Chapter 14
Though his body craved sleep, Charlie's mind fought against it. He awoke often, and every time it was to a new sensation. All-consuming anger would give way to an aching, almost nameless grief. Twice, he awoke certain it was all a dream, and fought against the pillows and blankets and IV lines, thinking he was late for school. He could not stay asleep, nor could he stay awake long enough to sort everything out. Finally, as dawn was breaking, he awoke again. After he had run the usual gauntlet of emotions, he reached over with his right hand and touched the fingers of his left hand. Only his eyes told him that he was doing it, and he knew, suddenly, that would not be enough for him. A kind of resolve began to grow in his chest, and he lay, accepting where he was by degrees; accepting where he must go by millimeters.
Around mid-morning, Anna came into Charlie's room with a large molded plastic trough, a stack of towels and a plastic grocery bag looped over her arm. She staggered to the end of the bed and dumped everything in the space Charlie made with his feet, and smiled at him brightly. "So, it's Thursday," she began. Charlie looked at her uncomprehendingly. Was he supposed to know some kind of return code phrase?
He finally settled for obscurity. It had always worked well for him in the past. "Richard Feynman's work proves that sometimes, people break spaghetti just to be breaking spaghetti."
She gaped at him. "What?"
He echoed her. "What?"
She put her hands on her hips. "Look, I came in here to offer you every man's dream. A sponge bath from a hot nurse." She indicated the plastic trough. "I was even going to throw in washing your hair. I don't do that for just anybody, you know. But you'd rather talk spaghetti?"
Charlie was starting to enjoy this, he realized with a start. Who knew? "Depends. What's in the bag?"
She lifted her hands and crossed them over her chest. "Your father is such a nice man. I asked him yesterday to bring me whatever hair product you usually use at home, when he came back this morning. Poor man has been understandably upset, though – he obviously thought I asked him to bring aisles 10 and 11 from the supermarket, in their entirety."
Charlie felt himself redden furiously. This was not as fun, anymore. "This is your bedside manner?"
She grinned, knowing she had won, and couldn't help hammering it home. "No. I've been checking out your brother, though. I'm considering offering him my bedside manner."
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He would never admit to anyone, upon pain of death, that he had actually fallen asleep during a sponge bath. He went into it dreading the experience a little, especially since her last comment, but she started with his hair, head in the funny plastic trough, and took her time. She gently massaged his head, at least as well as anyone in a barber shop or hair salon ever had, and he closed his eyes. The next thing he knew, she was waking him up. The trough was gone, he was wearing a fresh gown, and his head was wet.
He blinked up at her. "You're good."
She laughed. "You're saying you deserve less? Listen, now that you've had a little nap, how about getting up in the chair for a while? I've always wanted to say this to a man: I'll help you do your hair."
Charlie groaned and rolled his eyes. He noticed a large padded chair next to the bed. When had that showed up? "Okay," he agreed, still staring at it.
She had him dangle on the edge of the bed, blood rushing all over the place searching for a place to settle. She bound his injured arm up in a tight, high sling, so that his hand was resting on the opposite shoulder, as it he was preparing to recite the Pledge of Allegiance. When she helped him stand, he clutched at her a little frantically with the arm he had left. This new arrangement really threw off his balance. "I've got you," she said quietly, "you're doing great. Just a pivot to the left, and we lower down." He took a breath, and they did it, and it was almost as easy as she promised. She raised the foot of the chair, like a recliner, and ripped a blanket off the bed, tucking it around him. She smiled and sat on the edge of the bed, and began to go through the bag. It was a high chair – they were nearly eye level. She drew out a hand mirror and several containers, shaking her head. "Good LordÉ" she breathed. She glanced at him. "Which first?"
Charlie was embarrassed. "I really don't use all of that. He must have brought everything in the bathroom." She continued to look at him silently. "UmÉmousse?"
She selected a can and handed it him. He regarded it, then looked back at it. "How do I get the top off?"
She took the can back and demonstrated. "Hold the cylinder with your bottom three fingers wrapped around it near the lid. Then use your thumb and forefinger to pop it off. Aim for your lap, because you'll want the lid back, later." She gave it back to him, and he successfully popped the top into his lap.
He looked back at her, beaming. He shook the can and his smile faltered. "What do I squirt it into?"
She shrugged. "Your hair, of course. At home, you'll do this in the bathroom, in front of the mirror, so you can tell how much you're getting. Right now, I'll try to hold this hand mirror at the right level for you – say when..."
"Th- There," Charlie said, strangely apprehensive. So he might get the wrong amount of mousse in his hair – would that be the end of the world? He was chagrined to note that his arm was shaking, as he lifted it and squirted the mousse onto his head. He dropped the can into his lap, next to its lid, and used his free hand to work the mousse into his hair. He was surprised how thorough he could be with just one hand.
He lowered his hand and his eyes, and retrieved the can from his lap. He used the tip to tilt the lid just right, until it reclaimed its basic position, then he secured in by pushing into the bottom of his chin. Smiling, he offered it back to Anna.
She raised her eyebrows. "I'm impressed. An over-achiever." She looked back at the other products next to her on the bed. "Next?"
Charlie was already tired. "I really don't use all of that," he repeated, then amended himself. "At least not every day. Is this okay?"
Anna nodded and hopped off the bed, putting things back into the bag. He was a little startled again when she unlocked wheels he hadn't even noticed, and pushed the chair away from the bed a little. She locked them again and headed for the bathroom, coming back with a toothbrush and emesis basin. She placed them on the rolling table, along with his water, and brought the table to him, settling it over his chair, She reached into a pocket of her uniform and withdrew a trial-size tube of toothpaste, which she laid in the middle of everything. "Why don't you brush your teeth while I change the bed?" she offered.
Charlie regarded the toothpaste with dismay. He wanted to, it would make all the difference. After his bath, and shampoo, if he could brush his teeth, tooÉhe raised wounded eyes. "Toothpaste?"
Like so many before her, she wilted at the look. "I could tell you to open it the same way you did the mousse," she said, smiling. "That's what we did for years. Then the toothpaste people made this amazing thing." She reached into her pocket again, this time withdrawing a stand-up tube of tooth gel. "You just flip the lid open, squirt a little on the toothbrush, and close it again. Simple." She sighed. "I don't know why I'm doing this. I usually make people figure out the conventional tube at least once."
Charlie grinned as he accepted the new tube from her, and for the next few minutes, he brushed his teeth, spitting into the emesis basin, while she efficiently made the bed. Turning back to him, she rolled the table away, looking down at the small basin. "If I had thought to get you into a wheelchair, I could make you empty this yourself," she teased. "Never too early to learn new ways of doing things."
Charlie protested. "I'm in the hospital. Can't you pretend I'm sick, or something?"
She laughed and gathered things up, returned them to the bathroom. When she came back out, she stood over him and smiled. "Look better," she declared. "Feel better?"
He nodded. "Yes. Thank you."
She crossed her arms over your chest again. "Your Dad is so sweet," she said. "He brought us homemade cookies, this morning, and an extra plate for the night shift. Said he found himself without anything to do yesterday afternoon."
Charlie sighed a little, honestly already incredibly tired. His body was responding to the events of the last few days, and his restless night, with its first line of defense – sleep. Still. He should do this one, last thing, After all, he had slept through the sponge bath. "All right," he mumbled. "If he's here, he can come in."
"Your brother is here, too."
Charlie worried about who else might be here. He almost pleaded with her. "Okay, but no more right now, all right?"
She smiled. "Absolutely. Your call. But I knew you'd see it my way."
Charlie leaned his head back and smiled, watching her leave the room. The smile faded, and he closed his eyes. He was already dangerously close to sleep again when he heard the door open, and two familiar sets of steps. He opened his eyes.
Alan smiled into them. "Charlie. You look good, son. You look good. You're feeling all right?"
Don stood next to his father. He looked at Charlie for a moment, then his eyes fell to the floor. "Hey, Charlie," he said, quietly.
The gesture woke Charlie up, and he focused again on his father. "Dad, I want to apologize. I never meant to hurt you. I just needed some time. I'm sorry."
Alan kept smiling. "It's all right. I understand how you process things, son." The smile faded, a little. "I just want to be with you, to help if I can, and just..." He finished lamely, repeating himself. "...be with you."
Charlie nodded silently, a little sadly. "I know. I am sorry, Dad." Charlie quickly turned his attention to Don. His brother was looking at his father, not at him. That stance of ignorance, become so familiar since Monday, helped Charlie to dig within himself and find the strength he needed to say this. "You," he bit out. "Don."
Don finally looked at him, a little surprised at the tone of Charlie's voice. "Me?"
"You. I know you can do anything, Don, I know you're a...super hero, or something...but for me, this is hard. Even if my hand comes back, it will be months. I have to learn new ways to do almost everything, and I have to work incredibly hard at therapy if I'm going to bring it back. And I am going to bring it back, Don. I see the way you can't look at me, I know you're disgusted, and you don't believe I can do this, and, and, I can't be around that. I need to be around people who encourage me, help me. I know you think I'm selfish already, but you haven't seen selfish yet, Don. I have to be selfish, now, I have to ask for what I need." Charlie's long speech had nearly done him in, but he had one last thing to say. The hardest thing of all. "AndÉwhat I need, Don is for you to make a decision. You help me – or you stay the hell away from me."
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