Part 8 (1/2)
I don't respond.
”It's okay, honey. He said it's healthy. You're moving forward. I'm so happy, Rosie. I can't wait 'til you come home.”
”Me too.”
”Okay, baby. I'll let you go. Call me if you want me to come down before Wednesday. Otherwise, I'll see you Wednesday. I love you.”
”Love you too.”
Just as I'm making my way back to the couch, someone calls my name again, and I recognize the voice immediately. I'm excited and agitated at the same time. Using my cane to help me, I turn around slowly, and without being able to help myself, I smile and cry at the same time.
”No. No. Rose. I didn't come here to make you cry.”
Putting her hands on my shoulders and searching my eyes, she says, ”I came here to tell you to wise the f.u.c.k up and get better already.”
And right away, I'm laughing along with my tears. G.o.d, how I've missed her.
”Oh, Holly.”
”What the h.e.l.l, Rose? You trying to play hero by getting through this by yourself?” She pulls away, and I turn to lead her to a table. When we're sitting next to each other, she looks at me and says, ”Why couldn't you just call me? I could have been here for you the whole time. And wait. Your mother said you weren't talking. You said my name. Are you cured?” She's teasing me. Typical Holly. I've missed her so much. She'd become my best friend and dorm mate on the first day of college three years ago.
”Far from it,” I tell her.
”So why did your mom say you weren't talking?”
”I wasn't. I just...started.”
”You just started talking? Since your accident?”
I nod.
”Rose. How long has it been? I haven't heard from you in months.”
”June 12th.”
”You speak so softly now, I can hardly hear you. June 12th? That's, like, what, a week after you got to New York, isn't it? You didn't even get to...Oh, Rose, I'm so sorry.”
”It was three weeks before the show opened.” My chest hurts saying this out loud.
”Your mom said it was a delivery truck?”
Again, I nod. Dr. Rappaport's been trying to talk about this for weeks, Holly visits, and she gets me spilling my guts. Sort of.
”Oh my G.o.d. What do you remember from it?”
”Not much. I remember pain and then waking up two months later.”
”Two months? Holy s.h.i.+t.”
”I need water,” I say, pus.h.i.+ng away from the table to get some from the water cooler.
Rose comes with me, holding my hand as we slowly make it over to the cooler.
”So two months you were in a coma?”
”A medically induced coma. I had a lot of infections and a bad head injury.”
”Is that why you didn't talk for so long?”
”I think that was psychological. Something about it being selective or conversion,” I say slowly, softly. ”They rattled off so many reasons.”
”Then why are you talking now? So low, but you're talking.”
”I don't know. Doctor said I hit the next stage or something.”
”Next stage?”
”Anger.”
”You? Angry? I don't believe that. You don't look angry.”
”I'm happy to see you, Holly, but I'm not happy,” I admit, sitting back down at the table. ”In fact, for the first time ever, I wanted to punch something today. Yesterday...I had to be restrained.”
”Oh my G.o.d,” she says of my being restrained. Then she looks down at my lap. ”Can I see it?” she asks carefully.
Reluctantly, I fold up my yoga pants and show Holly my metal leg...plastic foot attached.
”It's not so bad, Rose. Your pants cover it. But, you can never wear shoes again?”
Shoes are the least of my worries. I can never dance again. ”This isn't my permanent leg. I'm told that one's much prettier,” I say bitterly.
”At least you don't have to try to find a monster shoe to fit that thing into,” she says, referring to the ugly foot attached to my metal robot leg.
Rolling down my pants, I say, ”I can never dance again, Holly.”
She closes her eyes, and I get the feeling she already realizes this.
”I don't know, Rose. People run marathons with no legs. I think if it's something you want badly enough, you can do it. Besides, I was researching online after your mother came by the other day. Did you know there was a double amputee on Dancing with the Stars?”
That's right, I'd forgotten about Amy Purdy.
”Yup. And then I looked some more. There are a lot of dancers who have one or no legs.”
”Ballerinas?”
”I think so. Yeah.” She looks me in the eyes and gets so close I think she's going to kiss me. ”This isn't a prison sentence. You can still plan the life you wanted. You just have to change the way you go about it.”