A Five-Minute Life

“Are you okay?”

“I ruined the last painting I made… Because of him. He was making me do things. I couldn’t remember but I knew. I know that doesn’t make sense…”

“It does,” I said. “I get it.”

“You did,” she said, looking at me. “You knew what I was trying to say when I slashed my New York painting with black. I ruined it because he was ruining me.”

Her voice broke on the last words, and without thinking, I put my arms around her. She clung to me a moment, before pushing herself away and wiping her eyes.

“No more crying,” she said. “I don’t want to be inside anymore. I don’t want to be here, anymore. Inside these walls.”

“Come on,” I said. “Let’s go for a walk.”

“On the grounds? With the fences hidden just out of sight? Sure, why not?”

But she went and once outside in the fresh air and sunshine, she heaved a sigh.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you, Jimmy. I’m stir crazy. I feel like I could run a marathon, but they still got me on a hamster wheel.”

“It’s early yet,” I said. “Give them time. They need to make sure you’re okay.”

“I know. I’m not ungrateful, just ready to move on.” She peered up at me. “What about you? Did you ever want to do something besides work at a sanitarium?”

I started to shrug but told her the truth instead. “I wanted to be a speech therapist for kids.”

She stopped walking, her lips parted in surprise. “That’s brilliant. Why not do that?”

“College means more talking. It was hard enough to finish high school.”

Her brows furrowed. “Wait, I remember now. You were bullied.” Her expression hardened. “I hate that. I hate they did that to you. But you can’t give up on your dreams, Jimmy. I know that sounds super after-school-special, but it’s true.”

“A stutterer helping stuttering kids?”

“A stutter makes you perfect for the job. Those kids need to see someone who’s just like them. Someone who had it tough too but made it through.”

We came to the bench we’d sat on the other day. The one that faced the north facade of Blue Ridge and the surrounding forest beyond.

“You don’t know how amazing you are, Jimmy, because no one’s told you.” I stiffened, but she put her hand on my arm. “It’s not pity, okay? Just the facts. You’ve helped me more than anyone. I don’t just mean with the painting and the music. I mean… that night.”

She faced forward. Her voice was shaky, but she didn’t crumble.

“Earlier today, Rita asked me if I wanted to talk about him and I said no. But I guess today’s the day, after all.”

“I’m here,” I said.

She inhaled and let out a ragged breath.

“I know I talked a lot about Antony and Cleopatra. Constantly. I even told people I was an Egyptologist of all things. But of course, I wasn’t. I love Egypt and its history and the pyramids. Painting them was my forte before the accident. But after, I needed a story. I think it was the only way I knew to keep from going crazy. To borrow Cleopatra’s history since I had none.”

“It makes perfect sense.”

She nodded and smiled gratefully. “When Brett started coming at night, he told me there was no one I could call for help. Just him and me.”

“He lied,” I said in a low voice full of grit for not realizing what he’d been doing sooner. “He lied to make you feel helpless.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “So I borrowed Cleopatra’s story. Marc Antony was dead, and she was so alone. She put her hand in the snake’s basket. And so did I. But I wasn’t alone, was I?”

I shook my head. “No, Thea.”