“I wanted to, but I couldn’t get off work.”
“But you could’ve come on the weekend.”
“I’m here now. That’s all that counts.” She reached out and patted my hand.
My heart jumped, and I clasped her hand in mine. I thought I felt a little pullback, but it passed. “You got me through Afghanistan. Without knowing you were waiting for me, I don’t know what I’d have done.”
“It must have been tough over there. It’s so dangerous.”
“The toughest part was being away from you.” I squeezed her hand.
Mary coughed. It sounded fake to me, and she pulled her hand from mine to cover her mouth.
The coffeemaker beeped, and she leapt up, pouring two cups.
“I got you some raspberry donuts. They’re right there.” I pointed my cane, nearly hitting her.
It was all small talk, make that tiny talk, as we had our snack. I didn’t know if it was me, but everything seemed forced. It was like she was a saleslady or something.
Mary got up and cleared the table. When she sat back down, she looked me in the eye for the first time.
“So, you’re really doing okay?”
“Oh yeah, like I said, I was a mess for a while, but now I’m doing great.”
“That’s good, Peter. I was worried about you.”
There she goes again with Peter. “I’m gonna be fine, back to my old self. Just got a few things to work on.” I lifted my cane up.
“Well it’s good to see you.”
I reached for her hand, but she stood and said, “Look, I’ve got to go. Getting my hair done.”
“Oh, come on! You just got here.”
She mumbled some nonsense, pecked my cheek as I struggled to get up, and said. “Sit, sit. I’ll let myself out.”
Just like that, she was gone.
I played the visit over and over in my head until Vinny came back. He told me to keep things in perspective, that it was the first visit after a long time, and things were expected to be awkward. It made sense, and I felt better about it.
Chapter 6
We got to the Blue Robin around seven. The place was quiet and stank hu of stale beer. It was the first time I’d been in a bar since I went to boot camp. Vinny said I was limited to one, maybe two beers at most, since I ate fistfuls of pills every day. I insisted we sit at the bar, even though he had to help me onto a stool. I didn’t want to hang my cane on the bar where everyone could see it, so I laid it across my lap. The bartender, a kid who looked familiar, came over when we settled in.
Vinny knew him from way back when and introduced me. They guy said he’d heard what happened to me and shook my hand. He thanked me for serving, though it really felt like he forced it.
“So, what you having to celebrate?”
“Ah, ah—
Vinny jumped in, “Coupla draft Coors.”
The bartender pulled on the tap, filled two glasses, and set them on the sticky bar. We clinked glasses, and the bartender, I forgot his name, whooped his approval as we took a draw on the brews.
I burped as my brother said, “Another milestone.”
“The burp?”
“Man, after all the shit I seen come out of you, a burp or even a frigging fart is welcome.”
We shared a quick laugh as a group barreled through the door, catching Vinny’s attention.
“Yo, Ricky, what’s up?”
“Shit, Vinny, where you been hiding?”
“Hanging with my brother.” He put his arm around my shoulder. “You remember Pete?”
“Sure, man. He’s a fucking hero, man. Pride of Middletown.”
“Come on. Stop it,” I mumbled as the procession shook my hand and pounded my back, telling me how good I looked and how proud they were. I had to admit, it did feel good, even though I knew it was bullshit. Hardly anyone, had reached out to me the entire time I’d been back in the States.
My cane kept clattering to the floor, causing a cascade of arms to compete to get it. Not only was it stickier each time the winner handed it off, but I was getting the feeling they felt they had done me a huge favor.
Another guy, with a goatee, came in the door. I couldn’t place his face as he traded hugs with the others and made his way to Vinny and me.
Vinny pawed his chin. “Looking like a painter, Luke. You remember my brother, Pete?”
He extended a hand. “Sure, used to go with Mary, right?”
I shook it. “I—I still do.”
He cocked his head. “Yeah? I thought she was going with, uh—”
Vinny jumped in, asking him what he was drinking. I saw Vinny raise a finger up to his lips, and the conversation went into a lull before Vinny jerked it to sports.
Vinny tried to get me into the sports conversation, but I felt anxious and angry about the Mary comment, and I couldn’t or wouldn’t talk. Vinny easily shot the shit with his friends, but the silent treatment I had no control over, was the dead duck in the room. Vinny nudged my arm, but when I didn’t even turn my head and instead asked for another beer, he challenged, “Hey, what do you say to nine ball, five bucks a game? You on?” He tugged my arm.
Before he realized his mistake, I slid off my stool, and he caught my arm before I hit the ground.
“Ah, yeah, sure.”
“'Born in the USA'” began to blare out of a beat-up jukebox and kicked off a ringing in my ears, triggering another mental brawl over whether it was the song, Springsteen himself, or the volume that was at fault. I ambled over to the ratty pool table as Vinny pulled balls from the pockets, filling the rack.
He quickly shifted the rack back and forth, tightening the balls. I leaned against the table and chalked my cue.
“Hey, we’re supposed to flip for the break, but since tonight is like breaking your cherry, it’s all yours.”
Hooking my cane on the corner pocket, I leaned over, and slowly stroked my stick, feeling eyes boring into my back. I tried to concentrate. Breathe in and out, focus. Steady. Breathe, man, breathe. Good, good. Okay, steady, stroke, be fluid—
“You waiting for an invitation, or what?”
I thrust the stick forward, but the impact only sent the cue ball on a pathetic path into the pack. The balls broke apart but without the force necessary to scatter the balls or the hope to pocket one.
“Maybe you should’ve worn the new glasses, bro.”
“Yeah, well, after the Captain Hook jokes at the doctor’s last week.”
Vinny pumped in two chip shots before missing an easy one.
“Shit.”
“Yeah, right. Look, I don’t need any charity, man.”
“What?”
I looked over the table for the easiest shot and was glad to see the eight ball hanging on the side pocket lip, a chip shot. I lined up the cue ball and was ready to pocket it when Vinny broke in, “What you doing, man? You sink the eight and the game is over. You forget we’re playing nine ball?”
Confused, I lined up a different shot but flubbed it. Vinny missed one as well, but as much as he tried to throw it to me, I just couldn’t do it. My eyes were betraying me. I thought I was making good shots, but, well, let’s just say it didn’t happen.
A couple of guys had sauntered over, and their hovering over the table was a good excuse to stop embarrassing myself. I told my brother that I was gonna have that second brew, and he didn’t fight me on it.
***
The following week’s therapy went pretty well for me. I was making progress physically, but wasn’t happy because things weren’t normal with Mary. I couldn’t figure it out. I don’t know, maybe she was scared, as she always kept her distance. I mean, she came over every now and then, but it was kiss on the cheek stuff, and she never, ever stayed long, always claiming she had somewhere to go. When I pressed her, she said she needed more time, said she was confused. I guess my condition scared her. But why? I mean, couldn’t she see how much better I was? Anyway, I still really felt that when I got all the way back, things would be
good with her again.
I looked around the garage at the tools hanging on the pegboard. Then I saw Mom’s old car out the garage door window. Vinny had let me drive a couple of times, but after scrapping the curb three outings in a row, I guess I had to take it slow. I was used to the glasses and all, but in a car, things sped up, making it tougher. A garbage truck rumbled down the street. I watched it till it was out of sight, and then I went back into the house after trying to recall what I came in the garage to get. I kicked the wall and put a hole in the wallboard. Geez, that was frustrating.
I’d really been struggling with my memory. It’d gotten much better than when I first got to Walter Reed, but the last few weeks I couldn’t seem to remember jack shit. Vinny was always saying he had told me that already and said I was zoning out a lot. I don’t know about that, but I never forgot a thing about Mary and thought about her all day long.
***
In an hour or so, Mary was coming over again. I was amped up.
“Hey, bro, can you do me a favor?”
Vinny looked up from the newspaper.
“You’re going to work soon, anyway. Why don’t you take off while I jump in the shower, so I can have some privacy when Mary gets here?”
Vinny closed the paper. “Sure thing, Romeo. I gotta pick up your refills at CVS anyway.”
“Thanks, man.”
Vinny grabbed his keys off the counter. “You want me to put a pot of coffee up or anything?”
“Nah, I got it.”
“You sure? It’s no problem. She won’t be here for, like, almost an hour.”
“Geez, what am I, a fucking invalid?”
“Take it easy, tiger.” He headed to the door and looked over his shoulder. “Don’t forget to shave, lover boy.”
The phone was ringing.
“Hello?”
“Peter, are you home?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I’ve been ringing the doorbell for ten minutes.”
“Oh, sorry, sorry.” I dropped the phone, grabbed my cane, and hustled to the door.
Mary was wearing bright red lipstick and a pantsuit. She looked great.
“Come in, come in.”
“You okay, Peter?” She showed genuine concern, warming my heart.
“Yeah, fine. Why?”
“Well, you look, uh, I don’t know, tired or something.”
“Really?” I looked in the foyer mirror and realized I had never showered, or shaved, for that matter. “Well, I—I was sleeping, I guess. Went for a walk, a real long one, you know, and guess I must’ve dozed off or something.”
She smiled, pecked my cheek, and handed me a box of crumb cake.
“I’d love a cup of coffee. Why don’t you go get changed, and I’ll put a pot of coffee on?”
“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. Be right back.”
When I got ready to shave, I was horrified to realize I’d been wearing my dorky glasses.
“Peter! Peter! You all right up there?”
I yelled down the stairs. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll be right down.”
It was good Mary was in the kitchen. I struggled to get down the stairs, forgetting how tough it was to do without my special glasses.
I squinted at the doorway into the kitchen and shut one of the lights. I stepped in and smiled.
“Better?”
“Yes, but what on earth were you doing for so long?”
Uh oh! I didn’t like the sound of that. “Was it that long?”
Mary nodded.
“I—I was looking for that shirt. You remember, the red one with the pockets. You always liked it.”
“It’s okay, Peter. Really, don’t worry. You want a cup of coffee?”
“Sure, but how about you?”
“Had two already. You want a piece of crumb cake?”
We made small talk as I drank my coffee. Mary kept calling me Peter. It had always been Pete or Petey.
“You okay Peter?
“Yeah, why?”
“I don’t know, you seem fidgety.”
“Gotta take a pee. Been holding it for a long time.” I got up with a hand on my crotch like a five-year-old trying to prevent a leak.
When I came out of the bathroom, she was putting the cups in the sink.
“I really gotta run.”
“Already? You just got here.”
She nodded and said, “It’s just that Cathy needs to talk. She’s got some major issues going on. You remember Cathy, don’t you?”
A metallic flavor seemed to coat my throat.
“Of course, I fucking remember! Everybody thinks I’m some kinda fucking moron.”
“That’s not fair, Peter.”
“Yeah? Well, it’s not fair that you’re leaving. I, we need to talk about the future, our future.”
Mary moved to the door. “It’s not a good time right now. Some other time, okay?”
She went to peck my cheek, and I grabbed her arm.
“Ow, that hurts. Let me go. Now!”
“Aw, come on, Mary.”
“Peter!”
Her screech pierced my ears and I released her. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it. Just wanted to, you know . . .”
She headed down the walkway and I to a date with the blues. Vinny found me staring at an infomercial when he came home.
“What’re you doing up? It’s frigging four in the morning.”
I shrugged. “I donno. Guess I couldn’t sleep.”
“How’d it go with Mary?”
I picked up the remote and flipped through channels.
Vinny headed to the stairs. “I’m beat, man. I’m going up. You coming?”
I kept changing channels.
“Look, Pete, you gotta stop fixating on Mary. What’s gonna be is gonna be, man.”
I raised the volume and Vinny stormed over, grabbing the remote out of my hand.
“Look, you wanna stay up all night? Fine with me. Just have some damn courtesy and lower this so I can sleep.”
Vinny lay in bed and decided to put his anger toward Mary aside and enlist her help with Peter.
As soon as Vinny got to work the next day, he called Mary, asking her to let Peter down easy, play it along a bit, not crush him. Mary said she would do almost anything to help, but when she told Vinny about Peter’s behavior, he made an appointment with the neuropsychologist.
***
Dr. Rombauer’s office was in a low-slung building in Colts Neck, near Delicious Orchards. The setting was tranquil and bucolic. The smell of cut grass put a tickle in both brothers’ throats as they entered. Vinny smiled at the receptionist, hoping she wouldn’t bring up the past-due coinsurance amounts they owed.
If Psychology Today carried pictures of what a head doctor should look like, they’d use Rombauer as a model. Tall and erect, with the beginnings of middle-age flab, his face was punctuated by a gray goatee hanging off his chin without the aid of a moustache.
When Vinny made the appointment, he alerted Rombauer about Peter’s increasing forgetfulness, erratic behavior, and verbal outbursts. Vinny hoped his brother’s irritability and anger could be nipped in the bud.
***
I picked up and put down just about every magazine in the ten minutes we waited until being shown into Rombauer’s office. The doctor was sitting perfectly still, hands folded in his lap as if posing for a portrait. He looked like a statue to me. Rombauer studied me and stood, smoothing his white coat as he came around his desk.
“Peter, it’s nice to see you again.” We shook hands. “Please, please take seats, gentlemen.”
Rombauer eased into his leather chair and said, “So tell me, how are you feeling, Peter?”
“Pretty good.”
Rombauer studied my face. “Is there anything bothering you?”
I said, “Usual stuff, the ringing never really goes away, and bright lights—”
“Tell him about the memory stuff, Pete.”
“It’s not so bad. I can live with it.”
“Peter, the objective is to achieve the highest degree of functionality we can. There is no reason to accept anything less, unless, of course, we cannot improve it. Does that make sense?”
I nodded.
“Good. We’re hoping the tinnitus and sensitivity will fade somewhat over time, but let’s see about the memory and cognitive areas. I’d like to run some of the same tests we’ve done in the past and a couple of new ones as well. This will give us a picture of where you are and how it compares to previous results. We can go from there.”
I nodded again; everyone expected me to.
Rombauer stood. “Let’s get started.”
The first test seemed simple enough, I thought. Rombauer gave me a sheet of paper and pen.
“There are four objects I want you to try to remember. You ready?”
“Okay.”
The doctor held a picture up and said, “These are the four objects: dog, house, duck, spoon.”
I silently moved my lips.
“Now draw a picture of a clock with the time showing one o’clock.”
I hunched over and scrawled away. When I finished, Rombauer asked me, “Now what were the four objects?”
I felt like a deer in headlights. “Dog, uh, spoon. Uh, uh, dog, spoon—fuck!”
“Good, that’s fine. No need to get angry. We’re here to find solutions, okay?” He reached for the sheet of paper and scanned the oval-shaped clock I’d drawn, which had only one hand.
“Let’s move on. This is what we call the Doors and People test.” The doctor smiled.
This sounded good. “Makes sense, people go through doors, right?”
Rombauer smiled. “First, I’ll show you a picture of four colored doors.” He held up an image. “You’ll need to remember them.”
He paused for five seconds and put the picture facedown and turned over a new sheet with ten different doors on it. “Now, point out the doors from the previous sheet.”
Moving my index finger over the doors, I tapped. “This one here, and this one, no wait, no.” I pointed again. “This one, yeah this one for sure.” I moved on. “Mmm, this looks like one, but . . .” I sat back. “Geez, they all look pretty much the same.”
“Good, good. Now, let’s do the people part. I’ll recite four names, which I’ll ask you to repeat. Ready?”
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