another person.

  Now.

  It's all I can think about.

  Poor Rose with her half-a-leg and Jack Skellington face.

  I guess I'm more vain than I thought I was.

  But before I'm able to slink too far into myself, the rec room phone rings, and the aide who answers it tells me it's for me.

  I point to myself, unbelieving that someone would be calling on the phone for me.

  "You're Rose Duncan, right?"

  "Yes," I say, too low for her to hear, but I nod my head and use the arm of the couch and my cane to slowly come to a stand.

  When the aide sees me struggling, she motions to help me, but I hold up my hand, to my surprise, in silent protest. I got it, my mind says, though my mouth doesn't.

  "Hello?" I keep my voice low when I take the receiver.

  "Rose? Is that you, honey? You're really talking again?"

  "Mom?"

  "Dr. Rappaport called me to tell me. Oh, baby, you don't know how happy that mak
es me. Oh, I want to come down today, but Daddy's so busy on the farm. But I told Dr. Rappaport if you needed me, I'd come."

  "No. Mom...it's okay."

  "Really? Dr. Rappaport didn't think it was necessary, but I wanted to check with you. You're sure?"

  "Yes."

  "Rose. He said you hit the anger stage."

  I don't respond.

  "It's okay, honey. He said it's healthy. You're moving forward. I'm so happy, Rosie. I can't wait 'til you come home."

  "Me too."

  "Okay, baby. I'll let you go. Call me if you want me to come down before Wednesday. Otherwise, I'll see you Wednesday. I love you."

  "Love you too."

  Just as I'm making my way back to the couch, someone calls my name again, and I recognize the voice immediately. I'm excited and agitated at the same time. Using my cane to help me, I turn around slowly, and without being able to help myself, I smile and cry at the same time.

  "No. No. Rose. I didn't come here to make you cry."

  Putting her hands on my shoulders and searching my eyes, she says, "I came here to tell you to wise the fuck up and get better already."

  And right away, I'm laughing along with my tears. God, how I've missed her.

  "Oh, Holly."

  "What the hell, Rose? You trying to play hero by getting through this by yourself?" She pulls away, and I turn to lead her to a table. When we're sitting next to each other, she looks at me and says, "Why couldn't you just call me? I could have been here for you the whole time. And wait. Your mother said you weren't talking. You said my name. Are you cured?" She's teasing me. Typical Holly. I've missed her so much. She'd become my best friend and dorm mate on the first day of college three years ago.

  "Far from it," I tell her.

  "So why did your mom say you weren't talking?"

  "I wasn't. I just...started."

  "You just started talking? Since your accident?"

  I nod.

  "Rose. How long has it been? I haven't heard from you in months."

  "June 12th."

  "You speak so softly now, I can hardly hear you. June 12th? That's, like, what, a week after you got to New York, isn't it? You didn't even get to...Oh, Rose, I'm so sorry."