Chapter Thirteen
Reflections of the Past
I found myself dreaming that I was five years old. My parents and I had already moved into the house that we had been assisting with remodeling as part of some program. It was summer time and I was getting tired of everything. I wanted to escape. Every day had become the same. I'd wake up and my dad made me breakfast before he went to bed because he had the night shift. Then, I'd have to stay indoors until he woke up, usually I spent that time playing what everyone in the house called "the Atari" and I'd play Space Invaders on it and similar games. I didn't have very many games for it and most of them were really difficult, if completely nonsensical. Then from noon until around three, I was free to play outside with the neighbor kids. Only one kid was willing to play with me, but that was okay. Then I had to go back inside to my room to protect me from the coming disaster. After I would play in my bedroom for a while, the door would slam open and closed and it would start.
I would hear mom screaming at my dad. It didn't matter what since it changed on a daily basis but the general themes I picked up was that she was angry and it usually had to do with money or her job. Or something her co-workers had done. She would always pick a fight with dad and lose and would take it out on me. Then dad would cook dinner and we would have a quiet, if not tense, dinner and then mom would want me to play outside under her constant, ever-watchful eye. And then I'd spend the rest of the time I had in my room until it was bath time and then it was bed time.
The only real difference to each day was if one or both of my parents had a day off. Then what freedom I had was gone if my mom had a day off, demanding that I spend time with her. Or more freedom if it was my dad who had a day off, allowing me to play with my only friend in the neighborhood.
But there was a night that always came during the summer that I enjoyed. It was the yearly block party. It was a huge barbecue where everyone who lived on the block was invited and would mingle and have fun. The kids would all be playing together, regardless if they liked each other and I always had fun in the competitions. But in my dream, something was off. Something happened that really did not happen.
I was aware that there was a duplex on the block that was constantly being rented out. No one really stayed in it for very long. I remember it being empty that summer. However, I noticed that the "for rent" sign was absent and my parents and I were being introduced to the man who was renting it out.
I remembered him from when the girls had forced me out of my own playhouse. He had been the one to play with me to make the girls jealous. Apparently, my dad remembered him as well.
"Mr. Smith, how have you been?" my dad asked.
"You know him?" my mom asked my dad.
"He was working on the house as a volunteer. He helped Lisa here when the girls were being mean to her and had given her that black eye," my dad explained.
"That was me," he stated with a smile before bending down to look at me in the eye, "and hello Lisa. Do you remember me?"
I nodded, feeling uncomfortable, mostly because of my mom. She could make anything feel like torture, no matter if it was supposed to be fun or not. Still, he smiled down at me politely, almost like he was one big kid himself.
"She doesn't talk much lately," my dad said apologetically.
"I'm sure she'll be talking our ears off before too long," the familiar man stated with a smile, straightening up to speak to my dad properly.
"I'm sure she will," my mom stated, pulling my dad and I away from the man I knew was nice.
"What's wrong?" I heard my dad ask.
"I don't like him," I heard my mom reply, "we need to keep him away from us."
"I'm sure he's fine," my dad say, "there's nothing he can do here. Relax."
"I just don't like this," she stated.
"You just don't like people," my dad say as I noticed that my hands weren't being held and I, feeling uncomfortable, wandered off where I can be more comfortable.
I wandered over to the group of kids, wanting to play with people my own age. Well, at least putting in a good second attempt at it.
"Can I please play with you?" I asked politely.
"No, get lost, fatty," the kid I asked said, clearly being mean about it.
Saddened, I went to another group. I asked the same thing in the same way and got a kick in the shin for my trouble. Being so young, I screamed and cried in pain, getting the adults' attention. The one to come to my help was the parent of the one who kicked me.
"What happened?" a man I was familiar with but didn't know his name asked.
"I asked if I could play and he kicked me!" I exclaimed, fighting tears long enough to tell the adult.
"Is this true?" the parent asked his son.
"Yes, but she's fat and ugly and a girl!" the boy exclaimed.
"If you can't behave, go sit with your mom for the whole night," the father of the boy told his son who wailed.
"Are you going to be okay?" he asked me.
"I think so," I told the father of the kid before limping around, looking for something to do.
I wound up grabbing a cup of punch and sat in a lawn chair that was sat out for people to sit in and drank punch while feeling bored and excluded. I wished that someone would hang out with me and play with me. In the memories I had of the time, I had spent the whole time between the kicked shin and the competitions drinking punch by myself. But that wasn't what happened.
"That's a nice bruise forming there," I heard Mr. Smith say.
"Uh-huh," I stated as I sipped the cool punch.
"Let me guess, you didn't do anything wrong again?"
"Yep."
"That's not good," he stated before asking, "bored?"
"Yeah," I stated as I turned to him, seeing him grin widely before he tapped my shoulder lightly.
"Tag. You're it," he stated before running off.
I sat my cup down on the ground before running off after the giant-like adult. I knew he was taking it easy on me, eventually slowing to what would be a fast walk for him before I tagged him. I ran off once I tagged him before I realized that he was including another of the kids into our game. It went on like this until all of the neighborhood kids were involved in our game of tag except for the one who had kicked me in the shin. The epic game of tag ended with all of us kids deciding on our own that we were going to all team up against the biggest kid of all who had started the game.
"Competition time!" came the shout by the one in charge of the event, "the first competition will be the wheelbarrow race!"
The one in charge of the event ran through a list- making all kids be the wheelbarrows and the adults involved the ones to "push" the wheelbarrows. Somehow, I was teamed up with Mr. Smith. Knowing how it went, I got on the ground and my feet were picked up.
"Three!" the leader shouted and I prepared my arms, bending my right elbow more.
"Two!" the leader shouted and I lifted my left arm, putting all my weight on my right hand.
Then came the whistle and I moved my arms as fast as I can, hoping that I was keeping up and not slowing us down too much as I saw everyone else going much faster. When we crossed the finish line, I felt winded as I stood back up.
"That was fun!" I exclaimed with a grin.
I woke up at that point and looked at the clock. I was still in the hospital bed and the TV was still on. The clock said that I had been asleep for six hours as I could feel my right side erupt in pain. I pressed the nurse call button and I only had to wait until the commercial break was over for my nurse to show up.
"You fell asleep before I told you how everything worked," she stated lightly.
"Sorry," I said with an apologetic smile.
"This," she said, showing me something made to be gripped with a button on the top, "is for your morphine pump. You press the button when you're in pain and it'll send morphine through your IV. You can only use the button once every ten minutes unless it's given by a nurse. I assume that you just woke up."
"Yeah," I stated, nodding the whole time as she spoke.
She turned to the machine and pressed a few buttons, causing it to beep before saying, "I gave you a double dose. It shouldn't take too long for it to hit you. Is there anything else?"
"I am kinda hungry," I admitted.
"Dr. Haywood has you on a liquid diet," she said, moving a table that was clearly made to move over the bed, "just call the kitchen and they'll help you decide."
"Thanks," I stated as she left and I went through the stuff on the table as I felt my head spin from the morphine just starting to hit me.
I perused the menu, thinking of what to get when I heard someone knock once on my door and enter. I turned my head to see a familiar face walk deeper into my hospital room. He was smiling at me with his hands in his pockets, his pace relaxed. However, there was something different about him this time around. A weariness, perhaps. Something was bothering him.
"I hear you're doing a lot better," he stated lightly.
"Well, I'm pretty sure I at least don't have that fever anymore," I stated with a smile, "I'm about to order my dinner."
"I'm sorry if I'm intruding," he stated, almost stepping back.
"I'd rather you did. I don't like the idea of spending the whole who knows how long alone in a hospital room," I stated with a smile.
I watched him as he slowly moved to a chair and sat down on it, watching the various machines. He seemed pretty uncomfortable and wary of everything. I wondered why, but I didn't ask. If he wanted me to know, he'd talk about it.
"So when was it removed?" he asked, cautiously as if he didn't know how to phrase the question.
"Earlier today, I think. All I know was that I passed out on you and then I woke up after the operation. Apparently, it went well. All I know is that I'm actually hungry for once," I stated, perusing the menu, sounding gleeful that I could eat again.
I saw him look away, as if there was something that bothered him. If anything, he looked guilty before he spoke again.
"I have a question for you," he said quietly as he looked at me, completely serious.
I knew how uncommon it could be for his current self to be serious just from what I knew about him, so I closed the menu and looked at him, giving him my full attention as I lifted my eyebrows at him. If it was something serious, I wanted to give it my full attention so I can give him the most accurate response as I could.
"Let's say you wind up getting upset with someone and tell them that you hate them..." he started as I sighed and rubbed the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger of my right hand.
"Let me get this straight. You're from the future and I wind up being completely mad at you and I told you that I hated you and probably that I wanted you out of my life, right?" I asked with a frown.
"Those words exactly," he stated, almost surprised.
"Did you apologize?" I asked, "and I mean seriously apologize?"
"Is there any other kind of apology?"
"Several. But rather than running the risk of learning what you did to set me off, I'll say this. Anything I said most likely was because you did something that hurt me. Considering there's really three things anyone could do to hurt me in any way, I assume that the one you'd most likely do is lie to me, which is something that is no way a hate-able offense. It'll hurt like hell, but really, in the end, once I calm down, I'll prolly feel worse than you do about the whole telling you that I hated you."
"So you don't hate me?" he asked, brightening up.
"Listen, it takes a lot for me to hate a given person. What it takes is enough abuse and then I hate them. You're not the kind of person that would abuse anyone. You're obviously too kind for that. Which meant you just got me really mad to make me explode, which means that after about an hour or two, I'll go through the emotional rebound."
"Which is?" he asked, almost as if he was taking notes.
"With me, whenever I get angry, my emotions rebound to depression. I become depressed that I showed anger and I temporarily become just a teensy bit unstable. It doesn't take much for me to stabilize and return to my normal emotional state."
"And I thought all girls' emotional states were complicated," he muttered.
"It's not too complicated," I stated, "I just don't like showing 'em."
He let out a sigh and nodded before saying, "I know."
"So have you messed with my past recently?" I asked, grabbing the menu to peruse it again.
"Only twice. Since the incident," he stated.
"And one of those times were when I was five and about to get into first grade," I stated.
"The rest hasn't caught up with you then," he stated.
"Of course, because you didn't move out until much later after the block party," I stated without thinking before frowning and adding, "this is really awkward."
"You'll get used to it," he stated before asking, "are you going to be okay?"
"I think you know that more than I do," I stated with a smirk.
"Well, I just thought to ask since you did just-"
"I'm fine, Doctor," I stated, interrupting his clearly uncomfortable babbling, "and I appreciate the sentiment. Not a lot of people care enough to ask now days."
"I know," he said with a frown, "you told me about it."
"I think perhaps, this could be a problem having you drop hints of conversations yet to happen."
"Right. Well, get well soon, I think is the proper phrase," he stated before walking out.
I rang the kitchen, winding up with a dinner that consisted of applesauce, yogurt, cherry-flavored Jello (which made me wish they had grape), chocolate pudding, chocolate ice cream, and peppermint tea. I ate my dinner with glee, feeling my stomach settle and take in all the food. I smiled to myself as I relaxed with my tea and watched some Mythbusters. I set the tea aside and found myself being dragged back to sleep.
It was months after the block party and my dad no longer had his night-shift job. Which meant that I was free during most of the day except for lunch time and when I had to be home in time for mom to never know that I was out. However, I grew exhausted of the abuse I suffered at my mom's hand. It was past lunch that day and I was in my bedroom. I studied the atlas I had. I was planning a trip that would take me anywhere that wasn't home. I couldn't take it anymore. I was what caused mom and dad fight so much. I was convinced that if I wasn't around, they would be happy. I knew that it was either that I left and lived elsewhere, or I would have to leave in a way that meant that I wasn't going to live. I steeled my courage. I knew I would miss dad, but I couldn't take it being the cause of all of the fighting.
I closed the atlas and walked downstairs. I already had my shoes on and I smiled at my dad as I always had.
"I'm gonna go on my bike," I said.
"Okay. You know how far you can go and keep an ear out for me, okay?" he asked.
"Yes, dad," I said with a smile before I ran outside and out to the back yard where my bike was.
It was still big enough for me and was pink with white training wheels. Everyone else was able to ride bikes without training wheels but I didn't. I couldn't. I wasn't perfect enough. I was too flawed to be able to do anything that everyone else my age did and did well. It was why I had to leave. I wasn't perfect enough.
I pushed my bike to the sidewalk and pedaled. I went past the next door neighbor's house. I kept pedaling. I was then passing the second house from where I lived, coming up to the large driveway that I was supposed to turn around at. I kept pedaling. I passed the two houses that belonged to the kind elderly ladies I always enjoyed saying hi to. They were always kind to me. And then came the duplex. And I stopped.
I wasn't planning to stop. It wasn't in my plan. But I stopped anyways. The bike jerked and I turned around to see what stopped me, looking over my left side, seeing Mr. Smith. He was usually smiling each time I've seen him, but this time, he looked serious.
"You aren't supposed to go this far from home," he stated calmly.
"I can't stay there," I told him quietly.
I saw him look down the street where I had come before looking at me, saying, "how about we talk about this over milk and cookies on my porch?"
"Okay," I nodded, knowing that he wasn't exactly a stranger and he seemed to be perfectly harmless. He was fun anyways.
I left my bike in his driveway before meeting him on his porch. He didn't take long to bring out the cups, the gallon of milk, and the Oreos. He had good taste. I sat myself down on one of the chairs he left out on his patio-like porch as he arranged everything on the table between us.
"So you're trying to run away from home," he stated as I ate a mostly soaked Oreo.
"Yep," I said around my cookie.
"Why?" he asked.
"I cause mommy and daddy to fight. I'm a mistake. Not perfect enough. If I was perfect, they'd be happy. So I'm leaving. They can be happy now that I'm gone," I stated between bites and sips of milk.
"Who said that you're a mistake?" he asked after eating a cookie.
"Mommy. She also says that it's my fault," I stated, not wanting to eat cookies anymore and looking away from Mr. Smith.
"What does she say is your fault?"
"Everything. Everything bad. My birth. That money's so tight. That she's not happy. I cause so many horrible things and I'm not aware of it," I said, fighting sobs but wanting to be strong.
"She's wrong," he stated.
"She's mommy. She's always right," I stated quietly, "and it's all my fault."
"I think it's best if we take you back to your home. I promise you that things will change," he stated.
"You think so?" I asked.
"I know so. Get on your bike and I'll walk you home," he stated with a grin.
"I'll race ya!" I exclaimed, running to my bike and speeding down his driveway backward and turning sharply onto the sidewalk and using that momentum to go down the sidewalk.
I didn't look behind me but considering how long it took Mr. Smith to catch up, I quickly knew that he wasn't running behind me in earnest and let me win the race. I left my bike on its side in the front yard and ran up to the steps and opened the door.
"Dad! Mr. Smith is wanting to talk to you," I called into the living room, seeing that my dad was in his recliner and had been watching a movie which he stopped.
"Okay," he stated with a smile, "and thank you for letting me know."
"I'm putting my bike up," I stated.
"This early?" he asked.
"I kinda...went out of bounds," I stated, giving him my best attempt at a grin while knowing that I was in trouble.
"How far did you go?" he asked with a sigh.
"Mr. Smith stopped me at his house. He gave me milk and cookies and sent me back home," I stated.
"Did you thank him?" he asked as Mr. Smith walked up to the porch.
"I will," I stated.
"Go thank him and put your bike up for the day," dad told me.
I turned to face Mr. Smith and said, "thanks for the milk and cookies."
"Don't mention it," he replied, ruffling my hair with a smile as I ran off.
I grabbed my bike and pushed it into the back yard, knowing that once Mr. Smith was gone, I was going to be in bigger trouble than normal. But still, I wanted to know what the adults were talking about. Perhaps if I did it really fast and rushed to my room, I could hear what they were talking about. I pushed my bike into the backyard as quickly as I could before running inside, excusing myself as I ran around Mr. Smith and up the stairs.
"I can't help it," I heard my dad say as I stood at the railing next to the stairs, "her mom...she's got a lot of things to deal with and she gets stressed."
"That doesn't excuse anything. It's getting to Lisa and who knows what the effect could be. She believes the things her mother's telling her which can't be good," I heard Mr. Smith say.
"I know. I...I'm not ready for my family to fall apart yet. I think things are still salvageable," I heard my dad say, "even with her flaws, I still love my wife."
"You need to consider Lisa in this," I heard Mr. Smith say, "if this continues, she could wind up with low self-esteem and who knows what else. It can't be healthy for a girl her age to be blaming herself for things she has no control over. She's a very sensitive and caring little girl."
"But if her mother leaves her life, it could devastate her," I heard my dad say, "and that's really the worst that could happen."
"I'm just concerned with her attempt today," Mr. Smith stated, "who knows what else she could try in an attempt to do what she feels will make everyone happier."
"What's your stake in this, Mr. Smith?" I heard my dad ask.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Mr. Smith stated.
"Try me," I heard my dad say.
"I'm a time traveler. I travel through time and in my travels, I've wound up meeting your daughter Lisa as an adult. As much of a wonderful person she is, she is deeply affected by what her mother had done to her. I came back through time to help her out and to try to avert the worst of the damage if I can," I heard Mr. Smith say.
"Assuming that you have a time machine, can you show it to me?" my dad asked.
"I can," I heard Mr. Smith say as I heard a grinding noise outside.
I heard the door close and I ran to my window, seeing a blue box with Mr. Smith opening the door to it. I watched as my dad looked at it in wonder as Mr. Smith walked into it. The angle I had didn't show me much other than a ramp leading in. I watched as my dad cautiously entered the blue box before the door opened and the grinding sound happened again as the light on top glowed in time with the sound before the box faded out of existence.
I freaked out. What happened to the blue box that had dad and Mr. Smith? Were they okay? The sound happened again. It sounded far away before the grinding sound grew louder. I ran back to my window and saw that nothing had changed. A few minutes later, my dad and Mr. Smith were walking down the street, talking as if they were old friends. What had just happened?
The next thing I knew, the light turned on, making me flinch which made my right side blossom in pain. I grabbed the handle to the morphine pump and hit the button hard.
"I'm sorry," I heard the voice that belonged to my night-shift nurse.
"It's okay," I muttered groggily as she checked the machines and put a blood pressure cuff on my left arm.
"I need this to go under your tongue."
I opened my mouth for the thermometer, getting used to the routine that happened every six to four hours depending if it was night time or day. Which meant that it was probably one in the morning and in five or so hours, someone else was going to wake me up for the same thing. I was vaguely aware of being put through the routine while I was mostly unconscious before the operation, but nothing more. I knew I was in bad shape when the Doctor had brought me here.
The thermometer beeped after I felt all circulation to my left hand be cut off and the machines beeping in response to the lack of circulation. I had a personal vendetta against the dreaded blood pressure cuff. There had to be a better way to check for blood pressure that didn't involve cutting off one's circulation. The thermometer was removed as I felt my circulation return to my left hand and the beeping subsided. I knew that I was back asleep by the time the nurse left.
I dreamed of something else other than the past. It was fractured at best. The best I managed to piece together was escaping the hospital with the help of the Doctor and turning up on a planet of sentient carnivorous chickens and running for our lives and managing to save our lives by having the biggest barbecue the universe had ever seen. Apparently, the chickens were satisfied by our promise of making their own kind taste much better than we'd ever taste to them. And we had succeeded. It was one odd dream.
I woke up that morning by the surgeon who had operated on me, Dr. Haywood. Apparently, he was some kind of morning bird, walking into my room at six sharp. The lights turned on, making me flinch and I felt like I was reliving the nurse's wake-up call at midnight as I hit the button for my morphine pump.
"How are you feeling?" he asked as he checked the readings on the O2 machine which also read my heart rate.
"Like I can eat a whole turkey," I stated, "and I'm really tender."
"That's to be expected. I'll get it in the system that you can go on a general diet," he stated, "and I'm putting you on pain pills. They should stay in your system longer than the morphine does. It should be better for you that way. I'm going to check your drainage pump now."
I made a show of covering my eyes. After all, who knows what kind of horror flick my whole right side may look like, let alone the fluid that had collected since my operation.
"So what is the drainage pump?" I asked.
"Since you're an inpatient, you got a temporary one that collects leftover fluids from your surgery. Since this is usually an outpatient surgery, it's not used, so consider it further insurance," he stated as I heard liquid being squirted out of something and into what sounded like a plastic container, "and the fluids usually collected is blood so it's not too bad. Yours actually looks pretty good."
"Well, that's good," I stated.
"You should be fine to leave tomorrow," he stated before adding, "that is if you can do three walks for me today."
"I'll try. I don't feel that walking is going to be easy," I stated.
"It never is after that kind of surgery, but I know you'll do fine," the surgeon stated before leaving.
I felt awake enough to peruse the menu for breakfast, knowing it wouldn't probably be until lunch that I'd be in the system saying I could eat solid foods again. There really wasn't much I wanted on the breakfast menu but I was hungry enough. I heard footsteps enter my room again and I was expecting it to be my nurse checking in with me. Instead, I saw two people. One I wasn't really all that surprised to see and another that I swore I was dreaming or seeing a ghost.
"Good morning, Olmstead," the Doctor said almost giddy as he led who I swore looked to be my dad into the hospital room.
"Morning, Doctor. If I hadn't known you were behind this, I would've thought that I was seeing-"
"Now, now, Olmstead. You know the rules about time. Mostly the whole not giving hints about events yet to happen," the Doctor stated, cutting me off.
"Lisa?" my dad, how I had remembered him appearing when I was a little girl, asked.
"Yeah, it's me, dad," I told him moments before he hugged me and I would've made more happy sounds if it wasn't for the fact that I had one day old wounds that were either sealed with stitches or whatever the surgeon had used to seal them up with.
"Are you okay?" my dad asked as I pressed the button for the morphine pump.
"I was in surgery yesterday," I stated with a frown.
"I'm so sorry," my dad said apologetically.
"It's okay," I stated, trying to reassure him.
"What kind of surgery?"
"My gall bladder had to go," I stated, "looks like I got mom's gall bladder, huh?"
"I hope that's all you got from her," my dad said, apologetically, before saying, "I'm really sorry for the stuff that your mom had put you through."
"I know," I stated with a smile, "there's a lot I'd like to tell you but I just can't. But there are a few things I've always wanted to ask but I never got the chance."
"Why can't you ask me? I mean the me in your time," My dad said.
I gave a look at the Doctor, who shrugged.
"I'm...dead, aren't I?" my dad asked with a sad look, "that's why I'm not in this room with you to begin with."
"Yeah," I stated with a frown, "I couldn't keep it from you."
"Can we talk about anything other than death?" the Doctor asked, "Like life. Life's a good topic of discussion."
"So what are you doing with your life now days?" my dad asked.
"I'm going through college. Third quarter in a six quarter program. Halfway there and I can't wait to be free," I stated with a smile, "and I'm doing it all with grants."
"That's good. You don't need debts to follow you around," my dad stated.
"Yeah. I learned better," I stated with a smile.
"So what is it that you wanted to ask me?" he asked, sitting down on the chair next to my bed.
"You told me that my mom's dad is who caused my mom to be the way she was but you only told me that you'd tell me when I'm older," I stated.
"Your grandfather did to her exactly what she did to you," my dad said quietly, "I hope that she'll snap out of it and notice that she had become her father... that she would be better than him and give you a better life...like I've done my best to do."
"She isn't strong like you are, dad," I stated, fighting tears, "and I know that I won't continue the chain of abuse either. It's really unlikely that I'll give you grandkids. I'm just not as comfortable around kids as you are, dad. I never will be."
"It's okay, Lisa. I love you anyways," he stated before turning to the Doctor, "I think I'm ready to go home now."
"I love you too dad," I stated before the two men could leave my hospital room.
I spent a few hours flipping through the channels on cable as I hugged the pillow I had been given to hold against my side to keep pressure on everything. I was sure that it was waterlogged within the first twenty minutes. Just seeing my dad as the man full of life as he had once been when I was a little girl felt like an emotional wound had been inflicted on me just as severe as all of my current physical wounds. But I couldn't mope in bed all day. My surgeon had wanted me to go on walks and I was going to do just that. I pressed the nurse call button and waited.
I didn't wait too long for my morning nurse to walk in with a smile. I smiled back, feeling better after the shock to my system from earlier. I was going to have to do something the next time I see the Doctor and I knew for a fact that it was going to happen eventually. After all, there was still the mess at the college that needed to be done.
"Yes?" the nurse asked.
"Dr. Haywood wants me to do three walks, so I want to get my first one done," I stated before adding, "and I'd like to be able to not flash everyone I walk past."
"That's an easy problem to solve," she stated, holding up a second gown, "we'll just have this one covering your back."
"Good plan," I stated as I shrugged into it the best I could as the nurse moved the machines connected to my O2 meter so I could lean on it while she gave me one last dose of morphine before temporarily disconnecting the morphine pump as I got myself into a sitting position.
"Did I show up at the wrong time?" I heard a familiar voice ask.
I'd say 'speak of the devil' but I had only thought that I'd be seeing him eventually. I wondered just where this incident fell on his own timeline. Of course, time travelers, especially one known as the Doctor, were clearly a lot who avoided anything linear whenever possible. I was definitely wondering if he was allergic to linearity. I pushed that thread aside as I wondered which I wanted to do. I knew that I wanted to hit him for playing with my past as much as he had been, but I wanted to hug him because I understood that he was trying to help me while also doing what he believed was in my best interest. Of course, I couldn't do as much while in view of the nurses. Or anyone else for that matter and I was sure that hugging wasn't going to be anything my wounds were going to allow me to do.
"I'm just going on a walk around the floor," I stated, fully prepared for the walk but had yet to get into a standing position.
"Would you like to help her?" the nurse asked, "all you have to do is keep her from falling."
"Sounds easy enough," the Doctor stated lightly, shooting me a smirk as the nurse left.
"You're lucky that I'm not healed enough to do what I was planning to do once I saw you again," I stated lightly as I gathered my strength to stand for the first time since my operation.
"Here," he said, offering his hand.
I grabbed onto his hand and used it to help myself into what I felt was barely a passing resemblance to a standing position. I was hunched over, leaning to my left and I felt like I was either going to die from the pain of it or that I was going to crumble to the floor. I felt that I was being kept in my standing position by the hand I held on to as I bit back cries of pain.
"Let's get going," I said, grabbing the wheeled machines connected to my O2 meter and using it as a second crutch to keep me standing.
"Are you sure?" he asked, clearly concerned.
"My surgeon wanted me to go on three walks and I'm not going to ignore what he says I should do," I stated, hearing the pain in my own voice as I inched towards the door like a half-paralyzed slug, "and the sooner it gets done, the better."
We walked in mostly silence. Why I said mostly silence was that I couldn't keep all my pained sounds to myself. I know I whimpered a lot and whined, even to my own chagrin. To my own ears, I sounded like a big baby. I was stronger than this. I knew that it took more than just a little surgery to turn me into a big, whimpering child. I took the smaller loop, feeling like I couldn't take the longer one yet as I swore I walked like I should be in the geriatric ward rather than the surgery ward.
"You're doing good," he said in way of encouragement.
"Yeah, good enough to run last in a geriatric race," I muttered sarcastically, bitterness evident in my tone.
"You'll be back to normal in no time at all," he stated.
"Yeah, to you," I muttered, "just how long has it been for you since you dropped me off?"
"A day or so?" he replied, sounding not entirely sure himself, "but everything's settled at college. You should watch the news."
I glanced at him by the grin he wore on his face as he told me that bit about seeing the news before I sighed in resignation. It was times just like this that I was entirely convinced that he was just one big kid. Then I wondered if he traveled with others just because he needed babysitters for himself. It was a train of thought that led to entertaining mental images.
"So you were just checking on me to say good-bye until next time, huh?" I asked, frowning as I felt just a little sad, knowing that it could be decades until I would see him again.
"You're in no shape to go on adventures yet," he stated evenly.
"Well, duh. I did just went through surgery yesterday. I just felt that it seemed that you were leaving my life for an uncertain amount of time," I stated, "I mean, you cleaned up the mess at the college which was entirely why we had bumped into each other this second time."
"I thought that since we're friends and all, that once you're healed, you can go back to traveling with me," he stated, his voice almost sounding hopeful.
"And what was that about my being so likely to be a murdering lunatic?" I asked him, giving him a glance.
"Even if that had been the case years ago, you may have gotten past that," he stated.
"I felt that I had been pushed to my limits and I didn't see a third option. Sides, with me being that unhinged, I'm sure that was why they up and decided to leave rather than testing just how unhinged I really was at that point," I stated with a frown as we had reached my hospital room and I collapsed on my bed, exhausted from the effort that was a small walk.
"And I know that," he stated as I pressed the nurse call button to get a nurse to help me get myself situated back on the bed.
"So it's settled then," I stated, getting him to nod at me.
"I'll be checking in on you in a few weeks to see how you're doing," he stated.
"By then, I'll prolly be at my apartment," I stated.
"I know," he stated before he left in time to avoid the nurse who helped me back into my bed and reconnect me to my oxygen and the morphine pump.