Memorizing You (34 page)

Jerry handed me a box of tissues to wipe my eyes and nose as the woman glided into the room and to the bedside of her son. Her eyes were dark, swollen. She was already thinner than the last time I’d seen her.

“Whether we want to believe it or not now, David…this is out of our hands.” She looked at me with infinite kindness. “Would you like to join me?$RImy I’m going to the chapel?”

I didn’t know what else to do. I nodded. Jerry pushed my chair toward her and we made our way from the room, to the corridor and beyond. The chapel was at the very end.

It was a small room. Just a few benches facing an illuminated stained glass window. There were no religious symbols anywhere in it. She faced my chair toward the front. Sat next to me on the bench. Her fingers traced over the beads of her rosary.

“I know you don’t believe,” she said, quietly. “I haven’t been much of a believer myself. I think we turn to these things when we’re desperate. When we feel helpless. When we’re powerless to do anything. I always thought people grasped onto religion for all the most petty, selfish things possible.”

“I’ve never prayed,” I admitted to her.

“That’s good,” she said, “because those of us who have been taught to pray have done it for the most stupid of reasons. Athletes pray before a game for God to take their side; help them to win. Soldiers on every side pray before they go out to kill, for goodness sakes. People have used prayer for the silliest of reasons, treating the idea of God like he was the genie in the magic lamp, there to grant your wish. I’ve done all the same stupid things with it myself. Prayed that my marriage would get better, that my husband would change, that life would improve.”

She opened her purse, pulled out her wallet and handed me a dog-eared photograph of her holding a baby. I recognized Ryan right away by the shape of his head.

“And then I walked in here the other day, thinking I was going to try again to find that genie in a lamp and see if he’d grant me that wish. And I realized when I was in here, I wasn’t talking to ‘something out there,’ I was talking to something in here.” She pointed to her heart. “I was talking to where everything that meant something to me was living. I was talking to my own hopes, my own loves, my own strength. I realized that nothing ‘out there’ had any more power or pull to change what was going on here and now, in that room with my boy, than I did myself. But I was here. Right now. And my son had something powerful every time I walked into that room. He had a mother’s love.” She touched my hand. “Like when you walk into the room, and he has yours.” She looked up at the stained glass window, then back down to the photograph. “We only come here to this silent spot to find the courage inside to stand against our own fear, because it’s the only way we can be strong for them. When people are talking to God, they’re just trying to find their own strength.”$ watchy fy

She opened her palm and showed me the rosary. “This isn’t a symbol of God. My mother gave this to me. It was a symbol of her love. She just thought it was a symbol of God. It was far more important than that.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Third week of the new year, I finally got to make my break from the hospital. I’d had to spend three days of a weekend with Jerry, learning how to use my crutches. One had to be specially outfitted with a forward grip that adapted to a hand with only two useable fingers and a thumb. It was more of a struggle than I’d thought it would be to master walking with the two metal legs. I lost count how many times the nurse had to grab me when I lost balance on the four-stair practice unit in the physical therapy station. Every jarring motion was still excruciating. I lost my temper several times. Something that looked so simple shouldn’t have been so difficult.

But by Sunday morning I was going up and down the real stairs at the end of the hallway like a pro. It was a real incentive just wanting to be free of the smell of antiseptic and the prison quiet after nine o’clock. I looked forward to being at home, laying in my own bed, and healing enough to get the casts cut off of me so I could finally scratch where it itched.

Jerry promised to keep me informed if there was any change in Ryan’s condition. I knew Ryan’s mom would probably be too occupied with her son’s recovery to fit me into her priorities. When he wheeled me to the front door to meet my dad, I had another surprise waiting for me. My Christmas present. My dad drove up in it. The blue AMC Hornet.

I was proud to show him how I could hobble around on my new chrome legs. I might still be handicapped, but at least I wasn’t confined to a sterile cell and bed.

I loved the car. Even though I wouldn’t be able to drive it for a while, I now had my own wheels. Dad even had the radio tuned to my favorite rock station. He drove me to McDonald’s for a burger and fries. Life almost felt normal. that was twice the size that y actually

Mom was waiting for me in my room when we got home. She had moved everything around so that I had a clear path with the crutches. She’d placed a stool by the bathroom sink where I could clean up. It would still be sponge baths until the casts came off. I was still dependent on others for a while longer. I found it easier to go up and down the stairs on my butt. They were too narrow for the crutches; made me feel off-balanced.

My bed felt wonderful. It had been missed. I fell into it. Staring out the window to the gray skies I wondered how long it would be before I felt like the bad stuff could be behind us.

Icicles dripped from bare tree branches. My parents tiptoed through the house as if some loud noise could shake some new disturbance in me. They talked in hushed tones; kept the television turned down. I found it all odd. Tiptoeing around pain.

I sat in front of the mirror. I looked like some deformed Frankenstein creation in my white plaster limbs. Only a short week from my return I was supposed to have been in a bodybuilding contest. Now, I could barely make it from one corner of my room to the other without hanging onto every piece of furniture.

The school had been sending my homework to the house for me to do. My mind couldn’t even wrap around how trivial it seemed to me. I couldn’t even crack a book. The words all were out of focus to me at this juncture. I was trapped in despondency. I couldn’t even watch television. If I heard laughter it made me angry because it was ‘out there’. Roped off from me.

Rosemary sensed my emotional distance. She’d come by, sit on the corner of my bed, and read to me from gossip magazines. Trivial things. Stupid things. She’d play music on the radio and do crossword puzzles. Unobtrusive things. There, but not there. Filling a space so I didn’t feel alone.

Dad stayed busy with the business. Talked about it incessantly at the dinner table like it was the only important thing in our lives. It was just filler for the air, making room for no other subjects.

I waited every day to hear news. Every day would go by with none. I tried calling Ryan’s home in hopes of catching his mom there. Learn anything. I never did. The phone just rang until I hung up.

I could tell how much time was passing by how strong the itch be$sky fy came beneath the casts as I healed. Rosemary helped me by slipping pencils in near my toes, up under the white packing to scratch my shins. It felt crazy good, and not ever enough. She began doing my homework for me and turning it in. She didn’t like loose ends.

The day finally came, in the middle of February, when I was to be cut free of my plaster shackles. The doctor couldn’t cut them off of me fast enough. I wanted to scratch every inch of my flesh for an hour. I was appalled at how much muscle mass I’d lost in both my leg and arm. The flesh was pale and shriveled. The right side was noticeably disproportionate to the left. It was just another assault on my psyche. The last two digits of my right hand were no longer functional. The bones had been depressed so far back that the knuckles no longer bent. It would make opening jars a real bitch. Another thing to deal with. I wanted to cover myself so no one could see me. The road back just seemed to always have another detour. But I had traded in my steel crutches for a cane.

I was glad Ryan’s dad was in jail and would be there for a while. He deserved it. In the end, he would plea bargain, sparing me having to testify. I knew he got a prison sentence. I didn’t know what it was. I wanted nothing more to do with him. I had other things on my mind.

As soon as the snow had melted, I began walking the neighborhood to regain my strength, recondition and rebuild my muscles. And my stamina. It was strange for me to hobble along like an old man on a walking stick on the same streets I used to run. But with every stab of pain, with every second of fatigue, my anger and determination fueled me forward. I would not let these things conquer me. I had to be strong and ready to help Ryan travel the same hard road back.

At the beginning of March, I called Jerry and discovered that Ryan’s mom had moved him to a private care facility in the hospital. His condition was unchanged.

I spent my time tracking down new clients for the company. Having a car to drive made it so much easier to get contracts to people and signed. I liked the feeling of being useful again. The business was building by leaps and bounds. Dad hired another ten employees while I had been in the hospital. He’d bought six more tractor-mowers and three more trailers. The old gas station was already getting too small to handle our expansion. He’d begun looking for larger real estate.

There’s no way to convey how great it felt to be able to get in a shower and bathe again. I found myself gravitating more and more to soaking in a tub, taking my time to just relax in its warmth. It became my time away from the world, and it was al that was twice the sizeofy fy so how I formulated the plan for my and Ryan’s future.

There were numerous apartments to be found near Saint Louis University. They were all reasonably priced for students. All within walking distance of the school. It was a sensible idea that we should get one now that I had a car. It made sense, and the idea was exciting to me that we could actually start a real life together. We could buy furniture together, plan our own meals, have time together that wasn’t dictated by how much privacy we had from others. It would be our first real taste of freedom as a couple. This dream compelled me forward with more conviction every day.

I walked harder, longer, challenging my endurance more every day. I used the weights in my basement again to bring my muscle density back. It was more of a challenge with a hand that had less of a grip, but I adapted. What else can you do?

I drove to school, watched a freshman gym class run the track. Heard the bell ring, saw the parade of bodies file past the windows in the hall in the exchange of classes. Realized how disconnected I felt from all of this now. These were all people going to school, hoping to make good enough grades to get into another school, hoping to make good enough grades to get a job from someone who would pay them money so they could eventually live the lives they dreamed. It seemed redundant for me to be participating in something my dad and I had already done. I found myself more and more disinclined to return to school. As much as I’m sure people could belittle what it was we did, it was a successful enterprise. It was what I could do, and do to the ends of a healthy income. I’d never be a lawyer, a doctor, or corporate executive. People didn’t need degrees to run a simple but necessary business like lawn care. There were only two more months left to this school year anyhow. It seemed pointless, and I didn’t want to be seen while I was recovering.

Instead, I drove the neighborhoods around the University looking at the available apartments for rent. I peered in windows, walked through yards. They were small, efficient, Spartan. But I liked the atmosphere. Young, liberal, and open-minded. Interracial couples walked down the street holding hands. To me that was a good sign.

One had an open house sign out front. I thought, what the hell, and decided to step inside. It was only two blocks from the college. It was on the ground floor. That would be important for people like us that were recovering from injuries.

It seemed spacious for an apartment. But that was, of course, because there was no furniture. Footfalls echoed on the pale wooden floors. The living room had a huge front window that let in a lot of light. The dining room was tiny, but led into a kitchen which seemed twice the normal size for a one bedroom apartment. The bedroom was large enough to fit a queen-sized bed and, maybe, a dresser. But it had a spacious closet that would accommodate a lot of clothes. We that was twice the sizeofy fy could see the city and the peak of the Arch from the back porch. It was surrounded on all sides by similar brick apartments. It was easy to picture us sitting out here at dusk, having a beer, listening to the music filter from the windows of the other apartments. We could make friends our own age, create a new peer group for ourselves. Build a life.

I could see him walking through the kitchen in his undies and white socks, pouring a cup of coffee for breakfast, dressing for school. I’d be getting ready for work, grabbing a piece of toast as I headed out the door, delivering a butter-flavored kiss as a normal workday began. I’d felt the first warm glow inside me in months. It was a dream that was just one more year away. A goal to work toward. It would be weird, I had to admit, not having a window for him to crawl through in the middle of the night. I might miss that.

Green was slowly coming back with the warmer weather. Buds sprouted on trees. Dry grass was coming back to life. The smell of wet this time was not filled with a chill. Mornings had ground mist that shimmered in the street lamp light. My walks had grown strong enough to leave the cane behind. I just had to take small breaks when my ankle began to ache.

I waited every day for a call that didn’t come. All I wanted was to see him.

Driving back from an appointment with a client, I passed his house. I drove slowly. I thought I saw the curtain of his room move. I pulled over and parked. Watched the window. Five minutes later, the curtain moved. There was no mistaking it.