by N. K. Smith
It was frustrating, but at least both Sophie and I had an evening free of meetings and groups.
Mr. Young met me in the foyer by the stairs. “She’s having a hell of a time making heads or tails of whatever’s in that book. I’ve tried to help but she gets mad at me.”
In the kitchen I found her hunched over the table. “W-w-what ssssubject?” I asked quietly.
“Hell if I know. She’s so damn defensive right now. She won’t let me close enough to look.”
“O-okay.” I sat down at the table and said hello. She barely returned the greeting. She was studying the math from today’s class and it was clear that she was frustrated to the point of agitation. While she’d made up a lot of ground since the stroke, she still struggled. The left hemisphere of the brain was logical and methodical. It helped process information in linear ways, so it was normal for someone like her to have issues with it.
I watched her for a minute as her eyes darted all over the page. She wrote things down, still in somewhat childish script, but then she couldn’t even finish an equation. She would write only half of it before she flipped to the back of the book to look at the answer.
Her agitation grew to the point where tears were forming. Her fingers tightened on the pencil. I wondered if I would be able to handle the coming storm. Dr. Emmanuel said there was no shame in admitting that there were times when I couldn’t handle things like this. He said it would be acceptable to admit that there were times when Sophie was too much for me.
“C-c-can I hhhelp?”
Finally she looked up at me, two little tears spilling over and running down each cheek. “I hate schoolwork.”
I reached for the book, but she closed it and stood up. She gripped the lip of the table and held on until she was steady. “Dinner,” she said.
“N-no,” I said as I gently took her hand. “I c-can hhhhelp you.”
“Elliott, my brain just can’t do this stuff anymore. I just have to accept-”
“Hhhhhey. Y-you’re ssssso ssssmart. Y-you just need to sssslow d-down.” I was very careful, but I tugged her back down into the seat again. We didn’t get up until she’d successfully completed five equations with minimal help from me.
“See? Y-you did it. You’re n-not sssstupid.”
Compliments made her shy, so she shrugged. “It’s my turn to make dinner.”
As far as I knew, Mr. Young allowed her to cook dinner once or twice a week. I helped as much as I could, but mostly I just told her the names of things. She would probably forget them again tomorrow. That aspect of her brain injury hadn’t changed.
“What’s that... that thing?”
“W-w-what thing?”
“You know, the thing that takes the skin off of potatoes.”
I pulled it out of the utensil drawer. “A p-p-p-p-p-peeler.”
I had to remind her twice that she was cooking beef and noodles with mashed potatoes. The noodles were somewhat overcooked since she forgot to set the timer, but all in all it was a good way to spend an hour and a half.
The evenings had gotten warmer, so that’s when we took our walks. She always held onto my arm and every third or fourth step she would lose her balance and would brush me, but she’d come a long way.
Three blocks from her house, we looked down and saw a very tiny black and white kitten. She crouched down slowly.
Animals were dirty, and I knew Sophie hadn’t liked her mother’s cat. She’d told me once that she was neither a cat nor a dog person. When it looked like she was going to pick it up, I gasped.
She stopped before touching the shivering thing and looked up at me.
“Sophie, it’s d...” I stopped before I said that word. Even though I knew that what happened before was because she was attempting something sexual, and chances were that she wouldn’t have the same response, I went in another direction. “It mmm-mmight have m-m-mange.”
She picked it up anyway. I thought we were going to take it to the shelter, but Sophie carried it back to her house and showed it to her father. He looked at me, but I had no answers, so he looked back at her. “Okay,” he said with an accepting sigh.
She washed it in the bathroom sink, dried it with a towel, and offered it milk. The kitten seemed incredibly happy, but when she put a bit of leftover fish on a plate, I could tell that it was in love with her.
I sat somewhat uncomfortably in her rocking chair as I watched the cat walk around her bed. Mr. Young ran out to the grocery store to get all of the necessary things for owning a cat.
“You d-d-don’t like cats.”
She picked the thing up and hugged it to her chest. “I like this one.” She sniffed it. “It smells nice now.”
“W-w-what w-wwwwill you name it?”
She seemed to consider it for a moment. “I’ll name him Faramir.”
I smiled. “W-why?”
“Why not? It’s cute, and if we’re ever apart, I’ll still have a Faramir to keep me company.”
I sighed, exaggeratedly. “Th-that means I’ll have to g-get an E-E-Eówyn.” That made Sophie happy.
The cat seemed like it was in heaven as she petted it. No doubt that it was. I loved when she ran her fingers through my hair and I hoped that one day we would be close enough to be like that again.
I felt a little jealous of it.
She had already added
to her list of things to do every day.
It curled up in a ball and fell asleep.
Sophie tried to get off of the bed carefully but her foot caught on the opposite leg and she fell. I was on the floor next to her as quickly as I could. Placing my hand upon hers, I waited to see if she was upset.
She wouldn’t look at me and I got worried.
When she finally did, she said, “You’re always here for me when I fall. Doesn’t it make you tired?
I shook my head, but she didn’t wait to hear what I had to say; instead she was onto something else. Her mind had already shifted gears.
“What happened?” she pointed to my hand and I felt ashamed and embarrassed.
I had bitten my hand in my sleep. For two nights, sleep had been difficult. Group was brutal. The new kid talked very graphically about what his uncle used to do to him, and then yesterday Dr. Emmanuel and I talked about Joseph a lot.
My dream was incredibly realistic and I woke up biting my hand.
“B-b-bad d-dream.”
She used her right hand to reach out and touch mine. She chose to use her right hand more to continue building the strength in it. She’d regained use of it almost completely. “Are you okay?”
I smiled and nodded, but then remembered what Dr. Emmanuel said about intimacy. It was more than just physical closeness; more than just sex.
“It w-was ab-b-b-bout JJJJ-JJJJoseph.”
“Oh,” she said as she turned to look out of her bedroom window.
“It w-w-w-was the night my fffffather k-killed him.”
“Oh,” she said again.
“You r-r-remember the lllletter I w-wrote you?” She nodded. “My ffffather found us and hhhhe k-killed him, but hhhhe meant to k-kill me. That w-w-was w-w-w-when hhhhhhe... hhhhe t-t-t-took a c-c-c-c-c-c-c... w-w-w-w-wire and... and... and then he th-th-there w-w-was a kn-kn-kn...” I was trying to say the word “knife,” but it would barely form in my mind, so I gave up.
Sophie said nothing but continued to stare out of the window, absently petting the growing black and white ball of fur in her lap.
“Hhhhe k-kept JJJJ-JJJJ, his b-body in the b-b-b-basement and mmmmade me an-an-anoint him liiiike Ch-Christ.” All of this was in that letter, but it felt different actually saying it to her. “That’s... that’s w-what I d-dreamt about.”
“Oh.”
I roughly ran my hands through my hair. “W-w-w-will y
ou ssssay ssssomething o-other than ‘o-o-oh,’ p-p-please?”
“I hate your father,” she said honestly. “I hate that he did that to you. It makes me feel powerless and I wish I could hurt him back for hurting you.”
“I d-d-didn’t mean to b-bite mmmy hands.”
“Okay.”
I couldn’t tell if she was upset or mad or indifferent. It worried me. “W-w-w-will you ssssay sssomething, p-p-p-please?”
“I hope your dad goes to hell.”
“He w-will,” I whispered. “W-will you p-please say something ab-bout my hhhhands?”
It took her a moment and she seemed as though she were working something out in her mind. “Sometimes I don’t know what emotion is appropriate, so I’m neutral.”
“I-it’s o-okay. I d-don’t always kn-know w-what emotion is a-appropriate either.”
She had stopped looking at me again and I wished I knew what was wrong. I could worry all day about if she was upset that I’d told her about my dream or if she was upset that I bit my hand, but it probably wasn’t anything to do with either one. Maybe my words brought up her own trauma.
Her mind worked differently now. I doubted she was trying to be rude or that she had forgotten any of the conversation, but she was just focused on the next thing. It was the same when she cooked. She’d only chop half an onion before she started on the carrots, only to return to the onions once she was reminded that she still had to finish them.
“I like your hands, so stop hurting them, okay?”
My smile was wide as I promised her I would try.
The sun was shining and the flowers were just as pretty as the first time I saw her among them. We lay on the blanket, the ground still slightly soggy from the previous day’s rain. My feet were muddy, but I worked to accept it.
“It’s a... a... you know, the thingie that you push babies in.”
“A stroller?”
“Yeah, a stroller.”
I pointed next to the fluffy white stroller. “Th-that’s R-R-Ron W-W-Weasley’s hhhhouse.”
Sophie laughed and I rolled over onto my side to look at her. “It’s a tree,” she said.
“Sophie, I ww-w-wwwant to k-kiss you.”
Her head turned and she was beautiful. “Okay.”
“P-p-platonically, of c-course.”
She rolled her eyes. “In that case,” she said as she looked back up at the sky and tapped the side of her face, “you can kiss my cheek.”
I didn’t move because I didn’t want to kiss her cheek. I wanted to kiss her. When she looked at me again, I pressed my lips against hers. She was so soft.
I loved her so much.
I’d had the letter from Juilliard for two weeks but still hadn’t said anything to Sophie. I felt bad about purposely withholding information from her. I hoped she’d be excited for me, but I didn’t know what her reaction would be. Plus, it made me anxious to think about the decision I’d made. I was going to live in New York, a city packed with people, some who weren’t “good.”
Dr. Emmanuel and I went round and round until I felt better about actually making the choice. I could have gone to the University of Maryland and taken Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday classes, leaving me Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday for helping Sophie as she entered the community college in Frederick. It was her plan for the first year, and she was excited, but she refused to talk about where I fit into her life and what would happen if I chose something other than Maryland.
But Dr. Emmanuel – and Stephen and Robin – really wanted me to see that the University of Maryland couldn’t compare to Harvard, and when they realized that what I really wanted was to study music, they were very determined to help me understand that Juilliard was the only place for me to study at my level.
I knew they were right. They didn’t talk me into doing anything I didn’t already want to do. The only thing that would’ve held me back was Sophie.
No, Sophie wouldn’t have held me back; my need to be in her life and have her in mine would have.
The point was moot. I’d been accepted and most of the preparations had been made. The only thing left was to tell Sophie.
I’d been dragging my feet.
I wanted to tell her and celebrate with her, because not everyone got in. In fact, most people who applied didn’t get in or even an audition. I wanted her to be proud of me because I was taking such a big step. The future was right in front of me, but I understood that hers was still on hold a little.
It was getting to the point where I had to tell her. If I didn’t, I either wouldn’t go or she would be blindsided when I left late in the summer. The decision about when to tell her had to be carefully planned. I knew she had an appointment with her therapist, so if she became really upset, she would have an outlet and someone to help her. I almost couldn’t believe I was going to do it.
I told her while we sat in her kitchen. That was also planned. Her father was in the next room. I’d contemplated taking a walk, but I didn’t know what she would do or how she would react.
In her own house, with her father nearby, she was contained.
Her jaw was tense and I could see the muscles move as she clenched and unclenched her teeth. She was staring at her hands and I could tell she was measuring her breaths the way I had to when I didn’t want to have a panic attack.
“Sophie?”
“Can’t you just stay?” Her voice shook and I felt horrible. I wasn’t her boyfriend in name, but deep down, no matter who said it was better for us not to be in that kind of relationship, I knew that she was still my girlfriend. We still belonged to each other.
“Just stay and I’ll work really hard to—”
“Sophie, I hhhhave to g-go. It’s J-J-J-JJJJJuilliard. It’s...”
“Fine,” she said, looking up, her voice clipped. “Just fucking go.”
I was more than a little shocked. She hadn’t cursed in a very long time. In fact, I was so shocked that I just sat there and watched her leave the room. I could hear her on the stairs, making her slow ascent to her room. Mr. Young called her name. I hoped he wouldn’t come in here and be angry with me. He already knew I was leaving for New York in the fall.
Despite having anticipated Sophie’s reaction, I still felt horrible all night. I worried about her until I fell asleep. Then I dreamt about her.
After school the next day, she came over for dinner. We didn’t speak until we were alone. I played the piano to give myself something else to focus on.
When she finally spoke, it seemed well-practiced but still genuine. Her voice was calm. “I’m sorry I tried to make you feel bad about a great opportunity. I’m excited for you. I’m ... I’m scared.”
I noticed how bright her eyes were. Unshed tears sparkled there and I wondered, yet again, if I was making the right decision.
“Hhhhhappy b-birthday!”
She smiled shyly. “I missed your birthday last year.”
I shrugged. I’d spent it in the hospital. “I hhhhhad a c-c-c-cupc-cake.”
We sat in the little bookstore in D.C. She kept going from stack to stack pulling books off the shelf that she said I would like. She’d read them all and even if she didn’t remember everything that happened in them right away, a brief skim through the summary brought it all back. She was doing so well. It might not even take a year at the community college.
I watched her as her eyes darted over the inside dust jacket of a thick novel. “This one is good. I don’t usually like postapocalyptic coming of age stories, but I’m pretty sure I think this is awesome.”
She looked up and caught me openly staring at her. She made light jokes about her brain injury now and tacked things onto sentences like “I’m pretty sure” and “I think maybe,” as if she didn’t really know.
Even though I would be leaving for Ne
w York relatively soon, we were growing so close to each other again. I loved the feeling.
“Can I be your girlfriend again?” she asked suddenly. “I mean for your birthday and all?”
It felt like butterflies were fluttering in my stomach and my muscles tensed in a way that was far more pleasing than when I had a panic attack. She wanted to be my girlfriend and there was nothing else in this world that I wanted more.
“O-only if I c-can b-be your b-b-boyfriend.”
“So the school year’s almost over.”
I nodded at Dr. Emmanuel. “Y-yes.”
“How are you feeling about the upcoming move?”
I bit the inside of my cheek gently. I never did it hard enough to tear the sensitive flesh, but the action seemed to help me remain calm and not bite my hands. “O-o-o-o-okay.”
“Really?” His voice conveyed his doubt.
I shook my head. “N-n-nervous.”
He smiled. “For what it’s worth, I think you’ll do fine there.”
“B-but Sophie will be by herself.” In many of our sessions lately, we spoke about my feelings for her and how instead of balancing me, I had allowed my need and want for her to override everything else. I had depended on her for my happiness. It wasn’t healthy to do that with anyone, but it was made worse because Sophie hadn’t been healthy either.
“She’ll have her father,” he reminded me.
I looked away. He didn’t understand. “B-but she won’t have me.”
“Physically, no, but I don’t imagine that you’ll abandon her emotionally, will you?”
“No! I-I-I’ve ssssaved almost all the money SSStephen’s g-given me, so I’ll c-come back sometimes and I’ll c-call her. E-e-e-mail, too.”
By the expression on his face, I could tell he approved. “How is she doing with it all?”