Hunter Hill University: Reaching Rose Part 2

"Mom. It's okay," I tell her, knowing what she must be thinking of the crummy apartment. "We're not even going to be spending much time here."

"It's true," Jordan says with a smile. "We're going to be daaannnnciiinnngg." She does two consecutive twirls when she says the word dancing. Jordan makes this apartment worth it. I can tell we are going to get along great. "Look," she says, calling me over with a finger. "Toilet." She points to a toilet behind that tri-fold screen. "That's where we pee."

My mom groans, but I chuckle. I am so excited that nothing could bring me down now.

"I'm going to run out and get you some groceries, hon. You and Jordan get acquainted." My mother kisses me on the cheek. "Just, if you leave the apartment, please text me, so I can let you know when I'm headed back with the food."

"Thanks, Mom."

"Do you need anything, Jordan?"

"No, I'm good, Mrs?"

"Duncan. But you can call me Sam."

"Thank you, Sam, but I'm good."

"Okay. Be back in a bit," my mother says, skewing her face when she touches the upstairs doork.n.o.b. "I'll get you all some anti-bacterial wipes too."

Jordan laughs. "The place is creepy, but isn't it exciting? Have you ever danced on Broadway before?"

"No. Never. I can't even believe I was asked. I'm in Heaven."

"Rose."

I'm in Heaven.

"Rose."

My apartment's slipping away.

"Rose."

I blink my eyes a few times and notice I am now in my room. The room at the rehab center.

"Rose," I hear Kat call out. "Rose, snap out of it. Come on, sweetheart."

I refocus my eyes and see Kat sitting on the edge of my bed right in front of me.

"We gotta get you ready for bed, honey. If you want my help, then we have to do it now."

I don't want her help.

And I don't want to do it myself.

I just...

Don't want to be...right now.

She reaches for me under the arm and helps me to my bed, where I sit. I avoid looking down, because that's when my chest hurts the most. "Come on, honey, there's nothing wrong with your arms. I know you can change your own shirt. So let's do it." She tosses my nightgown next to me on the bed.

I ignore her, like I always do. Like I ignore anyone who gives me instructions to do something. I've only been in this rehab center a week, but I know I've already disappointed everyone who's tried to help me. Just like I disappointed the whole staff at the hospital in Manhattan for the last three months. Well, in my defense, I was only conscious through one of those months. What I did prior to that I had no control over. Though, I'm not completely convinced I have all that much control right now. I mean, I feel bad that I just disregard everyone. I don't want to be disrespectful. But my brain won't let me obey. All the doctors say there is nothing wrong with my brain. There was no brain injury due to the accident, and the only reason I was unconscious for two months was because they put me in an induced coma...to help the healing process of the mult.i.tude of internal injuries I'd sustained.

But every time I intend to do something for myself, or attempt to speak, I can't. Something holds me back.

I take a deep breath, but that is all I do. So, Kat pulls up on my shirt, lifts my reluctant arms one at a time to free them from the sleeves, and tugs the shirt over my head. Then Kat proceeds to pull the nightgown over my head, not fussing with my bra at all. The morning nurse will wash me in the morning, so Kat will let her worry about that. "Do you want to sleep in your sweatpants, or do you want me to pull them off?" She asks me this every night, and every night I don't answer. I prefer my sweats on, and I think she knows that, so she keeps them on and lets the morning nurse deal with changing my pants and panties the next morning. For that process, I close my eyes and try to slip into my past again, because I just can't bring myself to look at my legs.

Not when one of them is missing below the knee.

4.

BEN.

"Ben Falco?"

I wake to the sound of a new voice. A female voice. Groggily, I say, "Yes?"

"Hi. I'm Lourdes, your morning nurse. But you can call me Lou."

"Lou...Right...Hi. I'm Ben, but you know that already." I shift in my bed to sit up.

She smiles, but doesn't laugh. "Okay, let's get you out of bed and ready for therapy. Do you need help showering?"

I shake my head vigorously, willing myself to wake up fully. "No. No. I'm fine by myself. Unless, you can help me wrap up my brace, maybe." I pause to stretch my arms. "The material beneath it shouldn't get wet, and well, I have done it myself, but I guess I don't do it correctly, because it still kinda gets wet."

"Sure. I can do that. I'll be right back."

I take a breath, push myself up against the headboard, and look to see if Johnny is in bed. He's not, he must be in therapy already. I wonder if Lou came in and helped him first, or if he has another nurse who comes in and helps him. I hate needing someone else's help. At least for me, though, it's temporary. That poor girl in the wheelchair yesterday will probably need someone's help for the rest of her life. She's missing a leg. She had pants on, so I couldn't tell if she was missing her whole leg or just half of it. Being that she is so thin, it was hard to see if a thigh was beneath her pants. But there was no mistaking that her leg was gone. The way her black sweats flattened as they fell down the front of the chair, and the lack of a foot on the foot rest, definitely implied she was missing a leg. I wonder if she'll ever walk again. They have prosthetics for that, don't they? I recall reading about a young baseball player who had both legs amputated. Maybe life won't be so hard for her.

But I bet she's dying inside right now.

I bet that's why she doesn't talk.

She probably sees no hope for her future.

But there is hope.

There's always hope.

Isn't there?

Lou walks back in my room carrying a huge roll of cling wrap.

"Hey," I say, "I have a roll like that back home. Used it to wrap up my brother's car on April Fools' Day."

"Nice. I'll have to remember that," the thirty-something-year-old lady says. "Was he p.i.s.sed?"

"At first. It made him late for work." I chuckle, remembering his fuming face. "But he gives as good as he gets, so-" I lift a shoulder "-he got what was coming."

"Brothers. I got one of them too. How many you got?"

"One. And a sister. Both older."

"Ah. So you're the baby?"

"Eh. Guess so."

She laughs. "Okay, why don't we get you wrapped up? Craig's gonna be calling for you soon."

Lou quickly winds the clear wrap around my leg, starting at the top and ending beneath the brace at my lower shin. Then she snuggly tucks it in, finishing it off with a piece of duct tape.

"And here I thought you had some professional wrap or something," I joke.

"We do. Saran wrap and duct tape work better. You're pretty friendly for an injured teenage athlete."

"Teenage?" I feign offense. "I'm twenty-one. Legal."

She shakes her head. "Get in the shower, old man. Pull on the string if you need me."

Showering isn't too difficult for me, since there is a support bar running the entire width of the stall, so it takes five minutes and I'm done. I get dressed in my room and hobble over to the window to look outside. The guys are probably playing Fall Ball right now, and I'm jealous. I want to be out there. Soon enough. Soon enough, I tell myself.

"Look at you all ready," Lou says from the doorway.

I turn around and smile. "Not bad for a gimp, huh?" And then I immediately regret using that word.

"You know, kid, you're luckier than most here. You're injury's gonna heal soon. Some of these kids...not so much."

I nod. "Like that redhead," I mumble to myself.

"You've seen Rose?"

"Rose?" Is that her name? It's perfect for her.

"She's the only redhead here who's a patient. And I don't think you mean Craig?"

I shake my head. "No. I don't mean Craig. Can I ask what happened, or is that breaking some kind of confidentiality thing?"

"Well, yes, there are confidentiality rules, but I can say that losing a leg at that age is extremely difficult to deal with."

"Yeah." I have to stop feeling sorry for myself. I have to. The damage to my knee was done by falling and twisting it during a game. And it's been repaired. Poor Rose. She'll never get her leg back.

"Well, kid. You ready? Craig's waiting for you."

"Ready as I'll ever be."

During therapy, Craig unlocks my brace and allows me to do some exercises, which involve bending my knee. Simple exercises that I'd have scoffed at before my injury are f.u.c.king hard. All I'm doing is lifting my leg and bringing it down. Or bending it slightly and raising it. Holy s.h.i.t, what a difference a month makes. Last month I was bending my knee up to my chest every time I pitched a ball, now I can't even bend it a few inches.

"Not that easy, is it, Falco?" Craig laughs as I grunt, bringing my foot down to the floor from a sitting position.

"Holy s.h.i.t," is my response.

"It'll get easier. Don't worry," he says with a wink.

I shake my head. "This is crazy, man."

After a half an hour of baby exercises that render me a weakling, Craig locks up my brace and tells me to take thirty minutes in the chair.

"I hate that chair, Craig. Can't I just sit in a regular chair?"

"You need your leg extended; the wheelchair has that option. You're not alone. Ninety percent of the people here are in one at one part of the day or the other. Grow a pair and sit in the chair."

I crutch my way over to the forsaken chair and sit my a.s.s down. "Now what?"

"Well, since you like to do things for yourself, roll yourself over to the rec room. I'll bring you breakfast."

I nod and wheel myself out of the room, down the hall, and into the rec room, where Rose is sitting at a table alone, her breakfast tray in front of her.

"Mind if I sit?" I ask her, rolling up to her table, positioning myself directly across from her.

She lifts her eyes and looks me dead center in mine, but then casts them back on her lap.

"I'm Ben. I hear you're Rose. Pretty name."

Rose looks at me again, but quickly casts her eyes back down.

"Whatchya reading?" I ask, noting the paperback book lying face down on the table next to her tray.

She doesn't look up this time. Okay. I'll leave her alone. Since I'm in here with nothing, waiting for Craig to come in with my breakfast, I wheel over to the bookshelf, grab a pack of cards, roll back to Rose's table, and play Solitaire the old-fashioned way. The way my father showed me.

Ten minutes later, a guy in scrubs comes walking over with a tray of food. "Are you Ben?"

I nod once. "Yup."

"This is for you. Craig said take an extra ten minutes."

"Sure. Thanks."

I continue to play Solitaire while I eat my runny scrambled eggs, fruit cup, and minuscule bagel. At least there are snacks in the fridge. This is not nearly enough food for me. I win my game of Solitaire and place the deck down on the table. "I'm getting something from the fridge," I tell Rose. "Can I get you anything?" Now I know she doesn't speak, but she doesn't know that I know, so it'd look unnatural if I just ignored her and didn't speak to her at all.