Page 92 of Brain Damage

I guess I can wait. I’m not going to die of thirst or anything.

As I sit and stare down at my empty tray, I notice that a few patients are coming back from their last therapy of the day. Coming up at the rear of the group is Jamie, who is walking on his own with only his cane. Nobody is helping him or making sure he’s not about to fall.

Apparently, they’ve decided that Jamie’s balance is good enough for him to walk on his own. Which means he’ll probably be going home soon. I’m happy for him.

Jamie is about to walk past me, but then I see him hesitate. He stops in front of me. “Can I talk to you, Charly?” he asks.

I nod.

There’s a stool about a foot away from my wheelchair, and Jamie grabs it so that he can sit with me. It makes me think of how whenever Clark comes, he never sits down. He always just stands hovering over me, which makes me feel like I’m a child. Of course, Jamie probably needs to sit. His balance is better but still not perfect.

“Charly,” he says in a low voice. “I just want to say that I’m really sorry about what happened this morning. I didn’t mean to make trouble for you. I just got angry because…”

“It’s okay,” I say quickly. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Here’s the thing.” He pauses for a minute, then he reaches over and takes my right hand in his. His hand is warm, and I can feel the calluses that have been developing from using the cane. Warm hands, warm heart. His brown eyes meet mine. “I understand why you want to be with your husband. He has a lot more to offer you than I can.”

What?

“I mean,” Jamie continues, “I can’t help you much. I can barely help myself. So I get it. I get why you’d want to be with him instead of, you know, me.”

I feel like it’s almost hard to breathe. What is he saying to me? Is he saying that he wants to be with me? Why? Why would he? Why would anyone? Where is all this coming from?

“But you need to know,” he says in a voice that’s almost a whisper, “that I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”

That is clearly not true. I’m not the most beautiful woman he’s ever met. I wouldn’t have been even before I got hurt. But actually, I don’t mind hearing it, especially from him. Especially with the way he’s looking at me.

I hear him take a deep breath. “And I don’t think you should be with any man who doesn’t realize that.”

I can’t stop staring into Jamie’s eyes. I want to tell him how much I’d like to be with him. I’d like to lean forward and kiss him. But if I tried to do it, I’d probably fall or do something else embarrassing. If I were normal, I could be with Jamie.

But if I were normal, I never would’ve known a guy like Jamie.

Jamie lets out a sigh and releases my hand slowly. “Anyway, that’s all I had to say.”

I just nod, still unable to completely catch my breath.

Jamie looks at me thoughtfully for a minute then he leans forward. My heart starts to pound and I’m certain he’s going to kiss me. But he doesn’t kiss me. Instead, he puts his hand on my tray of food, and spins it around. Suddenly, I see a lump of mashed potatoes, a dessert of angel food cake, and most wonderfully, a glass of water.

“Water!” I gasp. I reach for the cup of cool liquid and start to gulp it down. I don’t stop until the glass is nearly finished. “I was so thirsty! Thank you!”

Jamie smiles crookedly at me. “No problem.”

I watch him as he struggles to his feet, then limps down the hallway back to his room. I’m sure he’ll be going home soon, and then he’ll forget all about me. And I’m sure he’ll find some other girl who’s more beautiful than I am, especially since I’m not actually beautiful at all.

65

The next morning, I see the eye doctor.

His name is Dr. Singh and he’s “the best,” or so I’ve been told. I saw him a few weeks ago about the problems I’m having seeing on my left side, and he suggested that a prism for my left eye might help me see better on the left. The prism will bend the light that comes from the left side and put it in my right visual field.

I had laser eye surgery after completing medical school, so there were no lenses to attach the prism to. Dr. Singh told me he’d come back after making me glasses. I hate the idea of having to wear glasses again after shedding them all those years ago, but if it helps, it’s worth a shot.

Dr. Singh is a short, stout, dark-skinned man with a wide smile. He comes into my room holding up a leopard-spotted glasses case. “I’ve got your prisms for you, Mrs. McKenna,” he announces proudly.

“Wonderful,” I say. I wish I shared his enthusiasm.

Dr. Singh opens the case. Inside is a pair of giant tortoiseshell rimmed lenses. The left lens is covered in some sort of striped clear material. The glasses are probably the ugliest things I’ve ever seen.