Wave Page 6

  “I think I just need a little while to calm my nerves. I should have been prepared.”

  “This is a normal occurrence, Miley. Many people experience this same reaction when they see people in pain.”

  “Is he in pain?” I have to reiterate. “Is his pain being managed? Is there anything that can be done to make him more comfortable?”

  A nurse behind Dr. Lucas answers for her. “What he needs most of all is a distraction. I’m sure he’d like the company. That man has been looking in one direction since he got here. I tried to turn on a television program he’d like, but I know he’s got to be bored. He hasn’t had many visitors and according to his doctor he doesn’t have family on the island.” It doesn’t answer my inquiry about his pain, so I can only assume it’s horrible or that he can’t feel anything at all, which would be even worse. She does tell me a little bit more about his background. No family. I can attest how awful it feels to be alone. It’s a melancholy realization I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.

  I glance back at the door and close my eyes. Knowing I’ll never forgive myself if I walk away, I clear my burning throat and tell Dr. Lucas my plans. “If it’s okay with you I’d like to give it another go. I need to do this for myself. For him.”

  Dr. Lucas nods and watches as I make the turn and head back into the room. This time I know how I need to handle this. I have to expect the worst, and go from there. I fear once he sees me he’ll lash out, but I keep approaching anyway. I’m a big girl. I can take it. I deserve nothing less.

  My forehead begins to sweat just as I notice my hands shaking. I can hear my heart beating through my ears, like it does when I’m stressed, and even though I keep swallowing there’s a constricting lump in my throat. On the verge of a panic attack, I keep making baby steps until I’m beside his hospital bed. The way he’s positioned looks so uncomfortable. Managing the best smile I can manufacture, I search his face until our eyes meet. This contradicts the first time we ever met, if you can call it that. There’s something innocent and desperate in this man’s stare. It makes me vulnerable, as if I needed help with my emotions.

  This is where I want to turn around and never return. I’m a coward. Always have been. This man can’t and will never know how bad I feel for what’s happened. He’s so helpless.

  During my talk with Dr. Lucas on the way to this part of the hospital, she explained the complexity of his injuries and the chance that he may never be able to walk again. Staring into his blue-green eyes, I feel the need to reach out to him. My hand covers his, but he doesn’t flinch, nor does he ask me to leave. Instead he remains collected, blinking occasionally without words. “Hi.”

  “T.V.” When he speaks a knot forms in the pit of my stomach. His words are strained. I try to recall the way he spoke to me on the beach, implying he was a great lay. I keep glaring into those lost eyes and remember how he teased me and flashed me the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen on a man. His long eyelashes are stuck together, like he’s been crying. My heart hurts as I study his face. This isn’t a man who blames me for the accident. If I didn’t know any better I’d say he has no recollection of meeting me at all. Not wanting to push the memories on him, I simply introduce myself with a soothing tone to my voice. “I’m Miley. My friends call me Miles for short.” When I say it I almost laugh at myself. No one has called me Miles in months. I haven’t had friends since my Momma got sick. I spent every waking second at her beck and call. Even before that I only had a few stick by me. Michael was one of them, but now I wonder if I wasn’t just a cover for him to avoid telling his parents he was gay. Before I can let it get to me, I offer a second smile and grab the remote to the television. “I’m going to change the channels. When you see something you like just tell me to stop, okay?”

  I don’t wait for him to answer, because I know how much energy it takes him to project sound. I scan through the channel list twice before I hear him tell me to stop. It’s a local broadcast hosting an old surfing competition. He stares blankly at the screen like he’s wishing he was anywhere but here. Those stunning eyes gloss over and I watch a tear fall down his cheek. I have no right to wipe it away, but do it without much thought. The gesture captures his attention briefly. “Sorry.”

  “You don’t have to apologize. It’s okay to be upset.” I have to move out of his viewing area so I can contain the emotions before they make me cry. He’s apologizing, and it’s breaking what’s left of my heart. I wipe my face and turn back to him. “Can you hear the program okay?”

  “Yes.”

  He focuses on the show again, but every few seconds looks to me. “I’m sorry you’re in so much pain. Do you want me to leave so you can watch television?”

  “No. Stay. Please. Lonely.”

  “Okay.” I nod. “I’ll stay right here for a bit.”

  If I sit he won’t be able to see me and it’s important for him to know I keep my word. Standing next to him, I focus on his facial features, noticing a scar on the bridge of his nose and another on the top of his lip. They’re old wounds and I wonder if he got them surfing or some other way.

  Since I’m used to being alone, I do this thing to make the time go by faster. I look at a person and make up a story for them in my head. I close my eyes and picture a little boy playing on a jungle gym. He’s swinging upside down telling his parents to watch him. When he starts to flip his feet around he loses his grip and falls onto the ground busting his lip. Briefly, at least until I remember it’s all fabricated, I feel a sense of peace wash over me. When our eyes meet again he’s staring at me. “You’re pretty.”

  “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

  He manages a semi-smile. “Some. I’m Baz.”

  Feeling a bit overwhelmed, and uncomfortable, I ask a question I know I shouldn’t. “How did this happen to you, Baz?”

  “Don’t remember. Accident. Surf.” Thinking he would put two and two together and recognize me, I’m taken back when he changes the subject again. “Sexy chick.”

  Even in this condition he’s still hitting on me. It’s enough to make me calm down and appreciate the humor. “You too.” I’m only being honest. He’s very handsome, even lying helpless in the hospital bed. Besides, I need to make this less about the accident and more about being friendly to this guy. He obviously can’t remember me, and a part of me hopes he never does. This guy doesn’t need to be burdened with the accident that has stripped so much from his life. He doesn’t need to know I’m at fault, or that I’ll never be able to express how sorry I am this happened to him.

  “Can’t move now. Cripple.”

  “You’ll heal.” I don’t know if he will, or can, but I have to be positive or else I’m going to lose my shit right in front of this guy.

  “Alone. I’m scared. Don’t want this.”

  It. Crushes. Me.

  I take his hand again and squeeze. It’s not for him. It’s all for me. We’re connected in this sick and twisted way. My curse has now spread onto him and I can’t take it away. No matter what I do I’ll never be able to make this up to him. I shouldn’t be here, but I can’t bear to leave. I’m torn between the pain I feel, and the mess I’ve caused. “I’m so sorry,” I manage in between a bout of tears. I’m not crying, but the fluid keeps multiplying in my eyes.

  “Not your fault.”

  God, if he only knew how much of this is directly my doing. All of it. Every second of his agony is a direct result of my choices. “You need to keep fighting. Don’t give up. If you promise to keep fighting, I promise to keep visiting.”

  “I promise.” After wiping the tears falling down his cheeks, I keep my hands on his face and watch his eyes close. “I feel this.”

  “This isn’t the end of your story, Baz. I won’t let it be.” He can’t understand what it means, but doesn’t ask. I give him a quick kiss on the cheek. He needs it. His smile tells me it’s appreciated.

  “First date.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Come tomorro
w, okay?”

  I nod. I’m making promises I know will only get harder. At any second he could regain his memories and tell me to go to Hell. For now I’ll stand by him just like I did for my momma. I’ll be his friend. I owe him so much more than that.

  I stand next to Baz for a little while pretending to be interested in the show. I know this feeling that I need to befriend him is from guilt, but for some reason I’m desperate for it to happen. I’d never admit this, but I need a reason to be here, and maybe it’s not the mental program at all. Maybe, just maybe, it’s because I have to be here for this guy I’m responsible for ruining. Right now he’s giving me a reason for wanting to live.

  Chapter 14

  Miley

  There’s a lot of confusion when I leave Baz’s room and have time to soak in what transpired between us. The pull I feel for him is so intense it’s got me in knots. It’s nothing sexual, but more like a necessity to get to know what’s inside so I’m able to support him in healing on the outside.

  Dr. Lucas spent the majority of the afternoon attempting to reassure me I’m not a curse, or a burden. She said it’s normal for me to feel responsible, and in order to forgive myself I need to be willing to change. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without her guidance. Desperate for a friendship, I consider her more than my doctor. Right now she’s everything, my last hope at beating my demons and wanting to live on. I’m not convinced there’s something left for me, but she’s doing whatever it takes to guide me in the right direction. My first step is the hardest. I have to accept what can’t be changed. I have to take responsibility for my own actions and be willing to challenge myself every day from now on.

  Dr. Lucas isn’t this friendly with all her patients. It’s like she’s taken me under her wing because I remind her of the person she lost too soon in life. When she informed me about her sister committing suicide it suddenly made sense. She explained she’d attempted it a few times before she was successful. Learning they were twins was awful. She state she didn’t usually divulge details pertaining to her personal life with patients, but after telling her she couldn’t understand what it was like for me, she set me straight. Ever since then I’ve listened to her every word, because she gets me. She knows what it’s like to feel so hopeless you want to give up, and because of that I trust her.

  I’m not bitter about being in this program. It’s been a while since I’ve had someone comfort and support me. The staff is kind and friendly. They try to keep everyone occupied. Always fearing crowds, I’m getting used to group therapy. It’s nice to hear that others suffer similar fears as well as problems. When I hear people sharing their stories I feel like little pieces of me are recovering. It’s slow and difficult at times, but there’s definitely an improvement from where I was when this all started. If I didn’t know any better I’d say Momma was looking down on me from Heaven, making sure Dr. Lucas does everything in her power to keep me from giving up. She wants me to tell her where I’ll be in five years, followed by ten. Even though I don’t have that answer, I’m at least thinking about it.

  My visits with Baz are becoming routine. We’ve made no progress with his memories, and for that I’m thankful. I’m only permitted a few hours out of the day to spend time with him, but we make the best of our visits. The more reason I have to appreciate my own life, the worse off his reality becomes. I often wonder if my visits are doing him any bit of good. It’s indescribable to see him so defenseless. His once vibrant eyes are lost. Baz is giving up and I don’t know what to say or do to help him. Every single time they scan his injuries it’s the same result. There’s been no change. The most recent bad news came while I was in the room. I witnessed a glimmer of optimism fade into darkness. Being able to relate to such devastation, I remained at his side, clenching my hand into his. Even though he can’t feel my touch, he knows it’s there. Comfort is all I’m able to offer. Every single time he says the words ‘thank you’ I feel like it’s a knife through my heart. I shouldn’t be the person he’s thanking. I’ve brought this on, and the guilt is eating me alive.

  No matter how much I think it would be better if I stayed away, I can’t deny the bond we’ve formed through this tragedy. For several hours out of the day we can be ourselves. We can talk freely and share our feelings. I fully aware I’m essentially lying to him about who I am and why I’m in the hospital, but it’s the only way I know how to be close to him. Right now I couldn’t bear to see hate in his eyes. I need him to believe he’s going to be all right, because if he stops fighting I’ll never forgive myself.

  Chapter 15

  Baz

  It’s been two weeks since my accident and I haven’t experienced one flash of memories, or the sensation of touch anywhere below my neck. They keep me pretty doped up during the day, but there’s one highlight I’m always alert for.

  She’s like a little guardian angel, checking on me every afternoon. Miley usually stays a few hours. Sometimes she stands at my side and keeps me company. We’ll talk about growing up and other stuff we got into as kids. Lately she’s started massaging my hands and feet with lotion. I can’t feel it, but I’ve watched her do it. It sucks to know such a beautiful woman is touching me and nothing happens. I’m starting to come to the understanding that this could be permanent.

  Every single morning I wake up looking forward to seeing Miley’s smile. I have other visitors now that I’m in a different part of the hospital, but none are as entertaining as Miley. I’ve never been a reader of novels of any kind. The idea of hundreds of pages of words always terrified me. It would give me a headache to think about. When Miley reads to me it’s different. She’s expressed her love for books, and offered to read me a chapter a day. She picked something dystopian that she predicted I would enjoy. Despite hating the idea, I promised I’d give it a try and have patience with the story for two days. I don’t know if it’s the words, or her soothing voice, but from the first moment she begins to read I’m relaxed. After the first chapter I’m eager to hear more. Her voice soothes me, the story taking me places away from my body and into a fantasy where hope exists.

  Miley usually reads her chapter after we’ve talked a for a while. She’s always watching the clock like she has other places to be. I often wonder if she has this type of relationship with all the patients on the floor she volunteers, but I’m too proud to ask. She’s the highlight of my day, even if she can’t stay long.

  After the doctor explained some of my speech issues were due to my medication, I asked to be weaned off the high doses. Never in a million years could I imagine this type of extreme pain existed. My head feels like it’s going to explode and my neck aches with an added stabbing every few minutes. To alleviate the strain, the doctor is giving me a different type of pain medication he says has less side effects. Even though I’m uncomfortable, everything is soothed the moment I see Miley walk into my hospital room.

  Occasionally, as we’re passing the time with friendly conversation, I find myself imagining us in a different environment. I picture us running freely on a beach, or me being able to stroke her long, dark hair. I’ve been through a lot of fast women, but she’s nothing like them. Miley has this innocence about her that makes me feel like she needs to be cherished and protected. It could just be the medicines making me feel differently about relationships, or it’s possible my emotional state has to do with my accident and being crippled. Whatever it is, I like the way she makes me feel. Even if it’s her job, I feel like we’re friends. Some days I just want to hear about her life, instead of talking about mine.

  Part of my recovery is to the see the hospital shrink. According to my doctor, a severe injury like mine can lead to extreme depression and suicidal thoughts. Since I know I’ve wished I’d died instead of having to be in this position, I think he’s right. I just don’t see how a stranger is able to make me feel better about this. How could I ever appreciate being a burden?

  Maybe it’s difficult to imagine someone taking care of me, because I’v
e been taking care of myself since I was just a kid. My parents signed over parental rights when I was thirteen.

  It's a little frustrating thinking back to when I was basically abandoned by my mother and father. Caught in their own drama, including days where they'd go out on binges and never come home, Child Services was called when one of the neighbors reported their negligence. As discerning as it seems, I'm grateful. I'd spent nights wondering if my parents were dead, hoping they'd show up with an excusable reason for forgetting I existed. They'd had me in their teens and never given up their wild ways. It's depressing to think I was probably never wanted by either of them.

  We'd been living in my father’s parent’s house. They'd passed away two months apart when I was seven. The house, which had been paid for, ended up being seized when my parents skipped out on paying property taxes for six straight years. Once we were homeless, they had us staying in motels you could rent out per month. Those were the worst times of my life. It's when I was taken into custody and then finally sent to Hawaii to live with my grandmother.

  Coming to the island was exciting until I met the woman who'd now be responsible for me. My grandmother had a hard life and wasn't really the loving and gentle type of grandparent I’d imagined her to be. She'd been married for thirty years before her Navy husband lost his life when a drunk driver struck him. She lived in a very small home on the island of Kauai, worked as a librarian, and was strict about rules. My first day there she sat me down and laid out what my chores would be and how I was to be respectful. At thirteen I pretty much became her personal slave. She had me cooking and cleaning, doing yard work, and even running errands. The little time I had to myself was spent doing schoolwork or reading her personally chosen book of the month, in which she'd make me answer questions. It's why I hate reading so much.