Part 2 (1/2)

”Mom. It's okay,” I tell her, knowing what she must be thinking of the crummy apartment. ”We're not even going to be spending much time here.”

”It's true,” Jordan says with a smile. ”We're going to be daaannnnciiinnngg.” She does two consecutive twirls when she says the word dancing. Jordan makes this apartment worth it. I can tell we are going to get along great. ”Look,” she says, calling me over with a finger. ”Toilet.” She points to a toilet behind that tri-fold screen. ”That's where we pee.”

My mom groans, but I chuckle. I am so excited that nothing could bring me down now.

”I'm going to run out and get you some groceries, hon. You and Jordan get acquainted.” My mother kisses me on the cheek. ”Just, if you leave the apartment, please text me, so I can let you know when I'm headed back with the food.”

”Thanks, Mom.”

”Do you need anything, Jordan?”

”No, I'm good, Mrs?”

”Duncan. But you can call me Sam.”

”Thank you, Sam, but I'm good.”

”Okay. Be back in a bit,” my mother says, skewing her face when she touches the upstairs doork.n.o.b. ”I'll get you all some anti-bacterial wipes too.”

Jordan laughs. ”The place is creepy, but isn't it exciting? Have you ever danced on Broadway before?”

”No. Never. I can't even believe I was asked. I'm in Heaven.”

”Rose.”

I'm in Heaven.

”Rose.”

My apartment's slipping away.

”Rose.”

I blink my eyes a few times and notice I am now in my room. The room at the rehab center.

”Rose,” I hear Kat call out. ”Rose, snap out of it. Come on, sweetheart.”

I refocus my eyes and see Kat sitting on the edge of my bed right in front of me.

”We gotta get you ready for bed, honey. If you want my help, then we have to do it now.”

I don't want her help.

And I don't want to do it myself.

I just...

Don't want to be...right now.

She reaches for me under the arm and helps me to my bed, where I sit. I avoid looking down, because that's when my chest hurts the most. ”Come on, honey, there's nothing wrong with your arms. I know you can change your own s.h.i.+rt. So let's do it.” She tosses my nightgown next to me on the bed.

I ignore her, like I always do. Like I ignore anyone who gives me instructions to do something. I've only been in this rehab center a week, but I know I've already disappointed everyone who's tried to help me. Just like I disappointed the whole staff at the hospital in Manhattan for the last three months. Well, in my defense, I was only conscious through one of those months. What I did prior to that I had no control over. Though, I'm not completely convinced I have all that much control right now. I mean, I feel bad that I just disregard everyone. I don't want to be disrespectful. But my brain won't let me obey. All the doctors say there is nothing wrong with my brain. There was no brain injury due to the accident, and the only reason I was unconscious for two months was because they put me in an induced coma...to help the healing process of the mult.i.tude of internal injuries I'd sustained.

But every time I intend to do something for myself, or attempt to speak, I can't. Something holds me back.

I take a deep breath, but that is all I do. So, Kat pulls up on my s.h.i.+rt, lifts my reluctant arms one at a time to free them from the sleeves, and tugs the s.h.i.+rt over my head. Then Kat proceeds to pull the nightgown over my head, not fussing with my bra at all. The morning nurse will wash me in the morning, so Kat will let her worry about that. ”Do you want to sleep in your sweatpants, or do you want me to pull them off?” She asks me this every night, and every night I don't answer. I prefer my sweats on, and I think she knows that, so she keeps them on and lets the morning nurse deal with changing my pants and panties the next morning. For that process, I close my eyes and try to slip into my past again, because I just can't bring myself to look at my legs.

Not when one of them is missing below the knee.

4.

BEN.

”Ben Falco?”

I wake to the sound of a new voice. A female voice. Groggily, I say, ”Yes?”

”Hi. I'm Lourdes, your morning nurse. But you can call me Lou.”

”Lou...Right...Hi. I'm Ben, but you know that already.” I s.h.i.+ft in my bed to sit up.

She smiles, but doesn't laugh. ”Okay, let's get you out of bed and ready for therapy. Do you need help showering?”

I shake my head vigorously, willing myself to wake up fully. ”No. No. I'm fine by myself. Unless, you can help me wrap up my brace, maybe.” I pause to stretch my arms. ”The material beneath it shouldn't get wet, and well, I have done it myself, but I guess I don't do it correctly, because it still kinda gets wet.”

”Sure. I can do that. I'll be right back.”

I take a breath, push myself up against the headboard, and look to see if Johnny is in bed. He's not, he must be in therapy already. I wonder if Lou came in and helped him first, or if he has another nurse who comes in and helps him. I hate needing someone else's help. At least for me, though, it's temporary. That poor girl in the wheelchair yesterday will probably need someone's help for the rest of her life. She's missing a leg. She had pants on, so I couldn't tell if she was missing her whole leg or just half of it. Being that she is so thin, it was hard to see if a thigh was beneath her pants. But there was no mistaking that her leg was gone. The way her black sweats flattened as they fell down the front of the chair, and the lack of a foot on the foot rest, definitely implied she was missing a leg. I wonder if she'll ever walk again. They have prosthetics for that, don't they? I recall reading about a young baseball player who had both legs amputated. Maybe life won't be so hard for her.

But I bet she's dying inside right now.

I bet that's why she doesn't talk.

She probably sees no hope for her future.

But there is hope.

There's always hope.

Isn't there?

Lou walks back in my room carrying a huge roll of cling wrap.

”Hey,” I say, ”I have a roll like that back home. Used it to wrap up my brother's car on April Fools' Day.”