Sensing Serafina

by Elisa Ellis

  Warmth fills my cheeks at the thought of my first and only intimate night with Cal. He was gentle but impatient. Caring but bold. Taking and giving.

  Immersed.

  Physically shaking my head as to snap out of it, I smile and wander around a bit more, familiarizing myself with my surroundings.

  My goal today is to get a job. The limited amount of cash in my wallet will not sustain me for long. In addition, I need interaction with people again. Eight solitary months have been lonely and I want to rebuild my life here again. This is my home. I just hope I can find Cal and that he still wants me.

  Wearing jeans with a cute, white button-up top dotted with tiny purple flowers, I feel dressed appropriately for the places for which I intend to apply.

  My first stop is a small diner. It was a place I was supposed to meet Cal one time. Not only does it feel like a small connection to him, I hope he might eat here sometimes since he is the one who suggested it. As soon as I walk in the door, the smell of comfort food hits me at the same time an older waitress tells me from across the room to take a seat anywhere.

  Gathering all of my courage, I walk towards her. “Thank you, ma’am. Actually, I was wondering if y’all are hiring, and if so, I would like to fill out an application.”

  I’m sure she noticed my limp when I came in, her eyes drifting downward giving her away. I just hope I can handle being on my feet all day.

  “Have you ever waitressed before?” She’s cleaning a table while talking to me, multitasking.

  “Umm, no ma’am, but I’m a fast learner.”

  “Come talk to Jim in the back. He’s the one you really need to convince,” she says, leading the way.

  “Yes, ma’am.” I say, following. She turns her head back towards me while still walking, “And call me

  Marge, honey.”

  “Oh, sure. Thank you, Marge.” Seemingly kind, she looks like she’s had a hard life. The lines around her lips reveal years of smoking, and her dyed reddish hair is ratted and pulled up, piled high on her head.

  It’s not a long walk to the back office considering the small size of the place, but she manages to fit in a decent conversation on the way.

  “What’s your name, hon?”

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry. I’m Sera.”

  “I see. Are you from here? You look familiar.”

  “Well, yes and no. I used to be, but I just recently moved back.” I never came in here before even though I lived in this small town for my whole life. My Dad kept me on the upper class side of the tracks, the figurative boundary separating us from everyone else. It’s embarrassing. But I’m changing that now, changing myself. Recognizing truth and love.

  “Hmm, I bet I’ll figure it out before too long. Well, here’s Jim’s office.” Marge knocks on the door before opening it slightly.

  “Jim? You got a minute?”

  “Come on in,” he says through the door.

  Opening it wider, she introduces me, “Jim, this here’s Sera. She needs a job. Put her under me. I’ll train her up right.” She winks at me before leaving me alone with Jim.

  “Hello. Thank you for seeing me,” I speak, my voice sounding shy.

  “Have a seat, Sera,” he says, gesturing towards an old vinyl, yellowing chair with rollers on the bottom of it. I sit and pull it forward to the other side of his desk.

  “So, why should I hire you, Sera?”

  He looks at me above his glasses that are sliding down his nose, away from the large computer monitor atop his desk. There are papers everywhere along with a bookshelf behind him with notebooks and other clutter. A framed 5 x 7 picture of his presumed family sits on his desk next to a name plate that reads “Jim Clark.”

  “Well, sir, I’m a fast learner, and I’m good with people,” I tell him, which is true when I’m comfortable enough.

  “Uh-huh, and do you have any experience with being a waitress or working in a restaurant?”

  “No sir. This would be my first job, sir. If you could just give me a chance, though, I promise I will do a good job. I work hard, and I know I can learn how to do everything quickly.”

  “It just so happens, Sera, that one of my waitresses called in sick today. How about you try it out today and we’ll see how it goes. Can you work today?”

  “Yes. That would be perfect, actually! Thank you so much. You won’t regret it.”

  “Well, I’ve been thinking I could use another person around here. Gets pretty busy, though, so I hope you’re up for it.”

  “I won’t let you down, sir. Thank you again.”

  He’s shooing me out the door, yelling for Marge to get me an apron before I can finish thanking him.

  Falling on my bed, I check my phone for the time. It’s 10:30 PM. I worked all day. I was supposed to leave at 6:00, but I could tell they needed me for the night crowd, too. Marge was leaving, and there was only one waitress named Mandy coming in. She seemed ok. I think she appreciated my help, but she did seem a little annoyed when I made a few mistakes, like forgetting to refill Mr. Jordan’s tea.

  He’s apparently a regular, comes in every evening at 7:05. He looks about eighty years old and brings a picture of his wife who Mandy told me passed away three years prior. The picture on one side of the table, he sits on the other. He eats his meal quietly, but he was pleasant to me, even when I did forget to get him some more tea. Left me a $5 tip, and his meal was only $7.50. When I delivered his plate of pecan pie after his meal of chicken fried steak, he thanked me and told me I reminded him of his wife. Said he could tell that I had a sweet spirit and that I was a fighter. Smiling, I thanked him. I was flattered that he would compare me to someone he so obviously revered, but thinking about it tonight, I wonder what he saw in me that made him say I’m a fighter. It was good to hear, though. Confirmation.

  My feet definitely hurt after running back and forth from the kitchen to various tables, but surprisingly, my legs and knees are doing ok. Rubbing my feet after removing my tennis shoes feels good, but I’m exhausted. I don’t even count the tip money I laid on the bedside table before falling sound asleep.

  Chapter 21

  Before

  Finally. After four long weeks in this pink hell that was closing in more and more each day, the nurse is discharging me.

  “Sign on this line here.” She marks an X next to the small space. “It’s just saying that you received all of your discharge information.”

  Scribbling my name, I ask, “So, how long will I have to be at this next place?”

  “That’s up to you, Sera. You need to be sure to do everything they tell you and work hard, even when you get tired. It’s rehab, and it may seem like they are trying to kill you, but I promise they will get you back to normal faster than you can say ‘Run’.” She smiles and winks at me.

  “Ok, I’ll do my best.”

  But I’m thinking, Run. And I’m pretty sure it won’t be fast enough.

  Oh my God. Huge floral yellow and blue printed wallpaper replaces my pink walls. What did I hate about the color pink again?

  “Seriously, Dad? Is there some rule that medical facilities must be hideously decorated?”

  “It’s not that bad, dear. Maybe it will make you work harder,” he says while placing a floral arrangement on the window sill, the fifth weekly gift of encouragement I’ve received from him throughout this ordeal.

  Similarly, at home, fresh flowers adorn the dining table, changed every single week. Mom loved flowers. It’s a tradition continued after she passed, but one that has grown to strangle me, stealing all of the air from the room, from the whole house, from my life.

  “Dad, can you please stop bringing flowers?” Gesturing towards the walls, I say, “I mean, don’t you think it’s kind of floral overload in here?”

  “You’re mother always loved flowers. Said it brightens a room.”

  “Yeah, well, she’s not here, and this room is bright enough. Please?”

  “You are going to have to work on that attitude, Sera. Stop Ne
gativity,” he reads the ridiculous stop sign hanging near my bed.

  Turning my head to look at the laminated sign tacked on the papered wall, I roll my eyes and sigh. My Dad’s being a butt, his smirk indicating the humor at least he finds in the room.

  “Seriously? This is so freaking stupid.”

  “What’s so stupid?”

  And in walks a welcoming committee of one. A guy so hot that I can’t help the blush that slowly creeps up my face from below my neck, warmth announcing my feelings. Could I be more obvious? It’s not like Cal disappeared from my mind or anything, but oh man. This dude is so hot. Tall with a little brown stubble to match his unfixed, yet adorable hair, adds to the light blue, fitted scrubs he is working with each step. I think he’s actually strutting.

  Embarrassed and feeling a little guilty for even noticing, I look down and pull at an imaginary string on my old, gray sweat pants. I’m wearing my comfortable, wear-at-home-only pants with a non-matching tank top.

  I can feel Dad looking at me, surely noticing my reaction.

  “She thinks your sign is stupid, and this room, and apparently everything right now.”

  And…my face is even hotter. Thanks Dad.

  Sitting on my bed with my legs extended, I try to sink further into myself, when I’m suddenly interrupted by Super Stud sitting next to me on the edge of my bed. I can’t help but look up. He’s facing me, his right knee touching my leg. I would move to scoot over, but the hard wall next to my bed doesn’t want to let me in, although at this moment, I would be totally cool with hiding behind the butt ugly flowers.

  “This,” he says, accenting the word, “is not stupid. I’m not stupid, and I doubt you are either, so let’s start fresh.”

  Dude, you and your chipper self are just a little too close for comfort. Sheesh.

  “Whatever. This room is stupid,” I say, sarcastically grinning at him.

  “All I see is beauty,” he replies, looking right at me.

  Is he serious?

  “I didn’t get your name.” I try to change the subject.

  “I didn’t tell you my name, but it’s Brett since you’re asking.”

  Hot or not, he’s starting to irritate me. He clearly thinks highly of himself.

  “Yeah, well, I’m just gonna chill here in my beautiful room and get settled. Thanks for umm, checking up on me.” Unfortunately, my attempt to dismiss him backfires.

  “Oh really? Don’t let me intrude or anything.” Then the crazy guy starts laughing. What the hell?

  Dad and I look at each other for a second and then watch him, waiting for him to chill the crap out.

  “Yeah, so…” I try again.

  Pulling out a small pad of paper from his pocket, he says, “Sera, right?”

  I nod and continue to wait him out.

  “Great. Let’s get busy. You don’t get free days here. Can you get up to walk or do you need assistance? I’m going to take you on a tour of this non-stupid place.”

  “Dude, I just got here.”

  “Uh-huh. Now let’s get moving.” He stands from my bed and reaches out for my hand.

  Ignoring him, I tell him I don’t need his help, even though I do kind of want to hold his hand regardless of his sarcastic, over-confident butt-head personality. He’s that cute, and I’ve had nobody to talk to besides Dad for the most part.

  “Fine,” I tell him, but it is actually really hard for me to do this alone. I grab the walker that I left within reach and slowly swing my legs to the side of the bed, gently pushing my right knee with my hand.

  Distracted by the warm hand on the back of my left shoulder, I look up at him, as if to remind him of my independence, but he leaves it there. And the battle is on.

  Flashing my fake, sarcastic smile again, I am determined to get out of here sooner than later, or at least prove to Mr. Hotty McGee that I’m not an invalid in the meantime.

  “I’ve got work to do so I’ll stay here while you go do your thing,” Dad tells me. Giving him a quick annoyed look, I immediately concentrate on holding on to my walker so that I don’t fall. My knee feels weak, and it seriously hurts to walk or move it. The fractures in my legs have pretty much healed and, although the casts were supposed to stay on for a couple more weeks, the doctor at the hospital switched to long-leg braces because he felt like it was important for me to start re-learning to walk.

  After about an hour, I’ve walked the length of four halls, a rectangle around the facility. I’m sure I haven’t seen everything, but I’m exhausted, and it’s frustrating to be so slow.

  “Can we go back now?” I ask Brett, quietly. He’s been encouraging and tried to motivate me, but he can tell I’m at my limit.

  “Sure. You can have a break, but don’t get too comfy. I’ll be back in about an hour to take you to the gym.” He smiles, and I’m pretty sure I’m not imagining the little gleam that shines off of his teeth. I grin more to myself than to him because in my head, I hear the little ding that should go with the gleam. Either he doesn’t notice, though, or he’s cutting me some slack, because he doesn’t bug me about it.

  Once back in my room, Dad decides he should annoy me instead.

  “He seems like a nice young man, doesn’t he?”

  “I guess.”

  “Well, he seems to like you and it looked like you like him, too.”

  “Seriously, Dad? God. You know I’m not interested in anyone but Cal. Brett seems ok, at least when he’s not being egotistical.”

  “I thought he was just being positive and encouraging. Maybe he’ll rub off on you,” he chuckles.

  “Yeah…don’t get your hopes up.”

  Brett explained that he will be my primary therapist but that he is an intern working under the supervision of a physical therapist whose name I already forgot. I guess that’s why he looks so young. During our walk, I noticed that many of the other patients are old. I did see a couple of people who looked like they might be a little older than me, but I feel out of place for the most part.

  I’m not supposed to be here. This is not how I envisioned my life as a 19-year-old.

  Exactly one hour after my walk, Brett is knocking on my half-closed door again. At least this time he knocked.

  “You ready to work some more?” He asks, opening the door after Dad takes it upon himself to yell for him to come in.

  Grimacing, I stand up from the chair by the window that has a nice view of an enclosed courtyard where there are trees, benches and a walking track.

  “I guess, but I would like to walk around outside if that’s ok.”

  “Sure, but you have to go to the gym first. We will be doing various strengthening exercises every day. You will actually follow a schedule designed specifically for your needs. Ok?”

  “Ok.” I don’t exactly look forward to exercising my leg, but I do look forward to getting better, so I guess now is as good of time as any.

  Dad wants to see the gym, so he accompanies us to the other side of the building.

  “Through that door is the pool. You will be doing some of your therapy in there, too, but probably won’t start that until next week. We will be assessing you this week so that we can see where you currently are and plan where we want to go.”

  “A pool will be nice, huh Sera?” Dad chimes in.

  Nodding, it brings about the first real smile on my face. I always loved swimming in our backyard pool, especially at night with only the underwater light on. The glow of the moon and stars relaxed me. Floating on my back, I would look up and think about my Mom being in heaven, and about how the whole, huge world could look up and see the same sky. It was a sense of connection.

  “Hey…Sera, where did you go?” Brett asks, noticing I’ve stopped by the door to the pool and am staring off into space.

  “Sorry; I was just thinking. Let’s go.”

  “Don’t worry. Like I said, you will get to spend plenty of time in the pool soon enough,” he says, thinking he knows what I was thinking.

  And while
I’m excited about that, my thoughts had actually progressed to Cal. Even though we are far away from each other right now, I definitely still feel connected to him. I just hope he will wait for me.

  Now

  $41.20 in tips. Not bad for a first day of waitressing. I have to be back at the diner by 10:30, which leaves me an hour and a half.

  Setting my alarm, I fall back onto my bed and decide to give myself twenty more minutes of sleep.

  I’m taking the long route to work, slowly passing Cal’s shop. I want to stop. I really do, but I feel so nervous. I didn’t see him anyway when I inconspicuously looked out of my peripheral vision. It’s almost like I’m starting all over again, but this time I’m even less confident than the last time.

  “Hi Mandy. Are you working the day shift today?” I ask her.

  “Yeah. Marge called in sick, which is kind of weird. She never calls in. I hope she’s ok.”

  “Me, too.”

  Other than work-related conversation, we don’t get a chance to talk again until around 4:00 with the lunch crowd lasting through early afternoon. We have to take turns with our breaks, but since it’s not busy, Mandy stands on the other side of the counter where I sit at the bar. It’s the first time I’ve sat down all day, and my knee is definitely tired. Popping three ibuprofen with my Diet Dr. Pepper, Mandy asks me the inevitable.

  “So, what happened to your leg anyway?”

  I try so hard not to cringe. I can’t avoid talking about it forever; and, while it’s nobody’s business, I realize it’s normal for people to wonder. Plus, Mandy seems like a nice girl, and I wouldn’t mind getting to know her since I could use a friend.

  “I was in an accident. I’ve been in the hospital and rehab for the last eight months,” I say, looking at my wringing hands. Mandy is a couple of years older than me I think.