Page 72 of Brain Damage

Alex’s face turns bright red. He looks like he might leap out of his chair and start sucking the saliva out of our mouths.

“You need to focus on other things besides being thirsty,” Dr. Foster advises him.

Alex squares his jaw. “I’m only allowed one liter of fluid per day,” he says. “Do you know how much one liter of fluid is?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “Neither do I, because this is America and we don’t use the metric system here. But let me tell you something, it’s not much.”

“I understand,” Dr. Foster says. He looks at Angela and me. We don’t seem nearly as thirsty. “Maybe it would be better to begin with someone else today. Angela, how are you feeling today?”

“Super,” Angela replies, rolling her eyes.

Dr. Foster amps up his caring shrink face. “Anything in particular bothering you?”

Angela shrugs. “Just… you know, thinking about the future.”

I wait for Dr. Foster to prompt her, but he doesn’t. He just looks at her, waiting. Angela doesn’t seem to be taking the bait though.

“While we’re waiting for her to talk,” Alex says, “can I get some water?”

He leans forward eagerly in his wheelchair. Dr. Foster shakes his head at him, and he falls back dejectedly.

“My boyfriend came to visit yesterday,” Angela finally says. “Happy?”

I saw Angela’s significant other during lunchtime yesterday. He had a mullet and dirt ground into his fingernails. But Angela’s face really lit up when she saw him. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her that happy.

“How long have the two of you been together?” Dr. Foster asks.

“Twelve years.”

“That’s a long time,” he comments. “Longer than a lot of marriages.”

“Longer than I’ve gone without having water,” Alex throws in.

“Anyway,” Angela says, shooting Alex a look. “Bobby told me that he thinks I should come home from here, and he’ll take care of me.”

Dr. Foster raises his eyebrows. “And what’s wrong with that?”

Angela gives him a look like he’s an idiot. “Bobby is my man. He’s not going to still want me if he’s helping me on the toilet.”

“And what’s the alternative?”

Angela shrugs. “I guess there isn’t any. I don’t have anyone else.”

It’s hard to feel sorry for Angela. She might not have anyone besides Bobby, but I would kill to have even one person who would be willing to take me home and take care of me. I have a husband, apparently, but he seems to have absolutely no interest in me. And it’s entirely possible that he was the one who put me here in the first place.

Dr. Foster pushes his spectacles up his nose. “So if Bobby were the one who had a stroke, you wouldn’t help him?”

“Of course I would,” Angela says, shaking her head. She frowns at him. “You’re twisting my words, Doc.”

“Listen, Angela,” Alex says. “If somebody cared about me enough to get me some water, I wouldn’t start thinking about it too much and wondering how it would work out. I would just take the water, you know what I’m saying?”

“You’re saying that I should let him help me,” Angela acknowledges.

“No!” Alex barks at her. “I’m saying that nobody cares about me enough to get me some damn water!”

With those words, Alex leaps out of his wheelchair. There is a sink for hygiene in the corner of the room, and before Dr. Foster can stop him, he turns the sink on and sticks his face underneath, his tongue hanging out, lapping up the precious water.

It takes three people to get him away from that sink.

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