16. CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 16
ARI
I t’s constant. A sound in the distance. Beeping. Measured and slow. Warmth creeps into the edges of the darkness, bleeding into the nothingness at a pace so leisurely I almost can’t tell it’s happening.
But it is.
Slowly, the pitch black gives way to light. My throat tightens and releases, mouth parting as air tickles my dry lips and I inhale a shallow breath. My eyelids crack open, and for a moment all I can see are slivers of muted color through clumpy eyelashes.
I scrunch my eyes then force them open, only to quickly snap them shut again. Reopening them, I have to turn my head away from the light above. I try to pull my hand up to block the light, but it gets tangled in tubes and IVs. Smacking my lips together, I swallow a few times.
Feet shuffle off to the side and I turn to see a nurse in pink scrubs backing up just outside the door and peering into the room. “Oh! You’re awake! I’ll alert the doctor right away. He’s been waiting to officially meet you.”
I smack my lips some more and try to blink away the cloudiness in my mind, peering around the small hospital room. My feet are tucked securely under a stiff and starchy white blanket, which is wrapped tightly around my legs and sides, all the way up under my armpits.
“What a pleasant surprise.” A masculine voice draws my attention to the door where a man in a white coat over blue scrubs stands, one hand on the doorframe, the other gripping a stethoscope around his neck. He has a full head of graying hair. “I’m Doctor Powell.” He plucks a clipboard out of the little holder on the door and wheels a stool over, then sits down and lowers the rail on the side of the bed. “You, my dear, are a miracle. What’s your name?”
I swallow and try to speak, but all that comes out is a croak.
The doctor takes my hand and squeezes it. “You’ve been out for a day and a half so your vocal cords may need a little warming up, that’s all. You didn’t need to be intubated. Just swallow, try clearing your throat, and start again.”
I do as he says. “My name is Ari,” I say hoarsely.
“Do you know why you’re here, Ari? Do you remember what happened to you?”
I nod. I remember it all: my shift at work, Sean, running, screeching brakes.
“OK,” the doctor says calmly. “Why don’t you tell me what you remember?”
I look at a blank spot on the wall in front of me, just over my blanket-wrapped feet. “I stepped out into the road, and a car hit me.”
“That’s right. Actually, it was a pickup truck. Police say the driver and passenger didn’t see you. He tried to stop but it was too late. Fortunately, they quickly called 911 and help arrived within moments.” A beat passes. “Ari, do you have any family we can call? You were brought in with no identification, so you’ve remained quite a mystery to us.”
I bring my eyes to his. What a loaded question. Family? No, I have no family. I never have.
My head shakes in denial.
“What about friends? Neighbors? A place of employment?”
More head shaking.
He frowns. “There’s got to be someone, Ari. You’ve been here for almost two days. Someone’s got to be wondering where you are.”
Thinking it over, I’m sure Sophie is going out of her mind. I don’t know what state the apartment was left after the fight with Sean, but she’s probably reached out to Fonz, so he’s got to be worried. Other than that, there’s no one else. I rest my head back against the pillow and think while the doctor squeezes my hand to comfort me. I don’t even know Sophie or Fonz’s phone numbers. They are programmed in my phone, which is back at the apartment—a place I never want to return to.
“Ari,” the doctor brings my attention back to him. “There has got to be someone we can call.”
The only phone number I know by heart, the one I used to text in secret throughout my youth, is the one number I will never call. Pain spreads through my chest as my head shakes some more. I could send someone to the Millers’ house, or to the pub to leave a message for Lena, but what’s the point?
“OK, we can revisit this,” Doctor Powell finally gives in. “Let’s talk about your condition. You were brought in unconscious. We were mostly worried about internal bleeding, which was kept to a minimum. You have a sprained wrist.” I look down at my arm and see it’s wrapped up. “You also have some broken ribs, which will heal on their own. And you have a broken tibia, or shin bone, as well as a fractured femur, or thigh bone. And, obviously, various lacerations and bruises throughout.”
The doctor lifts his head, but keeps holding my hand in his as he sits upright. “Now, Ari, let me ask: how do you feel, right now?”
I think it over. “I feel OK?”
The doctor chuckles and squeezes my hand. “ OK is actually good around here. No one in the hospital typically feels fantastic, so OK is a welcomed response.” He looks down my legs and back up to my face. “Ari, the reason I asked you how you’re feeling is because you do also have a more serious injury. You fractured and dislocated a few vertebrae in your spine, which impacted your spinal cord. Now, it didn’t sever your spinal cord. You’ve suffered what we call an incomplete injury, meaning although you may be experiencing temporary paralysis, we believe once the trauma to your spine is healed, and your legs gain strength, you will be able to walk again.”
He stares at my face as I process what he’s just said, then I look from him to my legs wrapped tightly in the blanket, my feet pointed upward. I pull my hand from his, and with fingertips explore the scratchy texture on my lap, feeling the pressure of my fingers against my thighs. I look at Doctor Powell, who is nodding at me.
“You can still feel touch,” he explains. “The nerves responsible for sensation were uncompromised.”
I try to rub my feet together, but nothing happens. Panicked, I attempt to shift and pull my body into a more upright position, but the doctor stands and places his hands on my upper arms.
“Ari, it’s OK. Your body is in shock right now, and is only beginning the healing process. It’s weak and needs to recover. That’s the only reason it isn’t reacting the way you want it to.”
“I can’t—” I begin but, frustrated, have to swallow again and push out my voice. “I can’t move my legs.”
He nods. “I know.”
“I want to sit up.” I try to shimmy out of his grip and scoot up.
“Ari,” he says gently.
“I want to sit up.”
“Ari. Look at me.”
Slowly, I bring my eyes to his, which hold an unfamiliar look. Dare I say it’s one of hope. “This is only temporary. It’s natural to panic when you are unable to control your body. But listen to me, this is just from the shock of it all. You need to let your body recover, and as soon as it’s safe, we will start rehabilitative therapy.”
I shake my head. “How long?”
“It’s hard to say. Could be a year. Could be two.”
My eyes widen as I take in my new reality. “A year or two?”
“Yes. But, Ari, you will walk again. I promise you. It will be my personal mission to see to it that you do. I will be here with you 100 percent of the way.”
“You and me both, Doc,” another voice pipes up from the doorway and my eyes dart over Doctor Powell’s head to a dark-skinned man in a navy blue scrub top and black Adidas joggers. His thick dreads are pulled back into a ponytail, and a huge smile shows off a mouthful of white teeth. The man comes sauntering into my room and gives me a wink as he walks around the bed, coming to stand on my other side.
“I’m DeShawn.” He takes my palm in his and holds it.
“This is Ari,” Doctor Powell tells the man, then turns to me. “Ari, DeShawn is one of—no, he is the best physical therapist on the East Coast. And we are fortunate enough to have him here in residency.”
DeShawn nods. “I’d shy away from the compliment, but it’s true.” He looks down at me. “Did Doc fill you in on your injury?” I nod. “And he told you it’s just temporary?” I nod again. “Good. Now listen, Ari, I need you to take the next few weeks to relax and recover. Your body and your spinal cord need to heal. Because as soon as they do, we are going to kick some ass. And I’m going to need you strong for that. I’m going to need you to be the strongest, bravest version of yourself that you’ve ever been.”
He and Doctor Powell share a glance before DeShawn turns back to me. “I know you’ve had to be very brave in the past.” His look tells me he’s aware of my old injuries. “We’re going to get you back on your feet, Ari. I promise you.”
Looking up at DeShawn, I stop my eyes from rolling at the irony of the situation. He wants to get me back on my feet. Doctor Powell wants me to alert my “family” to my status. Well, if my “family” finds out where I am and I’m not yet “back on my feet,” I’m dead in the water. I can’t do the only thing that has ever saved me.
I can’t run.
***
A familiar voice chants my name, and once again I pull myself from the dark, unconscious state of sleep I’ve been in since Doctor Powell and DeShawn left. “Ari!”
“Soph?” I squeak out way too softly. I try again. “Sophie? Is that you?”
There’s a shriek, followed by the pitter-patter of feet about as graceful as a stampede of elephants as I hear my friend’s voice getting closer. “Oh, sorry! … Excuse me … Oops! Not that room …” Finally, she comes into view, sweaty, out of breath, and shocked.
“Soph—” I start to greet her, but she raises a finger up to stop me, her other hand rests on a knee as she bends over to catch her breath.
“First of all, are you OK?” she asks from the doorway of my room.
I nod, then shrug. “I mean, I got hit by a truck, and I think I’m a little bit paralyzed, but other than that, I’m good.”
Sophie’s eyes bug out of her head and her face falls. “Ari, why didn’t you have the hospital contact the Millers first thing? I’ve called everywhere looking for you! I kept stopping at the pub. I called Fonz nonstop. I checked your social media and found nothing. I thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere.”
“Well, I mean, I almost was.”
“This is not the time to be witty!” She stands up straight, and it’s then I see the tears leaking from her eyes.
“I’m sorry, Soph. I just wanted to not be me for a little longer.” She sniffles, entering the room. “How did you find me, anyway?”
Sophie lets out a breath, pushes her glasses up her nose, then pulls her sweaty hair up into a knot on the top of her head. “I called the hospitals, every emergency care system, and every overnight clinic in the city to see if someone with no name was admitted over the past few days. At first everyone thought I was nuts, but finally I got someone who transferred me to someone else, who transferred me to yet someone else, who looked up some files they weren’t supposed to and informed me that someone who had yet to be identified has been a patient since Wednesday night, and I came right over.”
Sophie puts her hands on her hips, looks me up and down, and bursts into tears. “What the actual fuck happened?!”
I pat the side of my bed and she plops down on it with a bounce, past where the rail thingy is, and I tell her the whole story, starting with the fight with Sean and ending with me getting hit.
“Oh my God,” is all she says, multiple times, under her breath. She cries when I tell her about my “temporary” paralysis.
“So, what are you going to do? How long do you stay here? Or do you go to a rehab somewhere?”
I simply shake my head, because I just don’t know.
Then Sophie asks the question that has already entered my mind. “How are you going to pay for all of this? The hospitalization? The rehab? I mean, I’m sure you don’t have insurance.”
I smush my lips to the side.
“Well, I’m sure you can sue the driver who hit you.”
“No,” I interrupt her.
“Ari, he ran you down in the road.”
“It’s not his fault.”
“What do you mean it’s not his fault?” Sophie scrunches her face. “He ran you over!”
“I’m not suing anybody, Soph. It wasn’t his fault, OK? I wasn’t paying attention. I was running from Sean and I didn’t look and I just ran right out in front of the truck. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t have time to stop.”
Sophie holds her hands up in surrender. “OK. Not suing. Got it.” She sighs and readjusts her position on the bed next to my legs. “Well, there’s another option …” I look up at her as she trails off, then lift my brows.
Sophie pulls her lips between her teeth, then blurts out, “Come live at the Millers’ with me.” I pull my head back as I look at her. “What? Why not?”
“Soph,” I try to argue but am having a hard time coming up with what to say. “I’m not a kid anymore. They shouldn’t have to take care of me.”
“Are you kidding? They love you. When I told them we were getting our own place they offered to redo the apartment above the garage so we could live there. I told them no because I wanted my freedom but, well, things have changed.”
I rub my temples with my fingertips.
“Also, I’m pretty sure you can go on their insurance until you’re like, twenty-five or something.” A flush of embarrassment climbs up my cheeks as realization that I’m as pathetic as I’ve always been sinks in.
“I’m so sorry, Sophie. I’m sorry for the way this has affected you. Maybe Fonz can move in and pick up my share of the rent while I’m in here—”
Sophie raises a hand up, palm out, to stop me. “Ari, don’t worry. We’ll figure it all out, OK. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought all this shit up now.”
I bite my lip and think.
“What is it?” Sophie picks up on my mood.
“Is it weird that I might just want to stay here forever? I kinda want to never regain the use of my legs so I can just lay in this bed and not have to face anything outside these doors and never have to be Arlene Scott again?”
Sophie slowly turns her head from side to side. “Girl, know that I mean this as a commentary on how strong and resilient you are, but I’ve got to say, I would never want to be you, either.”
We stare at each other for a moment, then crack up. Sophie taps the side of my arm. “Move over.” She starts to mount the bed.
“What?”
“I said move over. I’m comin’ up.”
“Oh … um …” I stutter as Sophie squeezes her body between mine and the side rail. “I’m not sure … I can’t exactly shift …”
“It’s fine.” She settles in on her side and drapes an arm and leg over my body. “Luckily, you’re tiny.”
“I’m not so sure this is good for my spinal injury.”
“Probably not. Good thing for you, you can’t feel any discomfort.” We both laugh again, then fall silent.
“You should change your name.” I turn my head to look at Sophie, my eyebrows pinched in question. “You said you didn’t want to be Arlene Scott anymore. So, change your name.”
I look up at the ceiling. “It’s not a bad idea.”
“It’s a freaking awesome idea.”
I think it over a moment. “But I do like being ‘Ari’ to you and Fonz.” And someone else .
“Well, then, pick something that can be shortened to Ari. Like …” Sophie’s eyes narrow and I see them bounce around as she thinks. “Ariana, Armani, Arissa.”
“Aries.”
“Aribella.”
“Oooo … Aribella.”
We both mull it over, then Sophie looks at me and scrunches her nose, and I shake my head. “Yeah, no,” she says.
“Veto,” I reply.
“OK, so Aribella is out. What about Arrow? Oh, or Arlo?”
“Arlo is the name of a dinosaur.”
Sophie blows out a breath through puffed cheeks. “True. What about the Real Ari? Like, the Real Slim Shady.” She breaks into Eminem. “Will the Real Ari please stand up, please stand up …”
I give an eye roll. “Maybe I’ll just be Ari. Just shorten it.”
“That works,” says Sophie. “Ari. The real Ari.”
“Ari for Real.”
Sophie smirks. “Ari-real … Ariel.”
We lock eyes. “Ariel.” I try the word out on my tongue.
“Ariel,” she repeats.