Page 86 of Brain Damage

She’s talking too loudly. I look around self-consciously. I see Jamie sitting about four feet away, but he’s looking in a different direction. I don’t think he’s listening. Good.

“It’s not that surprising, is it?” I mumble. “I mean, he’s helping me with all this gross, personal stuff. And it’s not like I look so great right now. It’s not like any man would want to… you know…”

“Did he say that to you?” Angela is practically screaming now. Her brown eyes are huge.

“Keep your voice down,” I hiss at her. “He didn’t say it to be mean. He’s right.”

“He’s not right,” Angela retorts. “Charly, you’re gorgeous. Any man in his right mind would think so.”

“Please keep your voice down,” I say again. “I know you’re being nice, but it’s not true. It’s better to be realistic.”

“I’ll prove it to you,” Angela says.

I watch as Angela starts studying the male occupants of the room. Oh God, what is she going to do? I really wish I hadn’t said anything to her.

Finally, Angela’s eyes rest on an elderly man sitting across from us. He is possibly the skinniest man I’ve ever seen in my life. His wrist and forearms are all bones. He looks like he hasn’t eaten in years.

“Henry!” Angela barks at the man.

“Eh?” Henry replies.

“Charly over here,” she says loudly, jerking her thumb at me. I want to crawl behind my wheelchair and hide. “Do you think she’s pretty?”

“Eh?” Henry says again. “Speak up, young lady!”

Angela is practically shouting now: “DO YOU THINK CHARLY IS PRETTY?”

Henry looks me over carefully. He’s so old, I’m not convinced he isn’t blind. Finally, he nods his approval.

“She’s real nice looking,” he says. “But she’d be prettier without wearing a helmet. I don’t know what it is with you young people and your fashion statements.”

“Thank you,” Angela says to Henry. She smiles at me triumphantly. “See? Men still think you’re pretty.”

“I don’t think that counts.” I roll my eyes. “He’s about a hundred years old. He probably thinks anyone under the age of seventy is a catch.”

Angela nods thoughtfully. “Oh, I see! So you’re looking for the opinion of a man your age. Is that right?”

I have a bad feeling I know where this is going. “I’m not looking for an opinion. Really, Angela.”

But Angela isn’t about to let this go. She jerks her head to the right and her eyes rest on Jamie. He’s staring straight ahead, but his ears are really red. I’m starting to suspect he’s been listening to our conversation all along.

“Mr. Knox,” Angela says. She’s smiling really wide right now. “May I obtain your opinion on something?”

Jamie shakes his head slowly, like he does not want to get sucked into this discussion. “What is it, Angie?”

Angela looks back at me. “Now here we have a man who appears to be… I’d say, mid-thirties. Jamie, how old are you?”

“Thirty-six,” he mumbles. He looks like he wishes he were somewhere else as much as I do right now.

“There you go,” Angela says.

“Angela, don’t…” I try to say, but Angela holds up her hand.

“Now we have a very important question for you, Jamie,” she says. “We were hoping you could help us out.”

Jamie shakes his head again, staring down at his lap. “Do I have to?”

“You do,” Angela confirms. “I just need you to tell us whether you think our friend Charly here is pretty or not?”