Me Again (12 page)

“I’ll walk you back to your room,” she said. “I want to practice without the cane.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I said. We arranged her cane on top of my walker and headed up to my room. She moved faster than me, but I didn’t mind: watching her walk was a newfound pleasure.

Once we got to my room, I lifted the cane off my walker, handing it to Rebecca. She gripped it absently, her eyes on the open photo album on my desk.

“I’ve seen this guy before,” she said.

Surprised, I moved beside her to take a look. She was pointing at a picture of Teddy.

“Are you sure about that?” I said. “He lives up in Chicago. That’s my brother.”

“Is he the one who calls you bro?”

I smiled at the sharpness of her memory. “That’s the one.”

Rebecca furrowed her brow. “I haven’t been to Chicago in a few years.” Then she pointed a finger at the photo. “Wait a minute – he’s been here, hasn’t he?”

“You’re right,” I said. “Shortly after I got here, he came and visited me once. It was before I met you.”

“That’s it,” she agreed. “I remember seeing him in the lobby one time when I was down there saying goodbye to Big Bob. He was with his girlfriend – I remember she was really pretty.”

Now I frowned. “You may have the wrong guy – Teddy came to see me by himself.”

Rebecca continued to stare at the photo. “No, it’s him. I remember his girlfriend stayed behind in the lobby while he went off somewhere. Bob kept staring at her.”

“That’s possible,” I said. “It was his first time visiting me, so maybe he didn’t want to overwhelm me. I’d only been awake for a few days back then.”

Come to think of it, Teddy had never visited me since then. But I couldn’t really complain about that fact.

“Well, that’s one thing about me that hasn’t changed,” Rebecca said. “I never forget a face.”

“Wish I could say that,” I said, following the remark with a smile so that Rebecca wouldn’t worry about possibly offending me. She got enough of that at home.

“I’ve got to go,” Rebecca said, looking at her watch. “But I’ll see you next week, okay?”

“Sounds good,” I said. “Oh, I forgot to tell you – my big day is coming up soon, too.”

Rebecca’s face brightened. “Really? You’re getting out of here? When?”

“If I keep up my progress, it should be in the next week or so,” I said. “Then I’ll move into my parents’ house for a while at least, until I figure out what I’m going to do next.”

“That’s great news, Jonathan. Will you still be coming here for PT?”

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “Probably more than you are – they’re saying it may be three or four times a week. And if I’m not mistaken, that means a lot, right?”

Rebecca smiled. “Yes, it’s a lot. But finally you’ll get to go home, after all these years. God, you must be so excited.”

It occurred to me that Rebecca had no idea how little I knew about the home to which I’d be returning. I needed to figure out how much I should tell her. Then I thought of the promise I’d just made.

“Yeah, it’s pretty exciting,” I said, “and more than a little scary.”

“Why is it scary?” she asked, her face growing more serious.

This time I smiled. “That,” I said, “is something for us to discuss next week.”

Her smile returned, and she reached out her hand to clasp mine for a brief moment.

“Okay, we’ll talk about it next week.” Her smile faded, and she said, “And Jonathan? Thanks for listening to me. You helped me a lot, really.”

“I want to help,” I said lamely.

“I know,” she said, “and you do. Thanks.”

She gave my hand a quick squeeze and was gone, walking out the door holding her cane conspicuously high above the ground.

Chapter 14

S
URE ENOUGH, later that week Leon and his cohorts gave me a clean bill of health – well, clean enough that I no longer needed to live in the hospital’s stroke wing. I was to be dismissed the following Wednesday, although I’d be returning for PT several times a week.

My mother was thrilled, and my father’s congratulatory remarks seemed genuine. I had grown fond of them, particularly my mother, but I must confess I was nervous at the idea of living with these people. I worried about keeping up the ruse that I remembered them, so I was spending a lot of time with the photo albums my mother brought me – I wanted to seem as familiar with them as possible.

I wasn’t sure if Rebecca was checking her email, but I went ahead and wrote her a simple message, letting her know I’d be there when she arrived on Tuesday, but was checking out of the hospital the next day.

It’s a good thing I can’t count – that saved me the embarrassment of admitting how often I checked for a response from her. A day went by, then another. Finally on Sunday night I got this:

hi jonathan -

thats so great that youre getting out. im so proud of you! ill see you on tuesday and you can tell me all about it. maybe we can arrange our pt schedules so we still run into each other.

not much is different here but im ok. ill call your room when im done with pt and we can meet in the cafe ok?

see you tues!

bye,

Rebecca

I pictured her smiling as she wrote that, and was smiling myself when I went to bed that night.

* * * * *

On Tuesday I got to the cafeteria at the same time she did, allowing me to select a beverage other than the dreaded iced tea.

Rebecca looked amazing. She was walking without a cane, with just the slightest limp. Her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, revealing just how pretty her unmade-up face was. She wore a matching blue warm-up suit that I hadn’t seen before that managed to be simultaneously practical and very flattering.

I had to comment. “You look great,” I said as we were getting seated at what had become our usual table. “Really great.”

“Thanks,” she said. “I had to get something to wear instead of those grungy sweatpants, so I got this.”

“It looks great,” I said. Yes, I was still waiting on that thesaurus. Believe me, it was on my shopping list.

“I had a bunch of workout clothes at home,” Rebecca said, “but it was all this skin-tight spandex stuff that made me look like a stripper or something. I used to work out like that, but now I’m too self-conscious. I just don’t feel like everybody in the PT room needs to get a look at my body like that – does that make sense?”

“I think you should wear whatever makes you comfortable,” I said. “But I think that looks terrific on you. And I like your hair.”

Rebecca cast me a dubious look. “At least it’s finally long enough that I can get it all pulled back in a ponytail. But Big Bob still wants me to dye it blonde.”

“I like it fine,” I said resolutely.

“Well, I think it should be all one color or the other,” she said, “but it hasn’t been my top priority.” Rebecca smiled shyly. “Want to know what
has
been my top priority?”

“Absolutely.”

Rebecca dug in her purse, then pulled out a set of keys and dropped them on the table between us.

“Check it out,” she said, holding her head proudly.

I looked at the keys, not sure what I was supposed to be seeing.

“I drove myself here,” she announced. “I passed all the little things they check you for, and my vision and depth perception is good enough, and so is my eye-to-hand coordination. It feels
so
good to be more independent.”

“That’s excellent, Rebecca,” I said. “You’re doing so well – I’m glad to see it.”

“Well, so are you, apparently. You’re still getting out tomorrow, aren’t you?”

I nodded. “That’s what they tell me. My parents are picking me up in the morning, but I’ll be coming back Friday for PT.”

We discussed our respective therapy schedules and agreed to try to arrange for them to coincide when possible. Then Rebecca got up and refilled our drinks – a task much easier for her, operating without a cane or walker.

“You’re walking great,” I said when she returned, figuring that was a much safer remark than
God, I love to watch you walk
.

“Thanks. How about you? Have you tried walking with a cane?”

“A few times, in PT,” I said. “I kept falling.”

Rebecca frowned and started to apologize, but I cut her off. “It’s okay – my legs were pretty badly atrophied, so it’s going to be a while before I’m moving around like you are. But I’m still doing well enough that they’re letting me out of here. My parents’ house is only one story, so I should be able to get around in it okay.”

“That’s good,” she said. “Just keep working at it. You can do it – I know you can.”

You hear a lot of cheerleading talk like that in a place like this, and frankly it can get annoying after a while. But she was so genuine in her encouragement that I simply drew from her remarks what I should: inspiration.

* * * * *

My father arrived the next morning, by himself for a change.

“Where’s Mom?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Oh, she’s fussing around, getting your room arranged just so.”

“She doesn’t need to fuss over me – I’m sure it will be fine.” Then I added, “Just like always,” trying to sound familiar with what I’d be walking into.

I had been studying photo albums, trying to get a sense of how the house was laid out, but I was worried that I wouldn’t be convincing. The one thing working in my favor was the fact that I’d be staying in a room that hadn’t been mine, so I wouldn’t be expected to be intimately familiar with it. At least that was my hope.

“Is this all you’ve got?” my father asked, looking down at the cardboard box and duffle bag on my bed. The box held the books I’d been reading, thanks to my mother’s frequent trips to the library. And the bag held my meager collection of clothes.

“That’s it,” I said. “I like to travel light.”

My father looked at me uncertainly, taking a moment to realize I was trying to make a joke. Then he smiled uneasily and said, “Alrighty, then. Let’s get going.”

With the bag slung over one shoulder, he hefted the box and walked out of the room. I followed close behind, feeling self-conscious about this older man carrying all my things. But it’s hard to carry much when you use a walker. And I’d gotten used to needing help with the most rudimentary tasks, although I’d never learned to be truly comfortable with such helplessness.

I had done all the paperwork earlier that morning, so my actual departure from the hospital was free of red tape or drama. I hadn’t bothered with big farewells to the staff, since I’d be returning several times a week.

My father seemed to sense the too-easy nature of our exit. He paused in the front lobby and turned to me, mumbling, “Um, do I need to sign something or tip anybody or anything?”

I smiled. “No, Dad – it’s fine.”

“How about a wheelchair? When I was in for my appendix, they said I had to be escorted out of the hospital in a wheelchair.”

“I think we’re fine,” I said. Actually, they had asked me to call for a wheelchair when I was ready to leave, but we were almost to the door, and nobody was stopping us. “Let’s go,” I said.

A set of sliding glass doors sensed our presence and opened in front of us with a hiss. Together we stepped out into the sunlight, facing a semicircular driveway set into the side of a hill that sloped gently down to the street, across from which was a large parking lot. Dad – I needed to get used to calling him that – set my things on the sidewalk, and said, “Wait here – I’ll go get the car.”

Soon he pulled up in a bubble-shaped silver-grey sedan. He got out, popped open the trunk and went about loading my things into the back of the car. Meanwhile I made my way towards the passenger side of the car. Suddenly I found Dad by my side.

“Um, do you need help getting in? How does this work, I mean, with the walker and all?”

I’d had so little contact with him, this sudden burst of solicitousness was simultaneously surprising and disconcerting.

“It’s okay,” I said, reaching for the rear door. I opened it, leaned one hand on the roof of the car, and wrestled the walker into the back seat. Then I closed the door, one hand still on the roof, and shuffled forward to open the passenger door. I was pretty pleased with myself for improvising this maneuver so successfully.

Then I fell on my ass when I tried to get into the car.

“Jonny! Jesus, are you okay?” My father was on his knees, looking every bit as uncomfortable as I felt.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said. “I guess I need a little help getting in.” He tried to pick me up but I waved him away. “It’s okay,” I said, “I’ve had a lot of practice getting up.” I flashed him my version of a smile. “That’s ’cause I’ve had a lot of practice falling down.”

Dad laughed uneasily, and once I’d managed to prop myself upright, he helped me slide into the car seat, then closed my door for me.

I sat in the front seat fuming in humiliation, while he came around the car and got in.

As he fired up the engine, I muttered, “Nice car,” just to have something to say.

He grunted as he swung the car out of the curving driveway. “It’s okay, I guess. Your mother wanted an SUV, but I managed to talk her out of it. I mean, am I the only one who realizes that an SUV is just an over-glorified station wagon, with some big tires and a rugged-sounding name? Sports utility, my ass.”

“I hear you,” I said. This was a phrase I’d picked up from Leon, which I found was coming in handy. On the surface, it seemed to imply agreement. But at its most literal, it simply acknowledged that somebody had said something, without indicating agreement or dissent – or even comprehension. Yes, for a man like me, it was a
very
useful retort.

We drove in silence for a few blocks, then Dad asked, “Any of this look familiar?”

“Not really,” I admitted. I had been staring out the window, soaking in the scenery, and finding myself struck by how green everything was. Other than some experimental walks on the hospital grounds, I’d had very little exposure to life beyond the confines of the hospital walls. It was curiously exciting to be whizzing up a street, watching cars and houses and buildings and trees whipping by, and realizing they were real, tangible things, not just images on my television.

“I’m not surprised,” he said. “Most of this area is new, and hell, you haven’t really lived here since you went away to school. That’s something like fifteen, sixteen years ago.” His eyes darted briefly towards me. “That’s a long time.”

“Yeah,” I said. “That much I got.”

This got a small smile out of him, and he seemed to relax a bit more.

Dad pointed out a few landmarks as we drove, but I didn’t really retain anything he told me. I was too worried about how to handle myself when we finally got to the house. And frankly I was too caught up watching the scenery around me. It really was a pretty town – I wondered why I’d hated it so much.

He turned the car off the busy main street we’d been traveling, taking us into a residential area. Sensing that we might be close to home, I stared intently at my surroundings, looking for something familiar. No luck.

He slowed, then turned the car into the driveway of a pleasant looking single-story house, painted a pale beige with light brown trim. I recognized it from my photo-album studies.

I was home.

Dad helped me without asking, bustling around the car while I was opening my door, pulling my walker out of the back seat and setting it in front of me.

“Thanks,” I said. I heaved myself upright without further assistance and said, “Let’s go.”

Dad hitched the duffle bag up on his shoulder, grabbed my box of books, and led the way.

A white plastic banner was draped across the front door, adorned with brightly colored letters that spelled: WELCOME HOME JOHNNY.

“Your mother had that made,” Dad said. “We only realized they spelled Jonny wrong when I went to hang it up this morning. She got all upset about it, but I told her it was no big deal. You’re probably best off telling her you didn’t notice.”

I nodded my assent. Was this where my concern for diplomacy had come from? And with it, my ability to lie?

Dad shifted the cardboard box to one arm to open the front door for me.

“Come on in, Jonny,” he said. “Welcome home.”

I followed him into a small foyer that opened to larger rooms on either side.

“Jonny!” cried my mother, walking towards me with open arms.

“Hi, Mom,” I said distractedly. I was already scanning my surroundings, looking for landmarks. To my left was a dining area – I’d seen it in photos. To my right was a living room, where I saw nothing I recognized.

“It’s so good to have you home,” my mother said, hugging me awkwardly over my walker, a maneuver that I thought might cause my second fall of the day. But I somehow managed to stay upright, hugging her with one arm while supporting myself with the other.