Chapter 7
LATER THAT AFTERNOON, DR. REICHER peeks her head into my room while I dig the last bite out of an orange Jell-O cup that I saved from breakfast.
“Hi, Stevie. How are you doing now?” she asks, stepping into the room and nodding hello to my mom and dad.
“Okay, I guess.” I shrug, dropping my empty plastic cup onto the mobile table beside me.
“Any change to your memory?” she asks, and I shake my head.
“Okay, well, don’t give up hope. Like I said, it could just take some time.
These things manifest differently in each individual, but it never hurts to ask questions or talk about things.
You never know what might trigger a memory. ” She flicks her head to my parents.
“Okay. I’ll try,” I reply, perking up a bit at that.
I guess in the commotion of earlier, I got so stuck on her saying it could be permanent that I forgot she said this could all be temporary, too.
Everything could come back to me. It’s hard to imagine, because it doesn’t actually feel like any memories are missing, but if I can do anything to make them come back, I’ll do it.
“I heard you tried to make a run for it earlier,” she says.
“Uh, yeah,” I reply, looking away, embarrassed, until she pulls a gray walker into the room from the hallway.
“Let’s give this a shot. You might get a little farther,” she says, winking from behind her glasses.
“Oh, I don’t think I need that,” I say, automatically associating it with my ancient great-grandma down in Florida.
“It’s just temporary. Two weeks is a long time to have not used any of your muscles.
Everything is going to feel weak… as you found out earlier.
I’d like your parents to take you to the cafeteria to get lunch.
The sooner you can get back to using those muscles, the better, plus I’m sure you wouldn’t mind getting out of this room. ”
“Getting out of here sounds really nice, actually,” I reply, even though all I can think about is how much better it would be to just be able to go home.
A little later the three of us sit on the outdoor terrace of the hospital cafeteria with trays of food.
I close my eyes and raise my chin to the sun, so warm against my skin.
It should be comforting, a natural boost in serotonin, but instead it unsettles me, because it feels to me that just yesterday we had snow, half a foot deep, icicles hanging from the roof on the other side of my classroom windows.
Shade moves over me, blocking the warmth from my face, and I open my eyes to find my mom standing above me, adjusting the shade of the umbrella over our table. My dad takes a bite of his cheeseburger.
They haven’t said much of anything since this morning. I can tell they don’t want to push me too hard out of fear of a second mental breakdown. So I guess they’re waiting for me to talk. I have a million questions, but I really have no idea where to begin.
I set my fork down on the plastic tray, doing some simple math in my head. Knitting my eyebrows together, I look at my mom, nervous to ask what I want to ask, because if I’m eighteen and it’s summer, I’m pretty sure I already know the answer.
“What is it?” She leans toward me over the table. My dad sets his fountain drink down to listen.
“I um… I graduated high school, didn’t I?”
My mom’s jaw drops open in surprise, then pulls into a smile. “You remember?” she asks, but her smile immediately disappears when I shake my head.
“No. But I want to jog my memory. I want to know everything.”
“Right. I’m sorry,” she replies, composing herself. “Yes. You did. Shortly before everything happened, actually.”
I try to remember myself in a yellow cap and gown, walking down the aisle to get my diploma, but… imagining is the best I can do. I try for something else.
“Did I make varsity? Did Savannah and Rory? Did we make it to the championships ever?” I ask.
“You made varsity. Lettered your junior and senior year,” she says proudly. “You guys never made it to the championships, though… and Savannah and Rory, well, they quit… when was it, John?” my mom asks, looking to my dad.
“I’d say about halfway through the season junior year.”
“You’re kidding me!” I stare between the two of them. “We’ve been playing soccer together since we could walk. Why did they quit?” I ask.
“Um…” My dad looks at my mom, who looks back at him.
“We’re not really sure,” she says.
“I literally tell you everything.” I draw my eyebrows together. “What do you mean, you’re not sure?”
“Stevie, I don’t remember. You’ll have to ask them. What other questions do you have?” Mom asks, bringing a plastic forkful of salad to her mouth. Her tone is closed off, almost sharp.
Okay? Weird.
I sink back into my chair, poking around at the pork chop on my tray.
I’m missing two whole years of my high school experience.
How am I supposed to even know what to dig for?
I can’t even begin to imagine how much is missing.
Inside jokes and school drama. All the parties I must’ve gone to and exams I passed or flunked.
Summer sleepovers, SATs and college applic—
“Wait. So then where am I going to college?” I ask, nervous because I’m not sure I’m ready for this or that I could even still go, but also excited to see where the future is taking me.
I’ve lived in this bubble my whole life.
In the back of my mind, I’ve started to wonder recently what it might be like to actually get out of Wyatt.
To explore other parts of the country. To go to college somewhere warmer, with a beach.
Somewhere with a few people who maybe look kinda like me. Did I still feel that way?
“Oh!” My mom lights up and then I do too. Wow. It must be something really exciting!
She finishes chewing and swallows. “You got into Bower!”
I feel every muscle in my face drop. “What?” I must have misheard her. She can’t possibly mean I’m attending the community college that is literally within walking distance of my house.
“You wanted to live at home to save yourself some money and keep your job at the coffee shop,” she says, as if that’s going to make this news any better.
As if my mind is at all focused on some stupid part-time job right now.
I don’t even like coffee. Why the hell would I want to spend all day making it?
“Bower?” I ask again, incredulous.
“My old stompin’ grounds,” my dad says, proudly patting his chest a couple of times. “Actually, it’ll be really good now for you to be around home after all of this, so close to us, you know?” he says, digging his big hand into a tiny bag of Doritos.
“Yeah. I guess so.” I try to fake a smile for them, but my face feels too heavy to mask my disappointment.
There’s a lot of room for change in two years, but I cannot imagine a single version of myself that would have wanted this.
“And you don’t have to live at home if you don’t want to down the line,” my mom offers, but it doesn’t make me feel much better. Whether I’m in a dorm room or at home, I’ll still be stuck in Wyatt.
I wonder what else has changed, what else there is to know about how my life ended up, but right now I think I’m too afraid to ask more questions I might not like the answers to.
Later that evening my mom and I watch TV in my hospital room after my dad leaves to catch up on some work at the garage. Judging from the bags under his eyes, these past couple of weeks haven’t been too easy on him.
On either of them, really.
I look over at my mom, all scrunched up on that tiny couch she slept on last night. She hides her exhaustion better than my dad, but I can still see it. It’s in the way she carries herself. The way she sighs when she sits down and the way she drags the heel of her sandals when she walks.
“Did you sleep there a lot?” I ask, pulling her attention away from the muted commercials on the TV in the corner of the ceiling.
“I don’t like to leave you here alone,” she says with a shrug.
“Beats that.” She flicks her eyes to the pink recliner beside my heart rate monitor and the IV drip that they took out of my arm this morning.
“Plus, if all goes well with your recovery, we should be getting out of here by the end of the week,” she adds, and I can hear relief in her voice.
I know I should tell her to go home, but the truth is I really want her to stay.
I don’t want to spend a night in this place without her.
I look down at my bed, scooting my body all the way onto one half.
“At least come sleep here.”
She pushes herself up onto her elbow. “With you?” she asks hesitantly. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah?” I squint my eyes at her for a second, letting out a confused laugh. “Why wouldn’t I be?” We spend half of our evenings sprawled out on her bed anyway, among hot cups of tea and a selection of snacks, watching movies until my dad comes up to bed.
She smiles up at me, then her feet pad across the floor as I throw the blanket back for her to climb in.
We wiggle around a little to get comfortable until she ends up on her side, her arm stretched out above my head.
I stare at the reality baking show on the TV, reading the tiny captions at the bottom of the screen.
A couple of minutes later I feel her fingers combing gently through my hair, careful to stay far away from my stitches.
My eyelids start to droop as I lose my battle with sleep, but they snap awake again when I hear a quiet sniffle from above.
I crane my neck to find her slightly glassy brown eyes looking back at me.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, and the question elicits a sad sort of smile.
“It’s just been a long time since…” Her other hand comes to rest on my cheek as she tries to find the words, but whatever they are, she doesn’t say them out loud.
“I missed you,” she whispers instead, a tear spilling across the bridge of her small nose.
I scoot up to lay my head down on her shoulder and she slides her arm around me, pulling me closer.
I guess I haven’t given much thought to how hard this must’ve been for her. To watch me lie unconscious for weeks, not knowing if it would all be okay.
As I fall asleep that night to the faint smell of her familiar perfume and the feeling of her hand, warm on my back, I realize that maybe I’m actually just lucky to be here, lying in a hospital bed with my mom.
Sure I’m in a town that I’ll probably never escape from, with no idea if I’ll ever remember the missing two years of my life, and that’s definitely not the best-case scenario, but it’s certainly not the worst, either.
Because I’m still here. I still have my family, the people who mean the world to me.
And I’m still alive.