Page 39 of Brain Damage

Clark seems to realize he crossed a line. He drops down onto our bed, his lips pursed into a frown. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Except he did say it. And as he was saying it, it sounded like he meant it. Somehow, before the ink is even dry on the marriage certificate, it feels like everything has fallen apart.

“I need some air,” I manage.

Clark tries to apologize again, but I’m not listening. I push past him and get the hell out of our hotel room.

27

AFTER

Jamie and I have been separated during Walking Group. Because of the Pea Incident. I guess they don’t want to risk him throwing things at me. Luckily, we got a new member in our group to sit next to me.

She’s about forty with really pretty, long silky blonde hair because she didn’t have to have surgery on her brain like Jamie and I did. I love her hair. I can’t stop staring at it.

My hair is still really short since they shaved it. Before they shaved it, I used to have chin-length blond hair, although it seemed longer in more recent photos, like I was growing it out. I know because my mom hung up all these photos of me on the walls of my room. It’s supposed to help bring back memories.

“I have to tell you,” the new woman says to me as we sit in our wheelchairs, waiting for our turn to walk. She has a gravelly voice like she’s been talking for a long time and needs some water. “You have the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen. What color are they? Purple?”

“Violet,” I say. Actually, they just look dark blue to me, but everyone tells me they are violet. So I guess I’ll go with that.

“My eyes are the color of mud,” she says. I look at her eyes, which are brown. But I guess she’s right because brown is the color of mud. “I’m Angela, by the way.”

I smile at her.

After a few beats, she says, “This is when you tell me your name.”

“Charly,” I say.

She smiles back at me. Her teeth are a little bit yellow. I know that mine are white from all the photos hung up in my room. At least I have nice teeth. “As in Charlene?”

“No, Charlotte.”

“Oh, like the web.”

I don’t know what she’s talking about.

“Charlotte’s Web,” she says. “It’s this book for children. About a spider and a pig who become friends. And at the end, the spider dies.”

I still have no idea what she’s talking about. I never heard of this children’s book.

“I don’t have any children,” I explain.

“Neither do I,” Angela says. “That’s why I’m here. Because I was taking birth control pills and it made me get a blood clot in my leg which went up to my brain.”

“Oh,” I say.

Is a blood clot worse than getting shot in the brain? I don’t think it is. I’m pretty sure getting shot is the worst thing that can happen to your brain.

Angela adjusts her left arm, which is lying limply on her lap. She doesn’t seem to be able to move it, but at least she seems to be able to see things on her left side. I assume she can, because I’m on her left side. “What a mistake,” she says. “Stupid birth control. I’d have had a dozen babies instead of this. This is the worst.”

When it’s my turn to walk, I do a little better than I did that first day. I still need both Natalie and Steve helping me, but at least I can take a few steps on the ballet bars. It’s some sort of progress at least.

Angela has a bandage wrapped around her left foot that ties up to her calf. When it’s her turn to walk, they tie her left arm up in a sling. Natalie helps her to stand up, and makes her left leg move for her, then supports her while she takes a step on her own with her right foot. She has to hang onto the parallel bars, but she makes it all the way down to the end and then back.

When Angela sits down again, she releases the Velcro on the sling with her right hand. Her left arm falls back into her lap and she carefully positions it so that her hand is resting on her thigh.

“What’s that sling for?” I ask.