Miles to Go (5 page)

After a few minutes of silence she said, “Maybe I’ll go do my grocery shopping. Do you need anything from the store?”

I couldn’t believe how kind she was being after I’d just yelled at her. “Pop-Tarts,” I said.

“Pop-Tarts?”

“Strawberry Pop-Tarts.”

“Pop-Tarts it is. I’ll bring some tonight.”

“You’re coming back tonight?”

“If it’s okay with you.”

“I don’t know why you’d want to.”

“I like seeing you,” she said. “Do you play cards?”

“Texas Hold ’em, Hearts, and Gin Rummy.”

“I’ll bring some cards.” She stood. “See you tonight.”

“Angel, I really am sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’d do the same thing.” She touched my arm, then walked out the door. After Angel left, I lay back in my bed, thinking about her. She really was kind.

Later that afternoon Norma came back in. “I brought you something,” she said, holding up a piece of paper.

Affectus, qui passio est, desinit esse
passio simulatque eius claram et
distinctam formamus ideam.

I looked at the sign without comprehension. “I don’t read Latin.”

“Actually, neither do I. It’s from the philosopher Spinoza. It says, and I’m paraphrasing here, ‘Suffering ceases to be suffering as soon as we form a clear picture of it.’ My father gave me this a few years back when I had a stillborn baby. It’s helped me to get through it. I know you’re in a lot of pain and you’re frustrated. But this will pass and before you know it you’ll be walking again. I promise.”

I looked at the paper. “Would you mind hanging it up?”

“I’d be glad to. I’ll go find some tape.” She left the room.

Suffering ceases to be suffering when we form a clear picture of it
. I wondered if that was the reason I felt so compelled to write in my journal.

When she came back, she taped the sign on my closet door. “How’s that?”

“Perfect.”

“Ready to walk again?”

“Sure.”

I clenched my teeth as I moved my feet to the side of the bed, then slid forward. The pain felt worse this time. Norma fastened the gait belt around my waist.

“Okay, take it easy. One step at a time.”

I took in a deep breath, then took a step, met with searing pain. I paused, then took another. The same. I took a third, then stopped. “I can’t do it.”

“You’re still sore from this morning,” she said softly. She put my arm around her shoulder and slowly helped me back. I sat back and she lifted my feet onto the bed. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”

I closed my eyes and sighed.

“Hey, you’ll get this. Before you know it, you’ll be running marathons.” She patted my leg. “My shift is over. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

After she left, I tried to form a clear picture of my suffering. It didn’t make the pain go away.

Angel returned around seven. She was wearing a long navy blue wool coat and was carrying a plastic grocery sack from which she brought out two boxes of Pop-Tarts. “I got your Pop-Tarts,” she said. “I didn’t know if you wanted the frosted kind or plain, so I got you both.” She set the boxes on the table next to my bed.

“Thank you.” I opened the box with the frosted pastries and took out a package, opening the wrapper with my teeth. I handed a Pop-Tart to Angel. “Want one?”

“Sure.” She took the pastry. Then, as she walked to the other side of my bed, she noticed the quote Norma had taped to the closet door. “What’s this?”

“It’s something Norma brought in.”

She squinted as she read it. “Emotion, which is suffering, stops … no … ceases to be suffering when a clear and distinct idea is formed.”

“You read Latin?” I asked.

“Almost,” she said. “I had classes in high school.” I noticed that she made no comment as to the message or its meaning. She took her coat off.

“Your family must wonder why you’ve been gone so much lately,” I said.

“There’s no family,” she said. “Just me.”

“Well, then your friends must wonder what you’re up to.”

A sardonic grin crossed her face. “No one’s filing a missing person report, if that’s what you mean. I’m kind of a loner.”

I looked at her quizzically. “I never would have pegged you for a loner.”

“Why is that?”

“You’re a very friendly, kind person. It doesn’t add up.”

“I could say the same about you.”

“Things happen.”

“Exactly,” she replied. “Things happen.” She looked at me for a moment. “I was thinking about the ring you were looking for. Did you lose your wife?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

She put her hand on my arm. “I know this is a dumb question, but is there anything I can do?”

“I wish there were.” After a moment I asked, “Have you ever been married?”

She hesitated. “No.”

“Are you from Spokane?”

“I was born here. But my family moved to Minnesota when I was eight. I got a job offer a few months ago and decided to move back.”

“So what’s it like being a police dispatcher?”

She shrugged. “It’s not dull, but it’s depressing. Seems all day long I witness the worst of mankind.”

“I never thought of that. Where in Minnesota are you from?”

“Near Lake Minnetonka in Wayzata.”

“I’ve never been to Minnesota. I hear it’s beautiful.”

“It’s cold,” she said shortly. “Very cold.”

From her expression I guessed that she wasn’t just talking about the weather.

Early the next morning I was reading the newspaper when Norma walked into my room with her chart. I was testing my legs as I read, lifting one at a time and holding it for as long as I could, which, pitifully, could be measured in microseconds.

“Hi,” she said. She looked a little stressed.

I set down the paper. “How are you today?” I asked.

“Fine. The $100,000 question is, how are you?”

“Still here.”

“Did you hear …?” she hesitated. “The boy died.”

“Who?”

“The boy who stabbed you.”

I shook my head. “No.” I wasn’t sure how to respond. I wasn’t even sure what to feel. Revenge, justice, pity, sadness? The truth is, I didn’t feel anything.

After a moment she said, “The doctor will be in to see you this afternoon.”

“Will she tell me when I can go?”

“I think so.” She checked one of my monitors, then asked, “Are you ready to try to walk again?”

“Sure,” I said.

“I’ve got a few other patients I need to see, then I’ll be back.” She walked out.

I lay back and sighed. I wasn’t feeling any better than I was before.

A half hour after breakfast Norma walked back into my room holding the gait belt. “Let’s do this.”

She clamped off my catheter, then I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed a little too quickly. I clenched my teeth with pain.

“Just a moment,” Norma said. “Before you try again, I want to ask you something.”

I looked at her expectantly. “Yes?”

“Why do you want to walk? What’s your number-one reason?”

“So I can take out this”—I restrained from swearing—“catheter.”

She looked at me thoughtfully. “Angel told me that you’re walking to Key West. Is that true?”

“I was trying.”

“There’s got to be a story there.”

I looked down for a moment. Then I said, “In the last month I’ve lost my wife, my home, and my business.”

Her expression changed. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.” She gently touched my arm. “So that’s why you’re walking.”

“Walking is what’s been keeping me going. Without Key West, I have nothing.”

She nodded slowly. “Don’t forget that. Now let’s walk.”

I again set my feet on the floor and began to shift my weight. Actually, the pain wasn’t as severe as it had been the day before. “I’m ready,” I said.

Norma grabbed my arm as I forced myself to my feet, bracing against the pain. I took a step forward. Pain again seared through my body, but somehow it lacked the severity of before.
I can handle that
, I thought. I took another step, paused, then took another. “I can do this,” I said.

“I know you can,” Norma said.

I took six more steps, then stopped. Either the pain had relaxed or my determination had grown sufficient to match it. I took a few more steps, then reached out and grabbed the bathroom’s handle.

Norma smiled. “You did it.”

I took a deep breath. “Now, let’s see if I can make it back.” I slowly turned around, then, without pausing, walked to the bed. Norma clapped.

When I was lying comfortably in bed, I asked, “Would you take my catheter out now?”

“Gladly.” She shut my door, then put on latex gloves, pulled aside my gown, and removed my catheter.

“Finally,” I said.

“You earned it.”

As she was taking off her gloves, I said to her, “How did you know to ask me why I wanted to walk?”

“It’s my experience that if you focus on the why, the
how
takes care of itself.” She walked over and touched me on the arm. “I’m proud of you. I knew you could do it. I’ll check on you again before my shift ends.” She started to the door.

“Norma?”

She turned back. “Yes?”

“Thank you.”

She smiled and walked out.

I spent the rest of the morning reading. Norma came back in around two with a stack of color copies. “I brought you something.” She handed me the papers.

I shuffled through pictures of beaches and ocean. “What are these?”

“Pictures of Key West. I printed them off of the Internet.”

“I mean, what are they for?”

“Reminders,” she said. “I’ll hang them up if you like.”

I handed them back to her. “Sure.”

“Good. Are you ready to go for another walk?”

“Yes. To the bathroom, please.”

I put my hands on the edge of the bed and pushed
myself up. I walked to the bathroom in about the same time as before, went inside and locked the door, and used the toilet. I came out a few minutes later. “I feel human again.”

“One small step for man, one giant leap for dignity.”

I smiled as I slowly walked back. When I reached my bed, she said, “That’s awesome, Alan. Well done.”

“Thanks, coach.” I sat back on the bed.

She lifted the Key West pictures from the nightstand. “I’ll hang these for you.”

There were six pictures in all. She began hanging them on the wall in front of my bed.

“So do you have big plans for tonight?” I asked.

“My husband has to work late, so I’m going to my mother’s to help her clean out her basement. She’s been on this cleaning kick lately.”

“Sounds fun. Wish I could help.”

“I bet you do,” she said sardonically. “How about you? Any exciting plans? Skateboarding? Tennis?”

“I thought I’d just hang out here.”