Catching the Light

by Susan Sinnott

  ***

  He was moved to rehab. It was just fifteen minutes away by ambulance but it seemed to put him back in the real world. He was in a four-bed room by a big window and he could see sky and the top halves of trees. Almost like home only not many evergreens, and it was April so they were mostly twiggy black lines with crows in them.

  This old guy, William, had a bed at the other end of the window. He was in a wheelchair. Must have had a stroke because his right arm was floppy. When Hutch asked him how long he’d been there, the good half of his face screwed up but he just drooled and the only word that came out was “shit.” He looked embarrassed and held up four fingers of his good hand.

  “Four days?” Hutch said.

  William shook his head.

  “Four weeks?”

  Big nod.

  There was something Hutch liked about William’s face. It was gentle, like Dad’s.

  “Well, at least you can see trees,” Hutch said to him. “But they’re a poor lot compared to Mariners Cove. We’ve got thick spruce and fir at home, right down to the water in some places.” William looked interested, nodding his head and smiling right-handed.

  Hutch got into the habit of yakking away to William, not waiting for replies.

  “Mom always expects me to do something bad—she’s saying no before I’ve even thought of it sometimes.” Then he gave a sly grin and added, “But mostly I’ve thought of it.”

  William chuckled and did a thumbs-up with his good hand.

  “Dad just gives you a look but you know he means business. Whatever you’re plotting, forget it.” Wouldn’t it be nice if the family walked in the door right now. “And my brother, Brian, he’s a whiz with computers. Does computer repairs, in Gander mostly. Stays at Lori’s, his girlfriend’s. Seven years older than me but he’s never treated me like a kid, ever. Great brother.”

  One day Hutch said, “Put your smile and my smile together and we’d have a whole one between us.”

  William laughed and laughed.

  ***

  He worked his ass off in rehab. Maybe he overdid it sometimes—he just wanted to get better fast—but overdoing put him back every time, so he learned the hard way about “slow and steady.”

  He was up in a wheelchair now for half-hour stretches. He’d never thought about the effort it took to do the simplest thing from a wheelchair. And how slow life was when elevator doors stayed open for minutes at every floor. Then he heard Eugene’s voice saying, “Just get on with it, b’y.” Sounded so real, it gave him a start.

  It was a relief to be up and doing. His folks had given him a Game Boy, which he loved, but lying flat and holding it up hurt after a bit and his back killed him when he sat for long. Couldn’t concentrate. Listening to his music was great in small doses—Eminem, Red Hot Chili Peppers, AC/DC—but it was better as an accompaniment, not the main attraction, and some were kayaking songs, like “Slim Shady.” He tried not to think about how to balance his kayak, now all that weight of leg was gone, that he would miss exams, wouldn’t graduate.

  He tweaked his headphones and turned up “Gangsta’s Paradise.”

  ***

  “And how are we this morning?” said a singsong kindergarten voice.

  “We are single,” Hutch said, sticking out his arm for blood work. How old did she think he was?

  The guy in the next bed looked not much older than Hutch but the screens were round him half the day and he spent hours on a stretcher in the lounge. He’d broken his neck in a Ski-Doo accident, been thrown off and hit a tree. Guy was paralyzed and had a head injury. Words came out chewed; he sounded like a recording played at the wrong speed.

  “Shoot me,” Hutch said to Bud on one of his Friday-night visits. “If I’m ever like that, please shoot me.”

  Eugene and Jenny would agree with that. Wouldn’t they?

  Bud’s visit was a bright spot in the week. He talked about his classes at Memorial and girls and the NHL and sometimes he brought stuff to study and it was just friendly having him sitting there next to him.

  Hutch liked the staff although one of the aides wasn’t as friendly as the rest, didn’t pay much attention. One time she put a folded blanket down on his good leg. He didn’t say anything first, but it was right where it had been pinned in surgery and it was still tender. After a few minutes the weight was making it uncomfortable so Hutch asked her to move it, but she rushed out of the room right then as if she’d just remembered something.

  He called after her, “You forgot your blanket,” but she didn’t come back.

  Hutch couldn’t reach it lying down and when he tried to kick it off he got a sharp pain in his back and that awful burning pain shot down his leg. He just started yelling.

  “Come and take this frigging blanket off me! You don’t fucking listen! You deaf or what?”

  He kept right on yelling until some woman with a clipboard rushed in and he was pointing at the blanket and sputtering because by then he couldn’t get the words out and the pain was on bust and he was so mad he didn’t know what he was saying. By this time the nursing supervisor and a security guy and the clipboard lady were all telling him to calm down and the cause of the trouble was nowhere in sight. Fucking vanished.

  A social worker came and talked to him. No, he wasn’t going to make a formal complaint. No, he wasn’t going to sign any incident form. He just wanted that woman to stay away from him. And most of the time she did.

  ***

  He drifted off to sleep one afternoon and when he woke, there was a guy he didn’t know standing by his bed. Not staff. Old. No, not that old, but he had those deep grooves going from nose to mouth that make a face look worn out, worried. He just stood there without saying anything.

  “Hi,” said Hutch.

  “You don’t remember me.” The man pressed his lips together for a second, making those grooves deeper. “I was the driver.” He was looking right at Hutch, like he was waiting to see his reaction.

  Jesus, this was the guy who caused it all. Walking around free while he was stuck in bed. While Jenny and Eugene…Jesus.

  The guy looked away, nodding. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Nothing I can do except say I’m sorry.” He started to walk away.

  Hutch called out, “No. Wait.”

  The man half turned towards him and said, “Wish I’d died myself instead of those kids, instead of what happened to you.”

  Then he walked away and Hutch never saw him again.

  Chance

  Somebody was sitting in Cathy’s spot on the wharf. It was Jane Butt, all huddled down, blowing her nose. Cathy slowed and almost kept walking, but then turned onto the wharf and sat cross-legged next to her, fidgeting from side to side until she was comfortable. Jane glanced over once then looked back down at her knees, huddling down even more.

  “You must miss Jenny some lot,” Cathy said. “You were her best friend.”

  “Yes.”

  After a minute or so Cathy said, “They used to start from here sometimes, in the kayaks.”

  “Yes.” Jane looked out over the water. “I’ve been picturing them all going off paddling together, calling out and laughing. Jenny was always laughing.” Gulls were riding the swells—the experts, being cool. “Mom says I shouldn’t come here, shouldn’t keep poking at it. The hole.”

  “Yes, but you can’t help poking at it.”

  They sat in silence, so still a gull landed on the edge of the wharf in front of them with something dangling from its beak. It stood tossing the loose end up and gulping, tossing and gulping, until it was all gone.

  “She was the only person who always spoke to me,” said Cathy. Jane looked at her and frowned, shook her head a bit. “Well, you did too,” Cathy said. “But it was always Jenny said hello first.”

  “That’s because you didn’t answer when I said it—if I spoke first or was on
my own. You ignored me. I gave up trying ages ago.” Jane pulled away a bit.

  Cathy was put out. Never did that.

  “Don’t remember you saying hello first. Ever.” She had a little tussle with herself. “Sorry. If I did that. Must have not heard.” It came out a bit gruff but at least it came out.

  Jane just shrugged and after a bit she said, “So why did you hear Jenny and not me? My voice is just as loud. Louder.” She sounded annoyed.

  Cathy tried to think back. She pictured Jenny last summer on a day just like this. She’d appeared out of nowhere carrying her paddle, put a hand on Cathy’s arm and said, “Hiya Cathykins,” in that bouncy way she had. And once, in class last winter, she’d put her hand on Cathy’s shoulder as she passed between desks and whispered, “Don’t mind her, Cathy.” She could feel the hand now. Couldn’t remember who’d been mean that time—there was always someone. Although people had been nicer mostly since she’d started catching up in school. Or was it because she listened more? Answered people? She began picturing other times when Jenny had greeted her and there was always that touch.

  “Her hand.” Cathy turned to Jane, her voice excited. “Every time Jenny spoke to me she put her hand on my arm first, got my attention. Never thought of it before.” She could feel a big smile on her face.

  Jane was staring at her. “You serious? D’you mean to say you need a punch in the arm to make you know someone’s standing right in front of you?”

  Cathy’s smile slipped. “Maybe. Don’t always see what’s in front of me when I’m thinking about stuff.”

  She turned away and watched the gull hopping and flapping its way down the wharf.

  “You really do have your head in the clouds, don’t you?” Jane’s voice had lost that sharpness but she still didn’t sound too sure. “And here I thought you saw things better than the rest of us, being an artist and everything.”

  Cathy was good at noticing. She was excellent at noticing. Just not all the time.

  “Pity we didn’t know this years ago,” said Jane. The gull was pecking at something further along the wharf now, looking for dessert maybe. “Now that I know, I’ll give you a slap upside the head every time I see you.”

  Jane’s smile was the tiniest ever. Cathy leaned across and put an arm round her for a second, gave her a little squeeze.

  ***

  A week later Jane grabbed her by the arm and yelled, “Hi!” Made her jump. Cathy was walking away from Sarah’s house where they had been working on “goals and objectives” for her art school applications. She needed two portfolios now, which meant a lot of pictures, but they both looked great—impressive Sarah called them—some actual sketches and small paintings with photographs of some of her bigger pictures. Cathy would take everything to school in September. Sarah said she’d help with the forms.

  “Cathy? We’re just going to The Café. Come with us.”

  There were two other girls with Jane, both from Cathy’s class, and Cathy was feeling so excited and hopeful about her portfolio that she said yes without thinking, then paused. “But I don’t have any money on me.”

  They all stopped and looked at her.

  “You don’t need…”

  “But…”

  “Have you never been to The Café?” said Rose Tucker. They were still staring at her and Cathy’s no was very small because this was telling them she was weird more than anything.

  “Jenny invited me but I never went.”

  “Well,” said Jane, and there was a kind of group sigh and they all started moving again and Cathy had to hurry to catch up. “You know how the place started…? Ricky Abbott was getting into stuff—”

  “—Chris Abbott’s brother, the one out in Alberta—”

  “—back in grade seven—”

  “—and his Dad said there was nowhere for kids to hang out.”

  “Turned the shed behind his auto body shop into a hangout.”

  “He’s got machines for Coke and chips and stuff but you don’t have to buy anything if you don’t want to.”

  They all clomped in and grabbed chairs. Cathy’s cousin Annie was over by the pool table and she yelled “Cathy!” like she hadn’t seen her in months and some of the guys looked round, a bit surprised, but nodded to her before they went back to their conversation.

  Over the next year Cathy went down to The Café now and then, just when she knew Jane and the girls would be there. Sometimes when she was out and around, the girls banged her on the arm with a big yell and a laugh and she started to notice them coming and not to need the signal anymore, but she didn’t let on.

  Rocks and Shoals

  Early on, Hutch went down to Prosthetics to be measured for his new leg. He was surprised how soon they made him put pressure on his stump to mould it into a good shape. He spent hours in the gym too, stretching, strengthening, “re-educating.”

  His first day down there he met a guy called Bruce from Conception Bay South. Bruce had lost a leg in a motorcycle accident. He was a few years older than Hutch and was a good laugh but he kept talking about his girlfriend—they were getting married. It reminded Hutch of Paul and Jenny, and gave him a knot in his stomach. Nobody heard anything from Paul these days.

  Paul’s parents came once. They said now Paul’s only thought was to get away, out of Newfoundland. He had applied for art school in Halifax and he always had his nose in his books, making sure his grades were good enough.

  “But at least he’s doing that now,” said his mom. “Not just staring at nothing. At least he’s eating again.”

  He’d started running three times a week too, always by himself. He avoided everything else, everybody. They hoped Hutch would understand. Well, he didn’t really. But then Hutch liked having people around, didn’t want to be left alone with his thoughts.

  He checked out the people jogging round Quidi Vidi Lake once, from a window of the high-rise joined to his building, Southcott Hall, where the nursing students went, but it was too far away to see faces. Yes, jogging would be good. Pound, pound all the way round. Good to stretch the legs, feel the power. Never fancied running until he couldn’t.

  ***

  William always had visitors, mostly suits with posh voices. The men brought books and grapes and the women brought flowers. His sister came most days and always had a cheerful word for Hutch. Now and then there was a real stunner in a fancy outfit with spiky heels and jewellery. Hutch couldn’t keep his eyes off her at first. Someone said she was William’s wife but she was years—decades—younger.

  She took no notice of Hutch, and never looked at William either. She looked at her hands, the ceiling, out the window, anywhere but at William, while he looked up at her like a dog waiting for a pat. But Hutch saw her study William once when he was watching the nurse with the meds trolley. She pruned up her face then, like she saw a worm in the salad, as if all she saw were the grey roots and the droopy lip and the sticky something down the front of his sweater. Hutch wanted to smack her then.

  Mom and Dad came when they could, phoned every night. Dad and Brian arrived one day when Hutch was by the bed in his wheelchair.

  “Where’s Mom?”

  “School stuff.”

  They chit-chatted with William for a few minutes but then William left and they had the room to themselves. Their smiles disappeared and their faces closed up, and Hutch didn’t like the way they dragged up chairs and plonked themselves down, looking at the floor.

  “So how was the drive in?”

  No answer. Dad looked straight at Hutch.

  “We came to make a suggestion,” he said. “You won’t like it but we want you to think about it.”

  Hutch stiffened up and was saying no before Dad even opened his mouth. But Dad started in anyway—said it in a rush, like he’d said it in his head a bunch of times already.

  “We think you should start thinki
ng about your future in case you can’t go on the boats.”

  “I’m going on the boats.”

  “The Marine Institute requires a medical.”

  “I’m going to walk out of here ready for anything. And I’m going to pass the medical and I’m going on the boats.” Hutch folded his arms tight.

  “But just in case….”

  Something churned in Hutch’s stomach, something nasty down in the mud. “I’m going to sea.”

  Brian looked up then, said Hutch should consider computer studies. He was a natural. And Hutch managed a laugh, kind of, and said he thought his brother would have been pushing geology. Brian shuffled around a bit and said he’d been emailing Chris, who was in Brazil now, and maybe Hutch wouldn’t be able to handle the physical end of geology either—out in the field.

  “You’d be great at computer studies.” Brian’s voice seemed loud, pressing in on him. “You have that kind of brain.”

  There was nothing in the world except that churning and Brian’s voice. It was an effort to pull his thoughts together, find his own voice.

  “Just like the games.” It came out in a growl. “Not spending my life in front of a computer.”

  “You spend hours on my computer. You’re a natural.”

  “That’s playing.”

  “This would be playing and you’d get paid for it.”

  “I’m going to sea.”

  Hutch backed out his chair and wheeled himself through the door fast, banged into the door frame and effed at it in spite of his father and effed his way down the corridor and effed at the slow elevator.

  They didn’t follow. Hutch wheeled himself up and down every corridor on the ground floor, miles of them, head down, scanning the ground from the edge of his eyeballs, feeling them strain, seeing feet getting out of his way in a hurry, hearing a woman calling his name once, ignoring it. He found an empty corner and stopped, facing in, and blew his nose. The churning was still there. Worse. He wondered if he was going to lose his lunch. Yes, that’s all it was. Something wrong with his lunch. But they’d just given it a shape, made it more solid. He blew his nose again. What if he couldn’t.