A Five-Minute Life

“I don’t think that’s true,” I said.

“No? I’m the only person she remembers by name. I’m the only link from her past she’s been able to hold on to. Me and her art.” Delia sniffed and dabbed the corner of her eye with a napkin. “I’m afraid if she paints, it will hurt more than it helps. I’m afraid one day she’ll have a seizure—a final seizure—and then she’ll be gone too.”

Now I felt like shit for not trying to see her point of view. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Sorry you acted without thinking? Or that you were thinking with another part of your anatomy?”

“Never,” I said in a low voice. “I would never.”

“And I have no choice but to believe you,” Delia said, setting down her napkin. “I have to go.”

She shouldered her purse and began to rise.

Speak now or forever hold your peace.

“Ms. Hughes, I think Thea has seizures when she sees you because she remembers her life with you.”

“No,” Delia said. “She can’t.”

“I think she does,” I said as gently as possible. “In her own way.”

Delia stared, frozen, and her hard eyes began to shine. “I… I don’t want her to suffer. I can’t imagine she suffers. If I thought that…” She straightened. “Her neuropsychologist should know whatever you think you know. He makes her treatment plan. He says keeping her calm is right for her.”

“What about doing things that give her a chance?”

“A chance at what?”

“At life.”

“What life?” Delia cried. “She has no life, but she’s alive. And she’s all I have left.” She sneered now. “What do you know about it? You’re an orderly. Go mop a floor and leave my sister alone.”

She stormed out, heels clopping, leaving me with a broom in my hand and an empty dining room to clean up.

Chapter 12

Jim

The bar was nearly empty that night. The stage dark but for a cone of light shining down on a guy in jeans and a plaid shirt, an acoustic guitar on his lap. Thankfully, the overly welcoming waitress I met when I first came here wasn’t working. Unbothered, I nursed a beer and listened to the guy make his way through covers of modern songs. The listless crowd eked out a clap or two at the end of each tune.

But at least he’s up there.

I had no aspirations to be a singer. I wanted to help kids who stuttered not to have the shitty childhood I had. Eventually, I’d have to put myself out in the world. Onstage, not in the audience.

I’d put myself out there for Thea. Taking a stand for something and then defending it out loud felt good. Watching Thea light up as she painted a masterpiece was worth everyone at Blue Ridge hearing my stutter. The desire to make her better was growing stronger than the pain and humiliation I might face because of it.

And that’s how it might be if you go back to school and get a speech therapy license to help those kids.

“Thanks, you’ve been a great crowd,” the guy said. “I’m going to close with a favorite called ‘I Will Follow You into the Dark.’”

I drained my beer and pushed my chair back to go when the song’s lyrics grabbed my attention. A man telling his love he’d follow her into the dark, but it was nothing to be sad about. They’d go together, hand in hand.

I went home and pulled up “I Will Follow You into the Dark” by Death Cab for Cutie on my phone. It was a simple song—but powerful. I set it on repeat and sat with my guitar, listening for the chord changes. I had to put it in a lower octave for my vocal range, but in an hour, I had mastered it.

For Thea.

Lately, everything in my life was for her. To try to help her as much as she was helping me.

Her happiness, in however small of increments it might come, was all that mattered.