Painless (2 page)

Chapter 3

My grandmother taught me to follow a schedule so I can stay alive. Half my life is devoted to checking my body and looking at details. I do the morning body check in the bathroom, and I’m always scared I’ll see a burn, a cut, or a bone. Actually, I think I’d notice a bone right away. Then I shower and apply special lotion because my skin dries out from not ever sweating.

I dress and go back into my room.

“Happy New Year,” Nana says. “Are you doing okay today?”

This is why I always dress in the bathroom. I never know when Nana will be waiting for me in my room.

“I’m fine,” I say with a smile. “Happy New Year.”

Last night we watched the ball drop.

“Did you do your body check?” she asks.

I sit on the bed. “Yes. You know you don’t have to ask me that all the time.”

She ignores my whining. “What’s your temperature?”

“Ninety-seven.” I could make up anything.

“Did you go to the bathroom?”

I cringe. “Don’t ever ask me that again,” I say.

It isn’t the first time I’ve told her that.

With shaky hands, Nana checks my blood pressure and my pulse. She peers down my throat using a penlight. Then she looks into my eyes and ears. I don’t know what I have inside me that’s so interesting. Last of all, I pull up my shirt, and she takes a look at my back.

Spencer does this when he’s around, but nobody sees me naked. I have my pride.

I smooth out my shirt, look at her, and see how pale and out of breath she is. “You okay?” I ask.

“I’m all right for now,” she says. “But I can’t even find my shoes. I’m old and tired and dying, and you need to be prepared.”

I just sit staring. I can’t move. Can’t breathe. It’s like the world is really flat, and I’ve sailed over the end.

Once in the hospital I had a pneumothorax—a collapsed lung—and I was fighting to breathe, and there was no way I could keep breathing without help. All I could do was gasp hungrily for air, and then I stopped gasping. I think I died for a moment. Everything turned black.

Later when I awoke, I had a big, fat tube in my chest, and I was breathing.

Nana’s probably just saying stuff because of the dementia. Sure, she’s old, but she doesn’t drink, smoke, or eat unhealthy food.

In the kitchen, my vitamins and minerals are lined up on the counter. They’re to make me smarter and stronger. They do not work, and I don’t like them. I usually throw them away when Nana isn’t looking.

She’s sitting at the table. “What’s the date?” I ask.

She looks up from her coffee. “January first.” She smiles at me, shaking her head.

I didn’t think she’d know. I take the vitamins. She’s fine.

“Happy New Year,” Spencer says. He’s carrying an old TV. “The VCR is built into the TV. Sorry I couldn’t bring it over sooner. I got home yesterday. Aspen was great. You should’ve come with me.”

“I wish.”

“No, you don’t,” he says.

I can see it now. I’m sitting in the ski lodge in front of the fireplace reading a book. People laugh and head out to go skiing. I stay where I am.

Here’s what I know about skiing. It’s fun to watch on TV, but when you have a messed-up leg, it’s not a good idea to go skiing unless you like hanging out alone in a lodge with only your brain to talk to you.

“I’d probably hit a tree,” I tell Spencer.

“Look on the positive side,” he says. “You wouldn’t feel a thing.”

“You wouldn’t either,” I say. “Because you’d be dead.”

Spencer laughs and connects the TV. “What’s on the tape?”

“Nana said it was a surprise.”

He rolls his eyes and slides the tape into the TV.

The picture’s fuzzy, but I can see a man sitting in a room and the white wall behind him. “We’re Off to See the Wizard” plays.

Spencer adjusts the controls, and the picture clears. He increases the volume and sits on the bed.

I sit in front of the TV. Nana would say I’d go blind sitting too close. She’s also said I’d go deaf from loud music. Wonder what I did to destroy my nerve endings.

I see a man and he starts talking.

Dear David, I’ve collected pictures from some of your
birthday parties and made this video for you so you don’t forget.

I think he’s somebody I’m supposed to know.

Dear David, you turned two today. I am sorry I don’t have a recording of your very first birthday, but you had two parties for your second birthday.

I see me. I’m wearing gloves, long sleeves, a mouth guard, and a pinkish helmet. I look like I’m from outer space.

Hi, son. Today you are three. We had your party in the hospital, and all the nurses sang happy birthday to you. I hung a stuffed elephant from your IV pole
.

“HE’S MY DAD!” I turn my head toward Spencer. “MY DAD. DID YOU HEAR ME?”

“Yeah,” he says in a depressing voice.

I look like I’m sleeping. I’m getting oxygen through a mask.

“I wonder what happened to the elephant,” I say to Spencer.

“He probably dumped him somewhere,” Spencer says.

I almost wish I was watching this alone. Spencer doesn’t understand. The video continues.

Dear David, here we are, celebrating your fourth birthday. I can’t believe how fast time flies. You are amazing. Don’t ever forget that.

He quits talking. I’m sitting in front of a piano, banging on the keys, and singing “Happy Birthday to Me.”

There aren’t any kids in the picture, and I have a toothless smile on my face. If I was so amazing, why did he dump me at Nana’s and never come back?

“If I Only Had a Brain” starts playing, and my dad speaks.

I thought if you could make it until you were a teenager, you wouldn’t have as much to deal with because you would have learned so much about your condition. But things happened. Do you remember when we watched
The Wizard of Oz
? The Lion wanted courage, the Scarecrow wanted a brain, and the Tin Man wanted a heart. But it didn’t matter because they already had what they sought, only they didn’t know it.

There’s a collage of everything with “Over the Rainbow” playing. Suddenly my dad starts talking and crying.

Dear David, well, it isn’t your birthday, but today is a big day for you. I’m taking you to Nana’s house for a while. You’ll be safe and happy with her.

I can’t believe this. He leaves me a lousy tape when he could’ve visited me. It’s been eleven years, and he’s never sent me a card or anything. He’s pathetic.

Spencer turns off the TV and ejects the tape. When he hands it to me, he doesn’t look at me.

It’s the look-away that happens when somebody feels embarrassed for the other person.

“Anybody ever say you look like your father?” he asks.

I smile. “Only Nana. Nobody else knew him.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to your mother? She isn’t in any of the pictures.”

Maybe she didn’t like me. Maybe she went shopping. Maybe she was taking a nap. Maybe she was filming the video. There are too many maybes. “I don’t know,” I finally say.

“They don’t call or come to see you?”

I shake my head.

“It doesn’t matter,” Spencer says. “You know what your grandmother said about you? She said the Creator sent you to your grandfather and her. She said you saved them.”

I probably did save them. I kept them from doing much of anything.

Spencer unplugs the TV.

I ask him if he wants to hang out a while.

“I can’t,” he says. “We have company, and Cassandra is coming over. My mom’s fixing a huge dinner.”

Cassandra plays the keyboard in Spencer’s band. I don’t know her very well, but she has an argument with Spencer about once a week. I overheard her talking to Spencer about me. “Aren’t you embarrassed?” she asked. “Poor little rich kid has you to make up his bed for him.”

She doesn’t know about me. It’s not like I advertise I can’t feel pain.

He sits back down on the bed. “Remember a few weeks ago when I told you I made it into Vanderbilt and how I’m going to be really busy this semester?”

“Yes.”

“I’m quitting, but I’ve found somebody to replace me. I’ll be here early tomorrow morning to show Ms. Smith what to do,” Spencer says. “You wouldn’t believe how many people I talked to before I found the right person. You need somebody new anyway. We’re around each other all the time.”

I’m getting a sick feeling, kind of like I ate too much pizza and exploded.

“Not as much lately,” I say.

“We do the same thing day in and day out. Trust me. It’s time for both of us to move on. This way I can come over whenever I want to and not feel like I have to.”

“Is it because Cassandra says it’s demeaning for you to work for me?”

“No.”

“I understand,” I say. I really do. He knows it’s his time to move on.

“James gave me the tape the day he left you here,” Nana says from her recliner. “I watched it back when we had a VCR and then forgot about it.”

“But I don’t understand why he didn’t come back.”

“I don’t think we’ll ever understand. Your parents divorced, and James brought you here. Then they disappeared,” Nana says. “I’ve told you before. We searched. We filed missing persons’ reports. We hired detectives.”

“How can anybody disappear like that?”

“When they don’t want to be found,” she says, trying to catch her breath. “You were constantly covered with bruises. You’d jump out of a tree. You’d bang your head. You’d chew your mouth or your hands. They were accused of child abuse every time you were taken to the emergency room.”

She’s paler than I’ve ever seen. “It was like that for us when you first came to live here. Your grandfather was arrested once, but then Dr. Goodman explained to the authorities about CIPA. Even then, they did not believe him at first. Joe managed to make the authorities understand your condition.”

“It’s all right,” I say. I can’t ask her any more questions. Not now. Maybe not ever.

“Joe’s trying to locate James,” she says.

“He’ll find him,” I say, but Joe needs to hurry. Time’s running out.

My body-check routine is repeated in the evenings. Sometimes I turn on the song “Stayin’ Alive” and listen to the music for inspiration. I’m so good at being careful that I hardly ever see blood anymore.

Chapter 4

I’m in the kitchen eating cereal when the doorbell rings. “That must be Spencer,” I tell Nana. “He’s bringing somebody with him to train her.”

Nana doesn’t answer. She’s too busy staring into the kitchen cabinet to answer. I don’t understand what’s going on in her brain. Yesterday I thought she’d disappeared until I found her sitting in her car in the driveway. Luckily she couldn’t get the key into the ignition. That was freakin’ scary.

I don’t need a personal assistant. Nana’s the one who needs help. Veronica’s taking her to the doctor this morning for a checkup. I think he can adjust her medicine and she’ll improve.

I look up from my cereal when Spencer walks in. He pulls out a chair and sits at the table. “Ms. Smith will be here in a few minutes,” he says. “She was a nurse’s aide and has good observation skills.”

“How’d you meet her?”

“Craigslist.”

I roll my eyes. “And you think that was a good idea?”

“I talked to her. Joe ran a background check.”

“So who’s going to keep her from stealing something?”

“You can watch each other,” Spencer says.

Then Veronica walks into the kitchen with a girl around my age. She’s short and skinny. She’s wearing blue scrubs, but the top has little white ducks on it. Her hair is short, sort of curly, and dark brown.

“This is Ms. Smith,” Veronica says and rolls her eyes.

I almost start laughing and glance over at Spencer. He’s grinning. Now I know why he talked to several people before hiring somebody. It’s like he’s hired me a girlfriend.

I like it when he accidentally makes me want to laugh.

“Hello,” she says and sets a black bag on the table. “You can call me Luna.”

“Luna?” I say. I don’t know what else to say. “Like the moon?”

“Luna like lunatic,” she says, tilting her head.

“I’m David.”

“Oh my god. You’re my patient?”

I nod.

She looks from me to Spencer. “You can’t be serious,” she says. “Is this a joke? You think it’s funny? Oh my god. This is what I get for placing an ad on Craigslist. You guys are freakin’ perverts.”

“’It’s not a joke,” Veronica says. “David needs a personal assistant. Do you know anything about CIPA?”

“Not much.”

“That’s okay,” Spencer says. “Nobody else does either. I’m Spencer.”

I look down at my Cheerios floating in milk. I’d take a bite, but I’m scared milk will roll down my chin. I hate awkward moments when someone keeps looking at me like I’m an ugly painting. What am I supposed to say? It’s time to check my blood pressure?

I don’t want a girl checking me out and watching me.

And I really hate that Nana’s still staring into the cabinet.

“Mrs. Hart, this is Luna,” Spencer says to Nana. “Remember we talked about David getting another personal assistant?”

Nana gives him her I-don’t-know-who-you-are look. Then she comes over and plays with my hair.

It’s embarrassing.

“Nana’s my grandmother,” I tell Luna. “She’s not herself this morning.” I don’t know who she is.

Veronica takes Nana by the arm. “There’s coffee and cereal and juice on the counter. We have business downtown this morning.”

“The car keys are in the spider plant,” I tell Veronica.

“Will you be okay?”

I nod. I have to be okay or else Veronica wouldn’t leave.

“Leave the bedroom door open,” she says, and I give Luna a sideways glance.

Luna rolls her eyes.

“Does that hurt?” I ask.

“What?”

“Rolling your eyes like that.”

“He’s not a child,” Luna says to Spencer. “I thought I was hired to help a disabled kid.”

“He can be very childish,” Spencer says.

Luna lowers her voice and speaks to Spencer. “Retarded?”

“No,” I say. “There are five categories of CIPA. With type V there isn’t mental retardation. That’s what I have. But each case is unique, I think. I don’t feel pain, but I get by okay. I’ve been taught to recognize what can harm me.”

I can tell we’re off to a great start.

“I don’t really need a personal assistant,” I say.

“That’s some bruise on your arm,” Spencer says.

I cover it with my hand. “I ran into the edge of an open door,” I say. “That could happen to anybody.”

“It doesn’t hurt?” Luna asks.

“Is it supposed to?” I say.

“David once walked around with a nail in his foot,” Spencer says. “But his grandmother thought he had swallowed it. He was x-rayed and everything, but the whole time the nail was in his foot.”

Luna snorts. I bet she’s thinking,
This place is a loony bin.

“Give me some credit,” I say. “That was years ago. I would know if I swallowed a nail. I can taste metal.”

“Sherwood Anderson swallowed a toothpick and didn’t know it,” Spencer says. “He died.”

“I’ll be sure to check David’s feet and mouth,” Luna says.

You know what’s so bad about what she says? She is serious. I don’t want her or anybody looking into my mouth. What if I have bad breath?

“I usually start by checking his blood pressure, temperature, and pulse,” Spencer says.

“I think we’re going overboard with this,” I say.

She opens the bag. She checks my blood pressure, temperature, and pulse, and writes down the numbers.

“The room temperature is kept at sixty-eight. Outside, if the temperature’s over eighty, he can’t take more than two hours. Do you have any questions?” Spencer asks Luna.

“I have no idea what to ask,” she says.

“Just remember to check his body,” Spencer says. “He doesn’t need to be naked. I mean, just look at his arms and legs and back to make sure nothing’s wrong and observe him.”

I’m feeling like a monkey inside a glass enclosure at the zoo.

“For what?” Luna asks.

“Broken bones, seizures, hallucinations, confusion, coma, cardiac arrest from a high fever, or low body temperature or hemorrhage.”

“Oh my god,” I say. “Spencer’s exaggerating. He spends most of his time here playing video games or texting.”

“David would not know if something was wrong. Something minor like appendicitis could be fatal for him,” Spencer says and stands. “I have to head to class. There’s a list of emergency numbers on the refrigerator. You do know basic first aid and CPR, right?”

“Yes,” Luna says.

Spencer says he’ll see me later and leaves Luna and me at the kitchen table.

I should feel good that I have a cute nerd sitting at the kitchen table, but I don’t. Not when I’m on exhibit. I place my cereal bowl in the sink. It’s still full of last night’s dishes. “You can do the dishes,” I say to Luna.

“Are you helpless too?” Luna asks.

“No.”

“Then go ahead.”

I’ve never loaded the dishwasher before. It’s because of the glass incident. I broke a glass, picked up the pieces, and threw them away. My hands were cut, but it’s not like I didn’t notice the blood. I said “ouch” like I was taught to do.

The weird thing is that Luna is observing me intently as I load the dishwasher. After I’m finished, she gets up from her chair. “Here you go, Helpless. You don’t know what you’re doing.” She starts rearranging the dishes.

“Don’t call me Helpless.”

“Okay, Painless. Pay attention.”

“My name’s David.”

I hate people who call me names. I hate people who treat me like I’m less than a person.

“Always place the sharp objects downward so you don’t stab yourself.”

“I’m careful.”

“You’re bleeding onto the table,” she says like she’s won a prize.

I look down and see drops of blood, but I’m not about to say “ouch.” My right hand has a puncture wound. I get a napkin, wrap it around my hand, and head upstairs to my bathroom. Luna follows me.

I wash my hands, open the medicine cabinet, take out rubbing alcohol, and pour it over my hand.

“Doesn’t that sting?” Luna asks.

I turn around. “No.”

“It’s supposed to sting and feel cold.”

Whatever that means. I get a Band-Aid. Luna snatches it away, opens it, and sticks it onto my hand.

“There you go, Helpless,” she says, still holding my hand. “Next time don’t use alcohol. Soap and water are enough. Don’t forget to clean up the blood on the table.”

“Screw you,” I say. I can’t believe I said that.

She releases my hand. “Don’t get your hopes up, Hopeless.”

We walk back to the kitchen. She goes online. I wipe up the blood. It’s only four drops. I’ve seen more. Then I say I’m going to my room.

She shuts her laptop and trails behind me like she thinks I might stumble.

It’s embarrassing and demeaning. I’m going to ignore her.

I sit on the floor and pick up the game controller.

I’ve been playing a video game, trying to make it out of the World of Darkness into the World of Light, but I’m lost. In the game, my character’s named Davy. He’s kind of my alter ego. Davy can use magic to cure himself whenever he’s injured, poisoned, or paralyzed.

Crap. I forgot that Tyler’s dead. He’s the other character and Davy’s sidekick. The one with the answers. I revive him with a potion, but now Davy’s slumped over from a hit, and the enemy casts Devastation.

Then both Tyler and Davy are dead.

“Get the girl wizard to cast Revive,” Luna says. She’s lying on my bed with a book in her hands.

She’s obviously played role-playing games before. I didn’t know she was watching.

I scroll to Revive. I’ve never had to use it before and that’s why I forgot. The wizard casts Revive and saves Tyler and Davy.

“I have other games,” I say. “I mostly play the classics.”

“Why?”

“I have trouble with sensory perception. I can’t keep up.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“It sucks. When that’s messed up, one of your senses misinterprets the environment. I don’t know all the science behind it.”

I’d look it up, but I don’t like reading about the bad stuff and what’s going to happen to me sooner or later. Probably sooner.

“But the video games help me with hand-eye coordination.”

“You’re pretty good.”

“Thanks. The other games are on the shelf. I have a couple of game systems in the closet if you want to play.”

She opens the closet and sits on the floor. “You have six game systems,” she says at last. “That’s absurd.”

She’s probably the most absurd person I’ve ever met, wearing scrubs with ducks on the shirt. I wonder what she thought she’d be doing today. I get back to playing the game.

“You can wear regular clothes,” I say.

She’s looking around my room. “You play the guitar?”

“Yeah, and the piano.”

I keep playing the game and she watches me, but we don’t talk. She reminds me of someone watching a goldfish in a bowl. Then she sits on the floor next to me. I’m trembling, and I never tremble or shiver. The hair on the back of my neck never stands up like the hair on people in books I’ve read. I wonder what happens to real people when they’re nervous.

I don’t even realize Nana and Veronica are home until I hear the vacuum cleaner. I stand and say I have to find out what the doctor said about my grandmother.

We head to the kitchen. Veronica has placed sandwiches and fruit on a serving platter. “Where’s Nana?” I ask.

“Sleeping.”

Then Luna touches my arm and says, “Why don’t you set the table?”

I give her a long, hard stare and then get plates.

“Thank you for staying,” Veronica says, which surprises me. I figured she’d make a fuss about Luna. The whole thing is weird.

Luna sits and picks up a sandwich. “I forgot to ask. Exactly what hours do you need me?”

“Anytime,” Veronica says.

“Spencer would always come over whenever he could,” I say.

“Perfect. Do I call first?”

“If you want to,” I say. “I’m always home.”

“We’ll start doing things,” Luna says. “I’ll make a schedule.”

After Luna goes, I hang out in the kitchen with Veronica. She’s unloading the dishwasher.

“How come you changed your mind about Luna?” I ask.

“I’d like to have somebody around to make sure you’re okay,” Veronica says. “I’ve had my hands full making sure your grandmother doesn’t set the house on fire.”

“When’d she do that?” I ask.

“She left water boiling on the stove.”

“The doctor can’t do anything?”

Veronica shakes her head. “The dementia is progressing, and she is in congestive heart failure.”

I know about congestive heart failure. It makes her short of breath from the fluid in her lungs and her feet swell. I haven’t noticed her feet swelling, but I usually don’t look.

Veronica continues. “The doctor gave her something to get rid of the fluid in her lungs, and adjusted her heart and blood pressure medication. He suggested sitters, a hospital bed, and oxygen. I’ve left a message with Joe.”

“But she’s okay now?”

“She may need to be placed in a nursing home,” Veronica says. A rooster crows, and she answers her cell phone. “Hey, Joe,” she says. “I’m afraid I have some worrisome news.”

I sit listening to Veronica repeat what she told me, and then she hands me her phone. I’m already not feeling too good, and now I’m feeling like the time I did when a hot dog got stuck in my throat.

“Hey, Joe,” I say in a squeaky voice.

“We need to talk about you,” he says.

No, we don’t.

“There’s an upscale community not far from you called Twin Falls. It has walking trails, a swimming pool, a clubhouse, horseshoes, and shuffleboard.”

“I know about Twin Falls. I overheard the conversation you had with her about what to do about me if something happens to her.”

“That conversation was at least a year ago,” Joe says. “And you should not be listening in on private conversations.”

“
So what?
I should be included in important conversations.” I say. “Twin Falls is an assisted living community. Nana does not want me there, and I’m not going. Dr. Goodman said I could be independent.”

“I’ve talked to him. He said you had some growing up to do. You’re immature.”

“He said I should get out more,” I say. “That’s all.”

“Exactly. That’s why Twin Falls would be a great match for you. Listen, I’ll be over in a couple of hours, and we’ll discuss this further.” He disconnects.