She stands up and rubs the top of my head, placing a soft kiss on my forehead. Uncle Vinny shakes my left hand and leads her out of the room. Letting out a deep sigh, I reach for the remote and turn on the TV to watch today’s football game.
Two hours later, one of the other nurses comes in with my dinner. “Here you go Roman. On the menu for today is sliced turkey with steamed broccoli, mashed potatoes, and, of course, jello.” She places the dinner on the serving tray and scoots it over to me. She pushes the button on the mechanical bed and slowly raises it so I am able to reach my plate.
She offers, “I also have apple juice, if you want that, or milk.”
“No, thanks. I’ll just have water.”
She pours a fresh glass of water and hands me a napkin. “Anything else I can get for you?”
I shake my head. “Nope, I’m good.”
She smiles. “Very well. Happy Thanksgiving.”
I watch as she exits the room and shuts the door behind her. I pick up the fork and steadily try to eat with my left hand. Having an injured right hand sucks. I feel handicapped. With the shaky fork, I stab the broccoli and insert it into my mouth. God, it’s awful. No flavor whatsoever. Forcing myself to swallow it, I scoop some potatoes. Now you can’t mess these up. As the potatoes roll onto my tongue, I have the sudden urge to spit them out. Apparently I was wrong. I don’t even bother trying the turkey, as it just looks gross.
I never saw myself as a picky eater. I’ve always eaten whatever my aunt made for dinner, but I guess that’s the issue at hand. When you’ve had Aunt Maggie’s cooking, nothing will ever come close to how delicious and scrumptious her food is. She could make something disgusting like cow tongue and I’d probably eat it. Come to think of it, I’ve never really enjoyed anyone else’s cooking besides hers. There were times when one of the women I dated would cook for me, and it’d be pleasant, but I never fawned over a meal.
I place the fork back on the tray and push it away from the bed. It’s been days since I ate an actual meal and it’s starting to piss me off. God, I would kill for some real food right now. My stomach growls as my daydream of being at home with the family, eating a nice hearty meal comes to mind: the roasted pork in the center of the table, Aunt Maggie’s homemade lasagna, and Uncle Vinny’s vegetable medley.
I lower the volume on the TV and click the button to dim the lights in the room. Glancing at the night sky, I stare out and hope that Aunt Maggie and Uncle Vinny are enjoying themselves in Connecticut. I have the urge to call them, but decide not to. In a way, I feel it’ll make things worse; she’ll feel bad and make Uncle Vinny drive back down here.
It’s been five days since I was admitted. A few of the fire crewmembers, including Carter and Captain, have come to visit. They all called me either a badass or a dumbass when it came to discussing the fire and the collapse. Carter stayed longer than anyone and told me everything that happened once he caught the boy. Eventually, we found out that the child’s father returned from Japan and they ended up moving to New Jersey.
Dr. Ferguson says I’m making great progress. The burns are still in bad shape, but are slowly healing. My spinal injury is aligning well and I’m starting to get more control of my legs. Yesterday, I was able to slide my left leg off the bed and lift it back up. I was ecstatic, practically crying as the doc observed the event. Overall, he expressed good news all around. We just have to wait for the burns to heal and then I’ll be off to physical therapy.
The constant pain still bothers me and sometimes I’m able to ignore it, but some days it’s worse and I just want to rip my skin off. There are times when I feel I am on fire and I can feel the blisters. Thinking about the pain somehow brings it to focus and my nerves go into shock again. Why did I start thinking? Ah hell.
Inhaling and exhaling, I breathe through the pain, trying to focus on something else. The football game is over and there’s no way I’m watching reality TV so I flip the channels, trying to find something that’ll distract me from the agonizing pain. I land on a family channel and chuckle as Charlie Brown plays on the screen. Who doesn’t love Charlie Brown?
Raising the volume, I lower the bed to the right angle where I’m able to see the TV perfectly. I watch as Charlie and his friends get into their usual pickles. Laughing along, a soft knock comes from the door and it slowly opens. My eyes expand as I witness Melanie walk in the door. She’s not wearing her scrubs and still has on her coat and scarf, which are covered with snowflakes.
She shuts the door behind her and removes her coat, settling it on one of the chairs. She places a white paper bag on the coat and steps toward me with a smile on her face. I mute the TV as she stalks closer.
I stop her before she has the chance to speak. “What are you doing here?”
Her soft voice whispers, “I thought I’d stop by and see how you’re doing.”
With a stern voice I respond, “Well, I’m here, still in the hospital.”
She looks toward the ground for a second and huffs before returning her eye contact. “I wanted to tell you that I…I remember.”
A volt of electricity flows through my body, but I burry it deep.
I keep my face stern. “Remember what?”
“Re-remember when I used to come into the bakery all the time in high school and order the éclairs?”
I play dumb. “Hmm, lot’s of people ordered éclairs. I don’t recall seeing you.”
“Well, there was one time that it poured and I got stuck in the rain so I ran inside the shop. You were studying for an exam and you stayed with me until my boyfriend came.”
That moment is one of the greatest memories I’ve cherished throughout the years and to hear her tell me she remembers it makes my heartbeat skip once, twice, three times. I want to reach out to her and tell her how I’ve wanted to see her a million times since then, but I fight the urge.
I look away. “Yeah, I remember now. Small world.”
“Yes. Yes it is.”
The sound of her voice soothes my soul but at the same time aggravates me. I don’t want her here, seeing me like this, feeling pity. She steps closer as I bark out, “Is there a specific reason you’re here?”