His smile is awesome, and I would kick myself, if I could, for being so wishy-washy. I hate wishy-washy. But currently, I don't even know which way is up. I'm at a total loss about who I'm supposed to be right now. Being friendly and normal is not on my radar.
I hobble back to my room and call the night nurse to help me take off my tube, since I'm not supposed to sleep with it on. My irritability level has skyrocketed in the last fifteen minutes, and when the nurse doesn't come quickly enough, I roll up my yoga pants and start yanking off the tube from my leg. And hurting myself in the process. The pain in my shin is unbearable and freaks me out.
Because my shin isn't even there!
I've had phantom pain before. They tell me it's normal for...people like me.
But this time.
I can't handle it.
The latches on my robot leg are not cooperating, and I'm using force to rip it off.
In no time, and after an unsuccessful attempt to dislocate the metal from my leg because I never paid attention to how to do it, I'm kicking the plastic heel against the side of the bed and screaming.
Pain is everywhere.
My non-existent shin.
My stupid nub of a knee.
My whole left side.
My chest.
And that's the worst pain of all.
Why did this have to happen to me?
Why couldn't I have just gone back to the apartment with Jordan when she forgot her cell phone? Then none of this would have happened. None of it.
My God, why are you doing this to me?
It's a new nurse, and when she sees my state, she calls for help. At least I think that's what she does, because moments later, I'm being pricked with a needle. And while I'm still screaming.
16
BEN
Rose walked out upset, and I'm embarrassed by how that made me feel.
Like I was dumped.
In the middle of a date.
I know, I know - unreasonable.
For God's sake, I just met her. We're in here to recover. Not to date. But I tell you, it started to feel like a date.
Maybe because I'm attracted to her?
Maybe because I'm feeling something from her too?
But we are here to recover.
Rose is, especially.
I can't be thinking about her in that way.
But I am.
So I text Holly.
Me: You'll never guess who I met?
Holly: Mike Piazza.
Me: Mike Piazza? Really?
Holly: He's the only baseball guy I know. If it's not him, who?
Me: I'm not that obsessed with baseball. Anyway...the girl I kinda sorta like?
Holly: The girl made of glass?
Me: Yeah. Her name is Rosalie. Rose for short.
Instead of the popping sound of a text alert, my phone rings. I press answer and hear, "Where the hell are you?"
I can't keep from smiling. "I'm at Orange Rehabilitation Center."
"Ho.Ly.Shiiit." She draws out the words. "You met Rose."
Sighing and smiling, I say, "I did. And Holly, I need your help with her." I keep my voice quiet, even though I'm the only one in my room.
"What do you mean you need my help?"
"I'm not sure if I should even be pursuing her. She has all this shit going on. She's so...distant and..."
"And fragile?" Holly finishes.
"Yeah." I pause and run my free hand through my hair, and realize I need a haircut. "Am I crazy? She should be the furthest thing from my mind right now. I mean with baseball, my knee, and the whole fact that she's far from healed emotionally from her accident." I stop talking, waiting to see what Holly has to say.
"Well, you're definitely not crazy. Rose is the best. It's just..." I hear her sigh. "Right now, you're probably best to just...be a friend."
"Well, that's all I want to be right now, but maybe...maybe she just wants to be left alone."
"It's true that Rose is going through something we can't understand...I don't know. I wish she had a phone so I could call her, or at least text her."
"I hadn't even thought about that. You're right. I haven't seen her with a phone."
"Her mom told me it was crushed in...well, anyway. I'll try to get there this week. I just have to find someone to cover for me at work. She needs a friend. She's going through this all alone."
"I'm here."
"You know, I really wish her mother tried to contact me sooner." Holly ignores me. "I could have been there this whole time."
"Can you come tomorrow?"
"I work tomorrow. I can see if Donny can cover, but...I'll try."
***
Holly does come on Sunday to see Rose, only to be told that Rose isn't here.
"Rose signed herself out late last night. Her mother came and took her home," Holly tells me after she asks the front desk if she can visit with me instead.
"But why?" I ask, wondering why her mother would take her before she finished therapy.
"The woman couldn't tell me. Patient confidentiality and shit," Holly says, waving her hands in front of her as if they fed her bogus information.
If I weren't so worried about Rose, I would have laughed. "Damn."
"If she went home, I can just go there and see her."
I nod, agreeing she should go visit her friend. I want to say, "But where's that leave me?" but I don't. Instead, I say, with an ache in my chest, "Please keep me posted on how she's doing."
Holly reaches for my forearm, and while she's rubbing it, she tells me, "Oh, honey, I definitely will. I'll text you every time I know something. Okay?"
"Sure."
She reaches in and hugs me. "Since Rose isn't here, I'm gonna get back to work. Donny wasn't too happy to pull two shifts. I'll talk to you tomorrow?"
"Please."
***
Monday and Tuesday are quiet. Rose is gone, and Johnny hasn't been back in our room since Saturday morning. At first I was afraid to ask about him, but now I'm getting worried. So, on Tuesday afternoon, during my afternoon PT session, I ask Craig.
"He had to be taken to the hospital Saturday afternoon. He has pneumonia, and for someone in his condition—" Craig shakes his head "—it's not good, man."
Suddenly, I don't feel like finishing my session. I sit down on one of the benches and drop my head in my hands.
"It sucks," Craig says.
I look up at him. "Craig. I...Do we have to finish here? Today?"
"No, man, we don't. I was going to tell you this at the end of the hour, but...you get released on Thursday."
"Really?"
"Yup. But you have to go for that MRI. Did you tell your mother?"
"Yeah, yeah, she's supposed to be making me an appointment."
"Good."
I get up to go back to my room, but Craig stops me.
"He's at Saint Barnabas. Johnny. If you want to see him when you get out."
"Yeah. Thanks."
***
On Thursday, I'm released, but not relieved.
The first place I have my mother take me is to Saint Barnabas Hospital to see Johnny. He is someone I started to feel close to in such a short amount of time. I don't know if it is his wit or that he could look quadriplegia in the eye and laugh at it, but Johnny is a man of integrity. And one I'm proud to call friend.
I'm only allowed in for five minutes. He's in ICU, and I'm lucky they're even giving me that much time. He's awake, but tubes are coming out of him everywhere.
"Ben? What the...hell...you doing...here?" he says, barely getting the words out between breaths, when he sees me standing alongside his bed.
"It's me, dude. What the hell are you doing here?"
"Eh. Shit happens." His voice is warbled, and even though he has tubes sticking out of his nose, his breathing seems labored. "What are you...doing out...of rehab?" he asks slowly.
"Got released today."
"Going home...excellent."
"Are you gonna get bette
r soon so you can get outta here?"
"Yeah." He pauses, but I know he's just trying to catch his breath. "Any day now."
"Good. Good. Hey, I don't have a phone number or address or anything for you." I pull out my cell. "What's your address?"
Johnny gives me his address, which is in Totowa, and, so he tells me, not too far from Hunter Hill.
"And...Mom's getting me...this voice...recognition computer...when I get out...of rehab...so we can email."
"Cool."
"I have a cell phone number too."
"You do?" I ask, not expecting him to be able to use it.
"Sure. I use voice rec for...that too...and Bluetooth."
"Well, you're all set then, aren't you?"
I punch in his number and promise him I'll call.
"Hey...call it now...leave me...a mess...age. This way I'll...know it's you."
He's struggling to get the words out, so I tell him I'll call and then I tell him to hurry the hell out of the hospital.
And then I walk out of his room, shedding the first tear I've shed in a long time.
***
I settle into home easily enough. Since Dad, Maria, and Dominic are at their respective jobs, and it's just Ma and me at home, it's pretty quiet, and I find myself bored right away. The highlight of my days are when Holly calls to fill me in on what's happening with Rose. The first few times she tried, Holly couldn't get in touch with Rose's family, but after about a week of calling, Rose's mother finally answers her call.
"She's in a mental ward, Ben," Holly tells me over the phone, her words muffled by her tears.
"Oh shit."
"She's really depressed, her mom said. She thought going home from Orange would make her feel better. She really wanted to be home. But...her mom said she got even worse. Crying all day long. If she wasn't screaming from nightmares, she wasn't talking. She sank back into her mutism; just refused to talk again."
"Did she...did she go willingly?" I ask, because I'd hate to think she was dragged to a mental facility.
"Her mother said she had a really bad nervous breakdown and went to the hospital in an ambulance. She's at a regular hospital, but they have a psychiatric ward there. I mean, maybe she wants to be there, since she's old enough to sign herself out."
"Not if she was forced to go."
"It didn't sound like that."
"Thanks for calling, Holl. I think I gotta get going."
"Sure. I'll call you when I hear more."
"Thanks."
When you hear sad news about a friend, it makes you sad. Sometimes, it even makes you cry. But hearing this about Rose...well, it hurts. Right where my heart lives in my chest. That's when I realize, I must have really fallen hard for her, and I hadn't even seen it coming.
***
Monday, more than a week after I am released from Orange, I go for my MRI. My mom keeps making the appointment; I keep canceling. I'm not in the mood to deal with lying still that long, and I really haven't felt the need to go. But my mom put her foot down by Monday and threatened to cancel the cable and the phone if I didn't go. So it's Monday, and I'm here. The process takes about forty-five minutes, and I get to listen to my new Walk the Moon album.
Most of my time at home I think about Rose and wonder if she's getting any better. But I spend the rest of the time either doing my at-home physical therapy or going in the backyard and practicing pitching without bending my knee. Not an easy task, but it makes me feel like I'm moving forward a little bit.
Johnny enters my mind quite often as well, but being that more than a week has gone by since I've seen him, I call his cell and hope someone answers it.
On the third ring, it's Johnny's voice who answers. "Ben, how's home treating you?"
"It's boring. How 'bout you? You outta that hospital?"
"Yup. Two days ago. I'm actually home now too."
"Really?"
"Yeah. They're afraid of germs and stuff, so...got a private PT coming to the house a few times a week. My mom might hire me a full-time nurse if insurance covers it."
"That's great, dude." Is it? I really don't know how great it is to be in Johnny's shoes. I admire how he's holding up. "Can I come visit you, or will I bring in more germs?"
"No, no. Sure you can visit. My mom'll make you sterilize yourself before you come in, but if you don't mind taking a bath in boiling water when you get here, then you'll be good."
"Sure," I say, laughing. "What's a few third degree burns for a friend?"
"When can you come?"
"Shit. How 'bout tomorrow?"
"Cool. You got the address, right?"
"Yup. I'll put it in my GPS. See ya tomorrow, dude. And hey, you need anything?"
"Legs or arms that work if you can find them anywhere."
There is no response to that; I can't even laugh, and I know he is joking.
"Hey. Kidding. See ya tomorrow."
***
The next day, I borrow my mother's Accord, because my Civic is manual, and I'm not supposed to be using a clutch just yet, in case I jam my knee in the process of shifting gears. It feels good being back in the driver's seat, and the route is familiar, considering it's the same one I take to get to school.
A young woman, who looks older than she probably is, opens the door to Johnny's house.
"Ben?" she asks, greeting me with a smile and, after confirming I am in fact Ben, a hug.
"Hi," I say over her shoulder, trying subtly to break the embrace.
"Oh, Ben, thank you for coming today. You don't know how much this means to him...and to me, of course."
"Oh...it means a lot to me as well. He's a great guy." She shuts the door behind us and leads me in to the foyer.
"Please don't tell him I told you this." Her hand is now firmly on my shoulder. "But...oh, he likes to put on this act in front of people. In front of me even...but..." She has to stop to catch her breath and wipe her tears with a tissue she takes from her sweater's pocket. "When he's alone in his room," she continues, "and he thinks I'm out of earshot, I hear him sobbing."
I had a feeling, but I'd never say that to her. "I guess...it must be so difficult...to be...."
"To be a teenager who can't move," she finishes my thought.
"Yeah."
"He talks about you all the time now. I'm so happy he has you." She wipes her eyes again. "His other friends...I don't think they know how to react."
I nod, understanding completely. I have no clue, myself, how I would act if I had known Johnny before. But I had the good fortune of meeting him after, and so it was easier to not even have to react, but to just...act.
"Let me stop talking. He's so excited to see you. Do you mind though?" She holds out a huge bottle of Purell.
"No, of course not." I take off my sweatshirt, lay it on a bench in the foyer, and lather on the antibacterial hand gel. I rub it up my arms and everything.
"Johnny's in the family room," his mother tells me as she parades me through the kitchen.
"Hey, dude. Is that the way you greet your best friend when he comes to visit?"
Johnny's chair turns and he faces me. "Hey. You made it."
Walking over to him, I purposely knock him on the side of his knee with my hand. "Course I did. How they hangin'?"
"Who the hell knows? I can't stand up to see if they even do," he says jokingly. "So what's goin' on, Benny? Gettin' back in the groove?"
"Eh. No groove to get back into yet. Thinking about traveling with the team to Florida on break, but...that just might bum me out."
"Cause you can't play yet?"
"Yeah."
"I hear ya. Too loudly."
I cringe. "Yeah. I guess you would. Sorry."
"Don't be sorry. It is what it is. Can't change things."
"I...uh...I thought you...thought you'd...um...get better and shit."
"And shit's more like it."
Sagging into the couch, I let the severity of his depression sink in - he's given up. "Dude." I want to say m
ore, but what? Telling him he might get better are just words that may as well come out of my ass. They mean nothing.
"I'm accepting it," he says, closing his eyes.
We look at each other for a few seconds too long, so we shift our eyes comically, to find someplace else to look.
Then Johnny blurts, "Hey, you got Words With Friends on your phone?"
"Um...no. I can get it, though. Why?"
"Wanna play?"
I must be giving him a blank stare, because he laughs.
"I mean with me. Play it with me. I have it on my iPad and...you wanna play?"
"Sure." I find the app in the app store and start the download. "But...how? How can you..." I point to him in the chair, but I don't finish the sentence.
"With this." He puts his mouth on the second straw-like thing that sticks out from his chair extensions and lifts it up, pointing it at the iPad he has sitting on an electronic tray. The end of the stick has a rubber tip.
"That's some chair," I say, impressed.
"Yeah, and here before this, I only wanted a mere Mustang," he jokes.
I know he's not trying to make me feel guilty for opening my mouth, but I do.
"Hey, don't feel bad. I see it on your face. I gotta make jokes. It's how I cope. And you're allowed to laugh. In fact, I would like it if you would laugh."
I nod, but I drop it and say, "App’s loaded. Now how do I play this shit?"
Johnny laughs and rolls next to me. "They'll give you a bunch of letters and you gotta make a word out of them. Like Scrabble. You ever play Scrabble?"
"Oh yeah."
"Good." He rolls his chair back over to where he was and we play.
"Hey, that ain't a word," I say of the word ‘djin’ that he just played.
"It took my letters, and it’s fifteen points, so that means it's a word."
"Well I think it's cheating."
"Nope. If it takes the letters, it's not cheating."
Reaching Rose (Hunter Hill University Book 3) Page 8