Page 48 of Brain Damage

But I have a feeling nobody is here. It’s always very quiet around dinnertime.

“Okay,” I agree.

I reach for the strap holding the helmet in place. It’s pretty hard to work with just my right hand. Actually, I think they’ve rigged it up to make it harder to remove one-handed because of all the times I’ve tried to get it off. Jamie watches me intently as I fiddle with it. Finally, I hear a satisfying snap, and my chin strap comes loose.

I slide the helmet off my head. Oh my God. What. A. Relief. It is like a thousand degrees under that helmet. And my head feels so light without it. I feel like I could just float away. That is, if I wasn’t seatbelted into a wheelchair.

I don’t know why I have to wear that stupid helmet in my wheelchair anyway. It’s not like I’m going to fall.

“Wow,” Jamie breathes.

“What does it look like?” I ask him.

He raises his eyebrows. “You haven’t seen it?”

I shake my head. “I’m always wearing the helmet when I’m looking at myself in the mirror.”

Jamie considers my question, stroking his chin thoughtfully. I noticed that he has at least a day’s worth of beard growth on his chin. I wonder who shaves him. Considering how shaky his hands are, I doubt he could do it himself.

“It looks like somebody took a bite out of your skull,” he says.

“A bite?” I crinkle up my nose. “A big bite or a small bite?”

Jamie grins. “Huge.”

I reach for the soft spot in my skull, trying to get a sense how big it is. Now that he mentioned it, the soft area seems massive. God, I probably look like a total freak.

Maybe that’s why they make me wear the helmet in the hall. So I don’t scare people.

Except Jamie doesn’t look scared. He looks fascinated. “So it’s just your brain under there?” he asks.

I nod.

He blinks a few times. “Can I feel it?”

I shrug. “Sure, why not?”

Jamie reaches out with his left hand. Usually his arms are all over the place like a drunk person, but I can tell he’s being really, really careful right now. Very gently, his fingers graze the soft spot on my head. I barely feel it, before I hear a nurse screaming out, “Charlotte! What are you doing!”

Apparently, I shouldn’t have done that. The nurse makes a huge deal out of putting my helmet back on, and getting the charge nurse to come over to yell at me. Jamie is actually really nice about the whole thing, and keeps telling the nurse that it was his idea and he told me to do it, so they should yell at him. And they do.

He’s not so bad though. There are a lot of bad people out there, but I don’t think he’s one of them.

33

BEFORE

Clark has been really stressed out lately about his new practice. He’s got a few cases now that aren’t going great, and he’s been putting in a lot of hours. Clark stressed out is not pleasant, as I found out. He just paces around the house and snaps at me whenever I try to talk to him. With the amount of pacing he’s done in the last few weeks, he’s probably paced the equivalent of a marathon.

And our sex life has pretty much dwindled to zip. I guess Clark used up all his energy with pacing.

The two of us both needed a break from all the pacing, so we decided to take a night out to unwind. Clark somehow got us reservations at a swanky molecular gastronomy restaurant. I don’t entirely know what that means, but Clark is eating something called a deconstructed eggs benedict. I’m eating shrimp grits. Not shrimp and grits, just shrimp grits. Basically, it’s grits made out of shrimp, with pickled jalapeño and bright shreds of green onion. It’s amazing, actually.

I haven’t decided whether or not it’s a good thing that we’ve only just received our main course and Clark is on his fourth glass of wine. I’m glad he is loosening up a bit, but this might be a little bit too much loosening up. Also, he’s looking for our waiter to get a refill.

“This was a great idea, Charlotte,” Clark says, as he downs the last few drops of pinot noir.

“Well, you were the one who got us reservations,” I point out.