Hunter Hill University: Reaching Rose Part 5

I take a second before answering. "Nah. I think it's a choice."

"Who would choose not to talk? I don't get it."

Coming up short on an answer, I shake my head and shrug a shoulder. Why would anyone choose not to talk?

9.

ROSE.

I love my mother. I miss her so much. Being away at college, I'd pretty much only see her during the holidays and breaks and all, but being here and the reason for being here I miss my mother pretty bad.

But I wish she hadn't overheard that Johnny boy asking why I don't talk. It disappoints my mother. More than my missing leg, it breaks my mother's heart that I don't say anything anymore. I'm sure if she could have her way, she'd gladly have her smart-aleck daughter sa.s.sing back at her again. Not that I was all that sa.s.sy, but if I didn't like something, I made sure to have my opinion heard. That was just me. If it was on my mind, it was out of my mouth. In a polite way though; I always made sure to remain polite, even if I didn't want to be. Now...I'm completely different. I'm not polite. People talk to me; I don't respond. People give me pudding; I don't say thank you. Mother visits; I can't say, "I love you."

But I want to do all those things. It's almost as if my brain won't let me. Like if I start talking, I make this whole thing real. If I start talking, I'm giving in and accepting this fate. I don't want to accept it. I don't want to be a one-legged human being who can't dance anymore. Dancing was everything to me. How can I possibly survive without it?

"Rosie." My mom breaks my train of thought. "I contacted your friend Holly."

"No," I want to say, but I don't.

"It wasn't easy. She's not in the dorms this year, and the school wouldn't give me her new address, but...I went to that bar you mentioned. The one where you said she had gotten a job once. I took a chance, and fortunately, she's still working there."

I don't look at my mother. I close my eyes instead. You did not tell Holly. Please say you didn't tell her.

"She'd like to come see you."

No, Mom. No. I'm not ready.

"She's so sorry she hadn't made more of an effort to find you. She just thought you were busy with dan..." Mom drops her head. "I apologized for not reaching out to her sooner. It was hard for me..." Mom shakes her head, her eyes still cast on the floor.

I know, Mom. I know.

My mother sighs, and it's so loud I'm afraid the whole room heard her. "Rosie, let her come. Please," she begs, her voice wet with tears she's trying not to shed. "Maybe seeing her will help. Get you to talk again." My mother's hands are shaking. "It hurts to see you like this, baby."

I cover my eyes with my hand to block my own tears. I hadn't shed one since that day I screamed in the hospital, but ever since the other day, they seem to come so easily.

"I told her I'd ask you first, but...I'm kind of hoping she comes anyway. She seemed insistent on it." My mother nods, trying to keep this conversation up by herself. One-sided conversations are hard, I'm figuring. "I did tell her it was only fair to ask you, but you don't want her to come, do you?"

No. I don't. I don't want her to see me like this. I don't want her pity. Anybody's pity. Things will never be the same again. My breath catches at this thought.

My mother notices. She moves in closer and puts her hand on my leg. My good leg. I notice my mother won't look at my other leg. She doesn't want to accept this as much as I don't. To my face, she says, "Rosie, I want you to come home. But you can't until you know how to use your pros...your new...Oh, Rosie, just please do what they say." She's crying now, she can't help it. "Please, baby, so you can come home. Please. I know you'll feel better when you're in familiar surroundings."

I blink for my mother. My acknowledgment of her plea. Then I lean forward to hug her. She takes my body in hers so fiercely I think I'm going to fall out of my chair.

"Please come back, baby," she whispers in my ear.

I give her a whimper. Because, really, I do want to come back. I just wish I could come back as a whole person.

When my mother pulls away, she wipes away her tears with a tissue and smiles. "Can we go into your room? I'd like to brush your hair."

Because it probably looks straggly and unkempt, is what she's thinking. It's bad enough Lou has to wash me. I can't expect her to spend time keeping my waist-length hair neat.

"I brought a pair of scissors too. Maybe I can trim it up, like old times?"

Mom always trimmed my hair. It's not like it's hard to do. I have thick, straight, one-length hair. She liked to keep it tidy for me, because it was so thick, it would tangle easily. Anyway, I offer my mom a simple nod. It's the least I can do.

I use my electronic controls to wheel myself to my room, so my mom doesn't have to push me. When we get to my room, she asks if I want to move to the regular chair. I shrug, not sure where I want to sit.

"You can stay where you are if you want."

My mother's gentle touch as she brushes my hair makes me sad. I'm not sure why, because even when I had two legs, I still loved when my mother would bring a brush to my hair. There's just something about your mother's touch. But now I feel sad. I think I'm always going to be sad.

I close my eyes and try not to think. Instead, I pay attention to each brush stroke and try to bring myself back to my life before.

But I can't.

It was so easy three days ago to sink into my past and leave this place, but now...I can't. I'm too much here...in the present. I focus on the wall in front of me, because sometimes that would work, but today it doesn't. Dammit, I don't want to be here. I want to forget again. Just for a few moments.

I sigh in resignation and let more tears fall.

Before I realize it, my mother has brushed and trimmed my hair. When I turn my chair around and look at the floor, all I see is red. Snapping my head up, I silently ask my mom why she cut so much off.

"It was all dead, honey. You haven't been conditioning it, or even hardly brushing it. It looks healthy now. Take a look."

She wheels me to the mirror that hangs along the bathroom door. My hair now comes to just above my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. I guess that means it falls right about to my bra strap in the back. But it does look healthier.

"I know I should have wet your hair first," my mother says, "but I think it looks nice. Don't you?"

I bring my hands up to touch it, and for the first time, I nod. A real nod. Accompanied with a smile. I love you, Mom. So much.

She kisses the top of my head, and starts braiding my hair. "Now, I know you don't really want to fuss with your hair while you're here, so if you just keep it in a braid, it won't get all knotty. Can you at least do that, Rosie?"

I nod. Sure, Mom.

Mom leaves, and I'm back in therapy with Nina, who says I look a little brighter since Mom came to visit. Yeah, well, I love my mom.

"If you're willing to try today, Rose, I have your temporary prosthetic." She looks at me, hopeful, and begs me with her eyes to be cooperative.

I'm the one who's been holding this whole process up. My temporary prosthetic was ready when I first got here, but the new uncooperative, impolite me refused to let Nina put it on. Allowing them to put this fake leg on me cements the truth. Makes it real. I'm so not ready for real. But I do want to get back home. And to begin the journey back home, I guess I have to take the first step. I shake my head at the pun and give Nina a distinct nod. Why not?

"You're shaking your head, you're nodding, which is it, girl?"

I nod.

"Good. Now let's get you on your feet."

My half-leg had already been prepared with a rigid dressing, but Nina slides on a couple of socks before she attaches this thing to me.

"Okay, we won't be needing this pillow underneath your hip," she says, as she removes the pillow that's been lodged under my hip to keep the lower part of my half-leg from hanging. "Well, we're ready to attach the prep to your stump."

I flinch. I cannot stand that word. I will not use it.

Nina knows I've tensed up. "I'm sorry. That's not the best word to use, is it?"

I don't respond, but Nina gives my thigh a rub.

"Let's get you upright." My metal leg is attached, and she helps to pull me out of my chair.

I'm standing on this plastic-looking foot that is attached to what looks like a metal paper towel tube. It's hideous, and I'm about to break down again. My breathing becomes forced, and I feel my heart pounding. I can't do this. I can't do this. How can you expect me to live like this for the rest of my life?

"Rose," Nina says calmly, holding on to my shoulders. "You got this. Don't break down on me again. Come on, this is temporary. Your real leg, it's gonna be prettier, I promise."

Prettier? Really? No.

"Please, honey," she begs again.

I lift my hands to grab onto her arms, and I squeeze. Please don't let me fall.

10.

BEN.

"Okay, kid, looks like you don't need that chair anymore."

"Thank heavens."

"But you do need to rest your leg quite a bit during the day," Craig continues. "I wanna see you sitting on that couch in there with your leg up. But I'm gonna keep your brace unlocked from now on. You're recovering nicely."

"Thanks."

"How's that pain, though?"

"It comes and goes."

"Still a shooting pain?"

I nod. "Yup."

"Hmmm." He pauses, looking worried.

"Craig?"

"We'll just keep an eye on it. I want you to schedule an MRI, though. Just to be safe."

"Okay, sure."

Craig continues to push me to my limited limits, and I have to laugh at myself. I'm on a treadmill, walking two miles per hour. If my teammates saw me now, they'd tear me up. "Will I ever be able to run again?" I ask Craig, half joking.

"Of course." He laughs. "One step at a time, Ben. We can't speed up the process. We want you like new again, and that's gonna take a little time."

"I guess." I continue on the treadmill another twenty minutes before Craig pats me on the back and tells me it's time for stretching. About ten different stretches later, I'm told to take a walk around the building and then get lunch.

I'm not sure how I feel about walking around the building. Especially since Johnny can't. Don't get me wrong, I like standing on my own two feet, but I almost feel as if just by being able to walk around, I'd be rubbing it in to my friend who may never be able to walk again. When I met him, we were on level playing ground, so to speak. I feel guilty that I no longer need my chair.

At my usual lunch time, since I no longer need anyone to help me retrieve my lunch, I go to the cafeteria and get my food to go. As uncomfortable as I am to walk in front of Johnny, I enjoy sitting with him and don't want to give that up. He's one of the coolest guys I know, and I'm grateful to have met him. So I bring my lunch to the rec room and hope that he's just as cool with me being on my two feet permanently.

When I walk into the rec room holding my lunch, the first one to look my way is Johnny. He's already sitting with Marti. "Whoa, Ben. Look at you," he exclaims loudly. "Is that for good or just a little reprieve?" he asks when I'm at the table.

Setting my tray down on the table, I pull out my chair and sit across from him. "It's for good."

"Awesome." And he genuinely looks happy for me.

"Hi, Marti."

"Hi, Ben."

"Dude, you wanna watch a movie tonight?" I ask Johnny. "Lou was telling me we're not confined to our rooms at night." Usually I spend the evenings reading Sports Ill.u.s.trated or some baseball book, but I feel like doing something different tonight.

"That'd be cool. I'm usually so beat, I'm sleeping by the time you get done with your last session, but I'll try to stay up tonight."

"No, don't worry about it. Was just an idea."

"I want to. I'll tell Jack not to put me to bed tonight."

"Cool." I eat my lunch while Marti feeds Johnny his, and in between bites we make small talk.

About ten minutes in, Johnny's head turns toward the door and his eyes grow twice their size. I turn around, since my back is toward it, and at the door, next to her therapist, who's holding a lunch tray, Rose walks in, with only a cane to a.s.sist her.

"Oh my G.o.d, she's beautiful," Johnny says, echoing my thoughts.

"s.h.i.t, yeah," I say, utterly blown away. It's amazing, really, but on two feet, standing at probably five foot five, with her hair pulled back in a loose braid, Rose looks completely different. As if her soul decided to come alive. There's still no smile on her lightly freckled face, but there's a soft peach glow to her cheeks and energy in her eyes. Before I realize what I'm doing, I wave two fingers backwards in silent invitation to join us. Her lip quirks, revealing a cute dimple on her right cheek. She ducks her head as she walks, and when her therapist walks over and places the tray to my right, Rose doesn't follow. Instead, she reaches for the chair to my left. It doesn't slip by me that her scar is on her left side. Though it doesn't take away from her beauty at all, I realize she's self-conscious about it. And she sits to my right, as opposed to Johnny's. This ignites a vain thought. Could this sweet redhead be interested in me?

s.h.i.t.