Paradevo's Devotee Stories

Elevator Guy Update

2012-03-03T15:30:00.001-08:00

So it's time for the weekend update of The Elevator Guy:

Chapter 14

Hopefully everyone is okay with the long build up till the sexy parts.

The Video Update

2012-03-01T19:59:00.001-08:00

The Video story has been updated for any of those interested. It's a pretty long update. Please let me know what you all think, because I love feedback!

Chapter 5

Also, the entire story in case anyone is interested:

The Video

Elevator Guy update!

2012-02-26T09:59:00.003-08:00

Thank you so much everyone for all the comments!! It really helps inspire me to know people are reading. So on that note, here's an update:

Lucky Chapter 13

2012-02-23T21:48:00.003-08:00

Hi everyone!

So I completely revamped chapter four and the new version is up. Let me know what you think!

Chapter 4

Here's the whole story if anyone's interested:

The Video

Another Elevator Guy update

2012-02-19T13:12:00.000-08:00

Weekly update of The Elevator Guy today. Lots of revelations.

Chapter 12

And because someone just asked me where it was, the whole story is here:

The Elevator Guy

Swimming to the Surface

2012-02-19T11:30:00.000-08:00

Story by Jane Wheeler

I keep thinking that “lap swim” means the lifeguards willset up enough lanes for, you know, lap swimmers. On the rare days I show up atthe Y, a birthday party or a Mommy and Me class usually takes up most of thepool, leaving only two lanes on the side. But it’s November, and no outdoorpool has more than three inches of leaf-strewn water, so back to the tank I go.

I pad around the side of the pool. As usual, the deck iscovered with swimmer detritus: multicolored noodles, stacks of kickboards.Towels drape haphazardly from the benches, falling onto the floor every timesomeone brushes past.

Today, only a few people join me in those side lanes. Anolder woman does breaststroke at a glacial pace, wearing a rubber cap despitenever bringing her head near the waterline. At the far end of the pool, a guyin a Speedo churns through the other lane with a pullbuoy between his legs.Yeah, that’s more my speed. He clearly has the discipline to stay on his sideof the lane, so I slide in and soon match his pace. I barely notice the rush ofwater when we pass in the middle.

20 minutes later, I’m not so lucky. The first cannonballbarely misses me, but the wake reverberates off of the wall just before thesecond splash. I push as fast as I can away from the birthday party. When Isurface in the shallow end, I come up face to face with my lanemate.

Or should I say face to chest. Gorgeous, sculpted chest.

He must be well over six feet, with the most solid arms I’veever seen. This guy is BUILT. As he rests against the corner, his broadshoulders give way to a long yet compact body that tapers down into the water.A light sprinkling of hair across his torso darkens below his navel,disappearing into his trunks.

I manage to take my eyes off his treasure trail and squintback down the lane at the growing line of jumpers. “There’s two of us and adozen of them. Think we can take ‘em?”

He smiles broadly, an easy, relaxed grin. “I hate to say it,but you may be on your own.”

I gasp in mock horror. “Surely you’d stand up for a woman’shonor!” One built like an Amazon, but you take what you can get.

“Oh, I’ve been known to be chivalrous on occasion, butexperience tells me I should keep my distance,” he says, grimacing. “I’ve foundthat if you don’t get here before 11, the birthday parties won’t let you finishout a set for the next two hours.” He shrugs. “What can I say? A man getspruny.”

I like this guy. “So you actually do come here often? It’snot just a cheesy pickup line?”

“Every day I can. You?”

“Eh, it’s not my first choice, but I have to say that it’slooking better by the minute.” I stick out my hand. “I’m Julia – Jules.”

“Jeff.” His palm is calloused and strong, his hand as squareand capable as the rest of him. Mmm.

“You want to blow this popsicle stand? My willpower ispretty easy to dislodge…” I kind of wish I hadn’t said that.

Jeff laughs again, with only the slightest hint of a tease.“Love to, but I’ve got a bit to go, and I’d better finish while I can.” Hegestures toward a brief lull in the deep end. “Rain check?”

I smile. “I’ll hold you to it.”

“Deal.”

I climb out of the pool, hoping in the back of my head thathe likes what he sees. Of course, I immediately trip on one of the many… thingslittering the pool deck. I reach to pick it up, move it out of the way, and myhand closes around a metal pole.

It feels strangely light. I look down and find myselfholding a titanium crutch with a sleek molded cuff attached to one end.

Someone’s here.

How can I describe the feelings I get? It took me years toadmit that I’d always been attracted to the unnatural restrictions, thedragging legs. There’s something about knowing that the braces that would slowdown most people make it possible for others to stand upright.

To say nothing of the crutches that actually help them move.God, there’s nothing sexier than the dichotomy of weak lower limbs pulled alongby proud, strong arms slipped into metal crutches. Rigid, transhuman extensionsof the body; gleaming lines connecting the user to the earth with every step.The crooked becomes straight.

They’re few and far between these days; most people preferwheelchairs. I don’t blame them, with the space-age look and ease of use. Don’tget me wrong; I like a good wheeler. Or, at least, I think I would – I’ve neveractually dated one.

But every time I’ve rubbed one out, taken a vibrator to mydripping clit, the thought of taut forearms in steel cuffs and tight grips oncrutch handles got me wet in the first place.

As I stare stupidly at the ground, I hear an exasperatednoise. I jerk my head up, and Jeff’s at the edge of the pool, elbows resting onthe deck. “Shit, I’m sorry,” he says, finally. “I keep trying to put themsomewhere out of the way, but… well, they wouldn’t be that useful, then, wouldthey?” He smiles again, but this time he can’t quite hide the wariness in hisexpression.

They’re his.

HIS.

I might pass out.

“Could you just lean them up between those benches?” Jeffsays. I nod and grab the other one, turning my back so he can’t see my fingersrun along the cold metal. I place them side by side, resting against the wallfor me to stare at until he pulls himself out of the water, across the deck, ontothe bench, using just those strong arms.

There’s no way in hell I’d miss that show.

“Looks like that hot tub’s cleared out,” I hear myself say.“Maybe I’ll make a detour.”

“God, that does sound good. If I got in, though, there’s noway I’d finish out this set, kids or no kids. Cold water keeps me honest.Mostly.” Did Jeff wink at me, or just blink away a stray drop? “I’ll try not tomake such a mess next time.” He lowers his goggles and bobs below the surface,shooting towards the deep end before I can say goodbye.

I don’t even remember getting into the hot tub, but I knowthe sight I’m waiting for will imprint itself in my memory. I’ve filed all ofthese moments into their own special area. Some have been there since before Iknew what to do with my thoughts.

Walking down the toothpaste aisle at the drug store, I oncefound a man examining a box he held in one hand. The crutch hung off his arm,ready for him to lower it to the floor and grip it again as he dragged hisbraced legs somewhere else. I’ve feasted on that one for years.

This one… this one will be a banquet.

Lost in my thoughts, I almost miss it, but the moment comesquickly. When I see Jeff return to the spot where we last spoke, my handunconsciously slips under my suit. It’s tight, but I manage to shift it enoughto give me some room to maneuver. Over the fabric, I press my fingers into myclit, enjoying the slow, controlled pressure and the friction from the folds.

He takes his time, pushing his goggles up and wiping the moisturefrom his face. A guard walks by and they chat with easy familiarity as he hangson the side. Come on, come on. I letmy legs float, weightless, imagining if his feel the same way.

Finally, he takes a last quick dunk before propellinghimself out of the water. No wonder his forearms are so strong; they’ve beencarrying that massive body around on crutches for God knows how long. He flips himselfaround, landing in a sitting position.

At first glance, his legs look thin but fairly normal. As hescoots backwards toward the bench, they seem to have enough tone to not floptoo much, but the lack of muscles compared to his upper body is startling.

When he reaches the bench, he pushes himself up from behindand lands on the seat. He towels himself off, lifting his feet with his handsas he dries. Then he stuffs his gear into a duffel bag and grabs the crutches,putting one hand through a cuff and pushing himself up. Once he finds hisbalance on those thin legs, he reaches for the bag and drapes the strap overhis shoulders, then transfers the second crutch to his other hand and gripsboth handles tightly.

I watch, transfixed, as he navigates the pool deck. The viewfrom behind is magnificent. When he plants his crutch tips on the deck, themuscles on his bare, wet back ripple as he lifts his body above the ground. Heswings his legs between the crutches, one leg just a bit behind the other. Ashe lifts the crutches he balances, unsupported, for just a moment. Then thecrutches come down again, tendons tense on his forearms, as he finds security andmoves forward once more. The effect is smooth yet powerful, a complex motionmade to look easy by years of practice.

And just like that, he’s gone.

To be continued...

The Video Update

2012-02-15T17:07:00.001-08:00

Chapter 4

Sorry it's long overdue. And sorry it's super long. I had no idea where I was going with this for a while. It wasn't forgotten, I think about it almost everyday! I just am not sure where it's going...although I think I have a little bit better of an idea now.

Some bits might seem random, but they'll tie in later.

As always, constructive criticism is always welcomed.

And just a little FYI: I'm giving myself a time limit that I must post something within. I'm thinking two weeks. The problem is that I write and then immediately post, instead of writing a ton and then posting bit by bit...

Anyways, hope you all enjoy :)

New Update to the Elevator Guy

2012-02-11T18:24:00.000-08:00

Weekly update here:

Chapter 11

Paradox the book - Available on Kindle

2012-02-06T12:58:00.000-08:00

The Paradox book, gathered from authors at Paradevo, is now available in eBook.

And it will even be available for FREE Tuesday February 7 to Saturday February 11th! After that it will return to the price of $2.99 (Pretty awesome deal for 400 pages of stories!)

Description from Amazon:

"A diverse collection of romantic short stories featuring men with disabilities from a variety of dev authors such as Annabelle Costa, Ruth Madison, Amy Ahn, and Sakura Sakuran. Including an introduction by the famed reviewer, DevoGirl.

Tokyo Story - Sumiko has feelings for her friend Hiroki, a congenital amputee, but can their friendship develop into something more?

Knight in Shining Metal - After an unsuccessful night out on the town, paraplegic Ricky meets an unexpected woman and learns there’s more than one kind of damsel in distress

The Best Friend - Two friends: one gorgeous and the other cute, kind, but in a wheelchair. Libby is so busy pursuing the first, will she ever realize the feelings she has for the other are more than just friendship?

The Surgeon - Joel was a promising surgeon with a career on the rise when an accident left him a low-level quad with limited use of his hands. His confidence shattered, he can't see the real motives of the two women who are interested in him.

...and more.

140K words (approximately 400 pages)."

Update The Elevator Guy

2012-02-06T04:46:00.000-08:00

A day late due to the Superbowl....

Chapter 10

Tokyo Story

2012-02-04T04:24:00.000-08:00

Story by Sakura Sakuran

Hiroki leaned across the table at Foresta, pushing aside the empty coffee cups. “Hey Sumiko,” he said, grinning but looking a bit nervous, “Let’s take a trip down to Izu.”

Sumiko felt a little flutter of joy in her stomach, but she just nodded happily. “Ok.”

She had met him only a few months before, in the spring, when they were both starting their senior year at Hayata University. She was in the International division, and he was in the Department of Literature, so their paths might never have crossed, but the first weekend of the new school year, the film club had thrown a party to attract new members, and he had come along.

Sumiko could not forget the moment she first laid eyes on him. A commotion by the door had caught her eye, then the crowd sort of parted and she saw a guy in a wheelchair, pushing carefully through the crowd, trying not to hit anyone. Sumiko knew it was rude to stare, but she couldn’t take her eyes off him. He was so different from anyone she had ever met before. The wheelchair had foot plates, but no feet rested on them. He seemed to have no legs at all, except one longish, misshapen stump that curved around his lower body, like he was sitting cross-legged. His right arm ended just below the elbow, tapered off to a point. His left arm was the normal length, but on his left hand, he had only three fingers. Like a cartoon character, she thought absurdly. His appearance was shocking; at first she didn’t even want to look, yet he was the most fascinating, beautiful boy she had ever seen. His arms and shoulders were taut and muscular, wiry but bulging in the biceps. His face was long and sophisticated, with a high nose and large, deep-set, wide eyes with double eyelids. His skin was elegantly pale, and his hair was longish and cut so that it looked slightly wavy. Just then, she saw him say something and grin up a friend. His front teeth were slightly crooked, which gave him a cheerful, carefree kind of look. Even his wheelchair was different from the ones she had seen in pictures and on TV. It was so streamlined and sporty. There were no handles, and the backrest was low. It was painted red and white, and somehow it reminded her more of a mountain bike than a wheelchair.

Sumiko was riveted. She hardly even noticed her friends come in, barely greeted them. She had always thought of her life as ordinary. She came from an ordinary family in Chiba. Her father was a salaryman, and her mother was a housewife. She had studied hard and gotten into a good school, but beyond that she didn’t have any plans. She had always felt, deep inside, beneath the ordinary exterior, that she was somehow different. She did all the right things, had ordinary friends, but secretly, she knew she wasn’t like them, although she would never have said so. She knew she was pretty enough, because boys were always asking her out, but after one or two dates she would lose interest. In high school, then college it was the same. Her friends teased her, and she got a reputation for being cold, but those regular boys just couldn’t hold her interest.

A fascination with foreign films had lead her to join the film club, to major in French, then to study abroad in Paris for a semester the previous year. She had enjoyed her time there, but had come home much the same as she had been before. Wherever she was, she found herself wishing she were somewhere else.

But now she felt as if the ground were slipping, sliding away under her feet, as a desire more powerful than any she had ever felt before gripped her. Normally she was rather shy and reserved, but before she knew what was happening, her feet were, as if on their own, taking her in his direction. It was a party, after all. The whole purpose was for people to meet each other, right?

He was sitting off to one side, drinking beer from a plastic cup. She waited until the person he was talking to wandered off, then boldly walked up and introduced herself.

“Hello,” she said rather formally. “I’m Sumiko. Welcome to the film club.” She bowed awkwardly.

He repeated the same stiff little bow, and said, “I’m Hiroki, nice to meet you.” He gave her a crooked grin. “Sumiko, that’s a nice name.”

“Oh no, it’s terribly old-fashioned. It sounds so dark,” she said, blushing hotly. She flailed around for something to keep the conversation going. “Did you come here with a friend?” she asked.

“Yeah, I came with those guys,” he pointed with his chin to a group of clean-cut looking seniors. “I’m friends with Yamada.”

“Oh, you mean the club president? Are you thinking of joining? But you’re a senior, too, right?” Sumiko felt herself starting to babble.

Hiroki grinned at her again. “No, it’s too late to join, I’m just here as a guest. But do you think I could come to some of your screenings? I really like those foreign movies you show, like those old French ones from the 60s.”

“Really?” Sumiko squeaked. “Me too!” That had been the start. He came to all their screenings, and afterwards they would linger outside under the pine trees in the dark, deserted campus, discussing the films. Soon they started meeting in the afternoons after classes at Foresta, the one wheelchair accessible café near campus and the train station. Sumiko had never noticed before, but now she realized that all the tiny cafes and restaurants by campus were either up or down stairs, or were too narrow, or only had chairs bolted to the floor by a counter.

“So you’ve never eaten at any of them?” she asked.

Hiroki shook his head. “It’s so annoying. You know in other countries, there are laws about universal access, but in Japan everything is so cramped.”

“Well you’re not missing anything,” Sumiko replied. “Those restaurants around here are all terrible.” They both laughed. He was so easy to be around. She had been so nervous at first that she might say the wrong thing and offend him, but he was always light-hearted and quick to joke around, even about his disability.

One time, thinking it might be nice to try someplace new, Sumiko suggested they go to Takadanobaba, the bigger train station, where there were a lot more restaurants and shops. She walked there frequently, but somehow she had never noticed what a steep hill it was from campus to the station. As she watched Hiroki struggling to push up the hill, she felt intensely guilty. Because his right arm was so much shorter than his left, he had to lean over to the right to push, and she suddenly realized what a tiring, inefficient position it was. As she trudged slowly up the hill behind him, she was in an agony of indecision. Should she offer to push him? But his chair didn’t have any handles, and she was afraid of making him angry by offering unwanted help. By the time they reached the top of the hill, he was red-faced and sweating, although it was cool day in early spring. Worst of all, when they got there, the restaurants were no more accessible than the ones right next to campus, and they ended up in a cheap café almost exactly the same as Foresta.

“I’m sorry,” said Sumiko as she sat down across from him. “This was a mistake, I shouldn’t have suggested it.”

Hiroki shrugged. “It’s ok. I should have asked you for help, but I didn’t want you to think I’m lazy.”

“What?” Sumiko exclaimed. “Don’t tell me you did that because you were trying to impress me?” She had expected him to make a joke, but for once he just blushed and looked away. Was he trying to impress her? Sumiko buried her face in her menu to hide her embarrassment. After that, they stuck to the same old place by campus.

Hiroki also had a huge collection of DVDs at his apartment, and soon he was inviting her over to watch them in the evenings. He lived near the Hayata campus, on the first floor of a decaying old concrete block apartment building.

“The rent’s cheapest on the first floor anyway,” he said with a grin. “I guess everyone wants to live upstairs, even though there’s no elevator.”

The first time she went to his apartment, she was surprised to see him stop in the genkan, put on his brakes, then turn around and wiggle down out of his wheelchair on his stomach. The apartment was quite large by Tokyo standards, although rather old. The entry faced directly into a wide kitchen, which was flanked on either side by two Japanese-style rooms with tatami mats and sliding doors. The six-mat room he seemed to use as a bedroom, and the eight-mat room was set up as a study, with a low table, computer, and a TV resting on a bookcase laid on its side, which was crammed with DVDS. There were books and more DVDs lined up all around the walls. Sumiko realized that except for a few step-stools set in strategic locations, everything was arranged at floor-level. She had not imagined him out of his chair before, and now she was amazed to watch him moving around so easily without it. He stood easily on the stump of his right leg, while the left one, which was longer, curved around for balance. He usually left it bare, and now she saw why. He swung himself forward easily on his left hand, moving swiftly across the kitchen, as she struggled to take off her shoes.

He turned and gave her a mischievous grin. “Surprised?” he asked. She just nodded, unsure what to say. She wanted to tell him that she thought he was so graceful, but she was afraid he might think that was girly.

“So you don’t use the wheelchair inside at all?” she asked.

He shook his head. “It would damage the tatami. Besides, when I was a kid, I got around like this all the time. I hardly used the chair at all. My old lady used to stick me in the kiddy seat on the back of her bike and take off, really fast. I must have looked funny, hanging on for dear life with just one hand.” He shook his head at the memory. “Do you want something to drink?” he asked, a bit formally.

“Sure,” she said, and watched, still fascinated, as he pulled some glasses out of the bottom cabinets. She would later discover the top cabinets were all empty. He filled the glasses with cold green tea from the refrigerator, and set them on a tray along with some senbei rice crackers in plastic packs. Then he lifted the tray, balancing it carefully between his left hand and right arm, and walked to the study. It was a slow, awkward sort of walk, rocking from side to side and sort of pulling himself forward with his left leg, but he didn’t spill any of the tea.

Sumiko quickly sat down across from him and helped herself to some senbei. “You’re so formal!” she exclaimed. “I feel like I’m visiting someone’s grandmother!”

Hiroko laughed. “My old lady was really strict about guests and things like that. I guess she didn’t want me to make excuses for bad behavior.”

“Your mom sounds really tough,” she said.

“Yeah, she’s totally no-nonsense about everything,” he said. “When people would stare at me or say something rude, she would just look them up and down and say, ‘What have you got to be so proud of?’” They laughed.

“So you live by yourself?” Sumiko asked. She knew his parents lived just outside the city, in Tachikawa, so she had been a little surprised that he didn’t live at home.

“Yeah,” he said. “When I was in high school, I couldn’t wait to live on my own, to prove I could be independent. At first I did everything myself here, but now I have a cleaning lady come in once a week to do all the laundry and vacuuming and air out the futons and everything. I did it myself for a while, but it was a big pain, and I realized even regular people don’t do that if they don’t have to.” Sumiko laughed.

After that, Sumiko went to his place regularly to watch movies. They would get bento box dinners from the Family Mart down the street, and watch French films, sometimes two in a row. But she was always careful to leave well before the last train home. She didn’t want to seem forward, and the thought of sleeping over when they hadn’t so much as kissed made her nervous.

Her favorite film was Belle de Jour. Catherine Deneuve was so beautiful, so sophisticated, but it was more than that. She had a secret. A separate life, that no one else knew about. That scene near the end, when she leaned over her husband, looked at him so tenderly, it gave her chills. They watched it over and over, with Sumiko sometimes reciting the lines in French.

“So when you were in Paris, did you go out to cafes and pretend to be Catherine Deneuve?” Hiroki teased her.

Sumiko laughed. “Oh yes, I was just like her!” But the truth was, she had felt mousy and slight, with her plain soy-sauce face, compared to the buxom, charismatic Parisian women. It was because of these films she had gone to Paris, but being there only seemed to emphasize the gulf between herself and the fantasy world she saw in them.

As the semester wore on, Sumiko spent more and more time with Hiroki, and her friends started to notice. She wanted them to be happy for her, and she wanted to share with them how she felt about him, but right away she could tell it was impossible. The look on their faces when they saw her with him said it all. Her friend Eri even took her aside and asked point-blank why she was with him.

To be continued....

The rest of Tokyo Story will not be printed here, but is available in the book Paradox, now on Amazon and Lulu.

Update

2012-01-29T06:23:00.001-08:00

An update to The Elevator Guy is here:

Chapter 9

Update of Blue Skies

2012-01-27T16:48:00.000-08:00

Tab has posted an update to her story here:

Part 2

You can access the entire story by clicking on Blue Skies on the sidebar or going here:

Blue Skies

Any problems?

2012-01-22T14:56:00.000-08:00

I've received an email saying that someone was having problems accessing stories, namely Chapter 7 and Chapter 8 of Bethany's The Elevator Guy.

Please comment if you're having issues accessing the links in Bethany's update post or my links above.

Update

2012-01-22T05:14:00.001-08:00

OK, I promised a weekend update of The Elevator Guy and here it is:

Chapter 8

Elevator Guy Update lalala

2012-01-15T14:30:00.000-08:00

Without further ado:

Chapter 7

I'm getting lazy... do I need to still keep posting the link to the whole story?

Mid week update

2012-01-11T19:02:00.000-08:00

I had a little free time, so...

Chapter 6

Huge monster update!

2012-01-07T12:17:00.000-08:00

OK, I just wrote a LOT. So this is a big, big, monster update:

Chapter 5

And the whole story from the beginning:

The Elevator Guy

Elevator Guy update

2012-01-03T19:31:00.000-08:00

In answer to a question someone asked on my last update, this story is actually based on a real elevator guy at a hospital where I worked. So they do actually exist, although I always thought his job was a little superfluous. There was no real love affair between us though, and actually, I don't think he liked me all that much after I forgot one day and pressed the button myself.

Anyway, an update here:

http://paradevostories.blogspot.com/2011/12/elevator-guy-chapter-4.html

And the whole story here:
http://paradevostories.blogspot.com/search/label/The%20Elevator%20Guy

Post-xmas update

2011-12-26T11:33:00.000-08:00

Hi all, I made another update to The Elevator Guy. It just occurred to me though that perhaps I should give a brief little blurb about the story for those not already reading it:

Medical student Chloe Ross finds herself increasingly attracted to the boy who runs the elevators at her school. But while Chloe notices that he walks with a cane and a pronounced limp, she has no idea this is only the tip of the iceberg.

Chapter 3

And the story from the beginning:

The Elevator Guy

Update to The Elevator Guy

2011-12-17T13:32:00.000-08:00

OK, as promised, here's my weekly update to the new story:

Chapter 2

And for those of you who missed the beginning, here's the whole thing:

The Elevator Guy

Hopefully, you're digging the character, even though he's not a para.

Stewart's Story

2011-12-12T09:16:00.001-08:00

Stewart returns home to face his past and make up for his mistakes, but he soon discovers that everyone wants something from him. Everyone, that is, except the one man he most wants to connect with: his father.

Note: This is a 30 page short story following what happens to Stewart after (W)hole ends. There is a gap between the end of the novel and the start of this story, which is covered in the sequel to (W)hole, Breath(e) (now available). If you've read (W)hole, you may want to wait until you read Breath(e) before reading this one, though you don't have to!

“You just drove that dinky car of yours across the entire country?” Claire huffed into the phone. “Stewart, one of these days you are going to give me an ulcer.”

“That’s why I didn’t tell you about it,” he said, rolling down his car window and closing his eyes, smelling the salt air.. He was in California again, sitting in his car in the parking lot of his best friend’s apartment building. His Aunt Claire continued to tell him how stupid he had been until Stewart finally interupted her. “Claire, listen, I’m fine. I’m here, everything is good. Can I talk to you later?”

“Oh, we will talk later. I have more to say to you. What if you had broken down in the middle of the country? What if you couldn’t get help? Giving a little bit of latitude to your weaknesses is not a bad thing, it’s a safe thing.”

“I’m twenty-six years old, Aunt Claire, I can make my own choices.”

“You just think about how your choices are going to affect everyone else if you die out on the road, unable to get help.”

“Thinking about it right now, I’ll get back to you.” From here he could see his friend, Jeff's, apartment on the second floor. The window was open; he must be home.

“Oh Stewart,” his aunt said with a sigh. “You know I only worry because I love you.”

“I need to get a place to stay sorted out, okay? I’ll talk to you later. I promise.” He hung up his phone and pushed it into the front pocket of his jeans maneuvering against some resistance. He opened the car door, then leaned across to his passenger seat and grabbed the frame of his wheelchair, putting it on the pavement. Upended on the ground, the little caster wheels spun. He held it steady with one hand and attached the larger wheels one at a time with the other. They clicked easily into place. Getting a grip on the seat cushion, he shifted his butt onto the chair, then lifted his legs over one at a time. The whole maneuver took about thirty seconds. He slid his hands across the rails on his wheels, closed the car door, and locked it. He rested his hand on the door of the car for a moment, smiling at its faded blue. “Good girl,” he said softly.

No one was in sight. It was a classic Los Angeles day with a comfortable heat and hardly a cloud in the sky. He pushed inside the building, glad that there was no reception area with a person to try to open the door for him and get in the way.

He entered the elevator and pressed the button for the second floor. During the brief ride up, he moved his cell phone from where it was threatening to burst back out of his pocket and stashed it in the pouch behind his legs. He rolled slowly down the hallway, pushing against the low carpet, and stopped at Jeff's door, giving a quick knock.

Jeff swung open the door and the look of surprise on his face was quickly replaced with a grin. “Back already,” he remarked. “You just couldn’t stay away.”

That was the truth. “Good to see you too,” Stewart said. Jeff moved back and Stewart rolled into the small apartment that he remembered so well.

“Do you want a beer?” Jeff said.

“Absolutely,” Stewart said. He parked himself beside the sofa in the living room where he could see out the window to the balcony and the street that he had once run down in complete panic. Just looking at it, his heart began to beat a little faster. Jeff walked in and handed him a glass bottle beer, then slumped onto the sofa.

“Not that I’m complaining,” Jeff said, “But I didn’t see you for seven years and now I’m seeing you twice in six months. Didn’t you have to get back to Massachusetts for the start of the school year?”

Stewart was in his last year of getting a teaching degree to become a high school science teacher. He looked away from the window and back to his friend. “I transferred,” he said. “I was wondering if I could stay with you until I get set up here.”

Jeff sat up straight suddenly. “Are you saying you’re moving back?”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

Jeff clapped his hands and said, “This is going to be awesome.”

Over the summer Stewart had reluctantly agreed to come back to California at Jeff's insistence.

His friend had wanted him to give a speech at the annual surfing competition. There was a time when Stewart dominated that competition.

He had been surprised how nice it was to be back in the ocean, surfing again. When it came time to travel back to Massachusetts, he found himself reluctant to go. Stewart hadn’t expected to feel torn as he left. The ocean was pulling him, drawing him to stay. California was his home. It was where he had been born. Despite all the running he had done, what he had left behind here would not stay quiet in his mind.

“You going to see your dad now that you'll be here longer than a few days?” Jeff said.

“Wasn't planning to,” Stewart answered.

Jeff didn't pursue the subject. “You're totally welcome to stay here as long as you need.”

“Great, my bag is in the car.”

“Why don't we get it on the way back after the bar? I need to get down there. The kid I hired part time gets off in about twenty minutes.”

“Sounds good.”

“Cool, I'm going to call Lee and Leah and see if they want to meet up with us. It'll be just like old times.”

Stewart chuckled to himself. Jeff's optimism was unbeatable. It was unlikely to be just like old times. The summer he was sixteen Stewart was the local surfing champion, Leah was his girlfriend, and Lee was always in his shadow.

Outside they started down the sidewalk towards the sunset.

“Are you okay to, you know, well...walk?” Jeff said.

Stewart looked up at his friend's concerned face and couldn't help the edge of his mouth twitching towards a smile. “I know where the damn bar is, Jeff. How many times have I crashed at your place?”

“Okay, yeah, but that was seven years ago. Things are different,” Jeff said.

“Right,” Stewart said, beginning to push down the street towards the bar. “I wasn't paralyzed.”

“Now that you mention it,” Jeff said, “I thought something was different.”
Stewart laughed. “I'm not offended by the word 'walk,' okay? So don't worry about it.”
Sand was brushed up over the sidewalk and it caught in Stewart's wheels, showering down over his hands. The warm air picked up salt from the ocean as it whipped down the beach. Jeff's small wooden shack rested right at the edge. People crowded around the doorway smoking, more leaned against motorcycles or strolled slowly down the boardwalk nearby. As they got closer, Stewart noticed the wooden ramp on the side of the stairs.

“This is new,” he said, pushing himself up it.

“Someone told me I'd get a tax break,” Jeff said, “But I think he lied.”

"You need an incentive not to break the law?" Stewart called over his shoulder. Jeff followed him inside.

Stewart paused in the doorway to take in the scene. He had missed this place. Not much had changed in the years he'd been gone. There were a few tables, a long wooden bar, a small dance floor, everything in dark wood. This was where all the locals came. Jeff lived for this place, building it into the perfect hang out.

Leah was already there. She was leaning over the bar, wearing a mini skirt that didn’t quite cover her butt and a sport’s bra. Her warm honey skin glistened, still wet from swimming. The few patrons inside were all riveted to her. As Stewart’s wheels rumbled onto the wooden floor, she turned and fixed him with her well-honed siren smile. Jeff gave her a wave, then went into the kitchen to get them food. Stewart slowly wheeled forward and Leah joined him at a table. He pulled a chair out of the way and slid into its place.

“No girlfriend this time, huh?” Leah said.

"Nope."

"Good. That kid was strange."

"Be nice, Leah. I care about Elizabeth a lot."

"Whatever." Leah leaned back and her eyes slowly looked him up and down. “Is your foot supposed to do that?”

“Huh?” Stewart looked down to see his foot shaking. “Oh yeah,” he said. “Don't worry about that.” He grabbed his knee and pulled the leg further in. “It'll stop in a minute.”

“That's some weird shit,” Leah said, throwing back her drink.

“I guess. Does it bother you?”

“Yeah, I'll be honest. It's hard to see you like this. I remember you in such a different way, you know?”

“You've changed too,” Stewart said with a smile.

“Have not.” Leah laughed, smacking his shoulder. “Hey, I didn't hurt you, did I?”

“Are you kidding? These shoulders are as solid as granite,” Stewart said, lifting the sleeve of his t-shirt.

Leah touched his neck and slid her hand down to his shoulders. “Oh my God, they are like one enormous brick wall.” Her hand slid farther down his back to the top of the wheelchair.

“Hey, hey, “Stewart said, “Let's keep those hands where I can see them.”

“Your foot stopped.”

Stewart looked down. “Oh yeah.”

“What does that mean? Like does that mean you could get better?”

“No.”

“Sorry, I shouldn't have said.”

“You can ask me whatever you want, Leah, we're friends. Really, whatever you want to know, just ask.”

Leah smiled and put her bare foot against his crotch. “Does it still work?”

“Woah,” Stewart said, rolling back. Her foot fell to the floor in front of her, an anklet jingling. She smiled at him.

“I really don’t want to do this with you.”

“Do what?” She leaned forward and smiled again, twirling a piece of her ocean-soaked hair in front of her.

Jeff came over with baskets of burgers and drinks and put them down. “So,” Jeff said, “I was thinking that tomorrow we should catch the surf together, like old times.”

“I can’t,” Stewart said, “I’m starting student teaching in the morning.”

“Oh right,” Jeff said.

"Saturday, though," Stewart said. "We can go Saturday morning."

Leah hadn’t taken her eyes off Stewart and he was purposely not looking back at her. She wasn’t really interested in him, this was all a game. A game she was good at and always had been. All she wanted to do was win, not actually follow through on any flirting. But Stewart liked to win too.

He decided to make her as uncomfortable as he possibly could. He pushed his hands against the seat of his wheelchair, shifting his body and thought score one for me when Leah looked away and fidgeted with her hair.

“If we get out early enough to beat the tourists,” Jeff said.

“Yeah, maybe,” Stewart said, looking at Leah. “But you know it takes me a while to get ready in the mornings these days.”

She met his eye and he couldn’t read her expression. She certainly didn’t look disgusted or put off.

“What about Lee?” Stewart said. “It’s not the old gang without your brother.”

“He probably won’t make it,” Leah said.

“He hasn’t been able to look at me since I came back in a wheelchair,” Stewart said, slapping his lap for emphasis.

“Oh, so he’s an ass,” Leah said, “What else is new?”

Stewart started laughing. He couldn't keep up the pretense. “Tell him I want to talk to him.”

“He's scared to death of you.”

“I know. And it's ridiculous.”

Jeff went back to the bar to serve more customers.

“Are you staying at a hotel?” Leah asked.

Stewart shook his head. “I’ll crash on Jeff’s couch until I find a place.”

“Isn’t a hotel easier for you? With, you know, the wheelchair and all?”

“No. Most hotels are not nearly as accessible as they think they are. A lot easier to get Jeff to help me out than try to deal with them.”

While they ate, Leah's eyes wandered around the place. Stewart guessed she was looking for a new victim to charm.

“I'm going to head back to Jeff's, I have to get up early tomorrow for teaching.”

Leah smiled. “You're getting old. And yet, somehow I stay the same.”

“Ha. Ha,” Stewart said flatly. He rolled over to the bar and got Jeff's keys.

***

Stewart opened his eyes to a still dark room, but Jeff was standing over him. Stewart started back against the pillow on the couch arm. "What are you doing?" he croaked, his voice still asleep.

"Are you okay?" Jeff said.

Stewart rubbed his eyes with one hand. "I was making noise?"

“Yes, a lot of noise.”

“Sorry. Bad dreams.”

“Dude.”

“I know, I know.”

Jeff stumbled back towards his room and Stewart sighed. He had been prone to nightmares for years, always happening when he was stressed. Maybe he was more nervous about the student teaching than he had thought.

In the morning he put on the new khaki pants and button down shirt that he'd bought just for this. When he left the apartment, Jeff wasn't awake. He stopped at a drive through for a coffee, then headed for the school.

When he entered the building, a petite woman with curly brown hair and thick-rimmed glasses came out of an office and walked towards him.

"You must be Stewart," she said, holding out her hand.

Stewart shook it and said, "That's me." No doubt his professor had told her to be on the look out for a man in a wheelchair. Nice and easy to identify him.

"I'm Betsy," she said. "I'm told that you've already done some observation in the classroom."

She started to walk down the hall. Stewart kept pace with her, the wheeling smooth and easy on the waxed tile floor. "Do you feel comfortable getting right into the teaching?"

"Sure," he said.

At the door to the classroom, Betsy held it open and waited for him to roll through. Fifteen pairs of eyes fixed on him as soon as he entered. He grinned, but kept his gaze on where he was going, the front of the classroom. There was a tall, thick slab of a desk typical of science classrooms. He pulled up in front of it and looked at the children while Betsy introduced him. "This is Mr. Masterson," she said. "He'll be doing lessons for the rest of the quarter."

These kids were eleven and twelve. Their eyes were curious, but they were waiting to see what he was like before anyone said anything. Stewart twisted in his chair and pulled a folder out of his backpack. There was no where to put the folder down, though, since the teacher desk was higher than his head. He rested it on his lap.

"I understand that this week you've been talking about the laws of motion. Who wants to fill me in?"

The girl front and center was happy to show off her knowledge. There was one in every classroom. When the girl was finished, Stewart took out some transparencies with cartoons illustrating motion. He pulled around the large desk to get to the screen above the blackboard.

When he reached for the cord he found that its end was several inches above his hand.
He could feel all the eyes in the room on the back of his head. There was no way he was going to be able to reach the cord. Things like this made it look like he was less competent than an able-bodied teacher, even though it was the environment that was the problem, not him. Would the observing teacher report that he wasn’t fit for the job because of this? Could he ask her to tie an extra string to it for him? He swallowed, then turned around with a smile on his face. "Who wants to help me get the screen in place?"

Betsy rushed forward to do it while the kids just stared. Next time Stewart would have to find a way to involve the kids in helping him. It would connect them to him and make them feel more confident. There was still some awkwardness after the slides.

"Okay," Stewart said, "Look at me." He turned so he was sideways to the kids and lifted his hands off his wheels. "If I want to move forward, what would I do? Pull or push?"

That got their attention. Stop trying to ignore his wheelchair and use it instead. He showed them forward, backward, turning, and wheelies. Before the bell rang, Stewart said, "You've done great, so I'll open up for some not physics related questions."

"What's wrong with your legs?" The boy who asked got smacked in the arm by the girl sitting beside him.

"That's all right," Stewart said, "I'm not surprised it's on your mind. Have you guys taken biology yet?"

The kids nodded.

“Well, I was in an accident where my spine was broken. The nerves were torn and I was paralyzed. When you break a bone in your leg or your arm, it can heal. The spine doesn't do that. So my legs are affected only because they aren't getting information from my brain anymore.”

This opened a floodgate of questions and Stewart answered each one until the bell rang. After the kids had run out, Betsy said, “I think that went very well. I'll see you tomorrow.” Stewart breathed a sigh of relief. With the first day down, it was only going to get easier.

Even though Stewart told Jeff he had no intention of visiting his father, after school each weekday he found himself in the neighborhood. He took to parking across the street and just looking at the house. He hadn't been inside since he was fourteen years old and his father had sent him to the east coast to live with his aunt. Considering how badly his father wanted to erase the past, Stewart was surprised he still living in the house where Stewart's mother had died.

But he knew they were there. He saw the family coming and going. A perfect little unit without him. From afar he observed his two little step sisters who had grown so tall and beautiful that he would not have recognized them if he hadn't seen them with his father.

Stewart didn't know why he kept watching them. He didn't know what he expected to do, but he didn't plan to ever talk to them. When he got back to Jeff's each late afternoon, his friend never asked where he had been.

One Wednesday Stewart watched as Ellen returned to the house alone. He suspected she had dropped the girls off for some activity. She parked her car and got out.
Ellen was utterly different from how he remembered her. She was smaller and more meek. Without his cloud of anger he could see the twitchy worry on her face, the way she never looked sure of herself. How could he have screamed at this poor woman? Regret circled his chest. The only thing he had noticed about her back then was that she was so very different from his mother.

Then Stewart realized she was looking back at him. She frowned and began to walk towards his car. Stewart fumbled with his key, hurrying to get away before she realized who he was. She was beside the car before he could pull away, though.

She stood just to the side of the driver's door and frowned, looking in at him. He could practically see the gears turning in her head as she tried to work out why he looked familiar. Then her hand flew in front her mouth and her eyes filled with tears. She walked closer and he rolled down the window.

“Stewart?” she whispered.

“Hey, Ellen,” he said.

There was fear in the creases around her eyes. She was thinking about the same moment he was, he was sure of it. In the stairwell of the house behind her, late at night, the only light from the open door of a bathroom on the second floor, her thin body pressed against the wall, and his hands holding her there.

“It's been so long,” she said. She seemed to be having trouble figuring out what else to say. Though Stewart had seen his father most Christmases, he hadn't seen Ellen in twelve years. After that night when Ellen had confronted him for coming home wasted and he had left marks on her skin from shoving her against the wall, his father had shipped him off to South Carolina to live with Aunt Claire. He hadn't seen his step-mother since.

“You should come in,” she continued.

“It’s not that simple,” Stewart said, glancing behind her to the series of steps up to the front door of the house.

“It is. Really, Stewart. The past is the past. I’ve so wanted the chance to talk to you again.”

“No, I mean I really can’t.”

“What do you mean? We haven’t seen you, I mean I haven’t seen you in years, and here you are. Don’t you want to talk?”

“I can’t come in because of the stairs on the house.”

She tilted her head and frowned. He realized that she couldn’t see the logo on his license plate and her gaze hadn’t shifted from him long enough to take in the jumble of wheels and tubes on the seat beside him. She had no idea that he was paralyzed. “Wait a minute,” he said. “My dad never told you?”

“Told me what?”

“Well, isn’t that just like him?”

“I don’t understand.”

Ellen moved back as Stewart opened the car door and shoved his thin legs out onto the ground. The surprise movement caused one of them to start shaking. “I can’t walk,” he said.
Ellen opened her mouth then closed it again. She looked for a long time just at his legs. He followed her gaze down his jeans that looked like they would fit a twelve year old to his feet in sneakers on their sides, not flat against the ground as they would be if he were going to stand. He just let her look, gave her time to process it.

Slowly Ellen's eyes rose back to his face and Stewart could read every emotion behind her eyes: shock, relief, then pity. Her tense body relaxed at last. “How long?” she said.

“Seven years,” Stewart said.

“Richard never said.”

She was so easy to read. He saw her trying to reconcile that her husband had never mentioned her step-son almost dying and being paralyzed. “He wishes I didn't exist,” Stewart said, “It's okay.”

“I never wanted that, Stewart. I hope you know that. I wanted us to be a family.”

“It's not your fault. It's something between me and Dad.”

“Can I tell him you were here?”

“If you must,” Stewart said. “I wouldn't recommend it, though.”

“Are you living in the area now?”

“Yeah, I just moved back.”

“I'd like to be able to reach you. Maybe we could start fresh.”

Stewart nodded. “That's fair. Let me give you my phone number.”

Ellen took it, then reached forward and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Good to see you,” she said. He watched as she walked to the house, then he pulled his legs back in and drove to Jeff's.

The apartment was empty when he got back, so he did some school work and ate chips from the cabinet. When it started getting late he took off towards the bar. As he got close he saw Leah sitting on a curb outside. Her eyes were gazing in an unfocused way at the pavement in front of her. No one else was around. Stewart changed course and headed for her. He pulled up in front of her. Leah looked at his feet and slowly, unsteadily, her gaze rose up the rest of his body to his face.

"Hey, Stewart!" She smiled.

"How drunk are you?" he said.

She flicked her hand dismissively. He leaned forward and gripped her elbow while holding onto his wheelchair with his other hand to keep his balance.

"Let me get you home," he said. She stood, then leaned over him, her long dark hair brushing against the sides of his face.

"I knew you couldn't resist me," she whispered and her breath was warm against his forehead, smelling of beer and raspberries. He closed his eyes and clutched the seat of his chair for a moment to get control over himself. It isn't real, he reminded himself.

"Where do you live?" he said.

"This way." She started to walk forward, but she was unstable and her long legs seemed to be everywhere at once. Stewart was afraid he was going to run over her feet.

His phone began to ring. He frowned and grabbed it out of the pouch behind his legs. Pete's mother's name appeared on the screen. Stewart felt the guilt tightening in his chest. "Hang on," he said to Leah, "I need to take this." Leah nodded and promptly sat down on Stewart's lap. He tried to disentangle himself from her limbs as he answered, but she wrapped her lanky arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Ms. Morris," he said into the phone. "How are you?"

"I hate this time of year," she said.

"I do too," he said. It was the gray period in between when Pete died in the summer and his birthday near Christmas. Stewart had never told Ms. Morris that Pete's death was partly his fault. All she knew was that he had tried to save her son and had sacrificed the use of his legs to do it.

"Do you ever feel like you're in the wrong life and your real life is waiting for you to get back to it?"

"Yes," Stewart said. He knew exactly what she meant. Each morning while he did his stretches he had a moment while touching the legs that he couldn't feel where he disbelieved that this was his body.

Leah began to kiss his neck and he swatted at her with one hand.

“The house is so empty,” Ms. Morris said.

“Have you thought about moving to another place?”

“I don't think I can.”

“That's okay.”

“I want to visit you.”

“I'd like that,” Stewart said. He said goodbye and hung up the phone.

"Who was that?" Leah said.

"It was Pete's mother." Stewart pushed forward and Leah gripped him tighter to keep from falling off his lap. She frowned. "Why is she calling you? That was seven freakin years ago and you did what you could. I mean, look at you."

Stewart's jaw tightened as it did every time someone told him that he had done his best to save Pete. He swallowed hard and tried to keep his voice light. "She needs someone to listen to her."

"Whatever," Leah said and she returned to nibbling at his neck. The warmth of her breath sent shivers through his torso.

"Are there stairs at your place?" Stewart said, both to change the topic and because he wanted to know if he'd be able to see her in.

She grinned at him.

"Leah, focus. Are there stairs at your place?"

"I'm on the first floor," she said in a low voice, running her fingers through his hair and giving a mild tug.

"Pay attention so you can direct me," he said.

“Turn right up there.” She pointed towards several tall palm trees, outlined against an inky blue sky.

When they got to her door, Leah tried to fit her key in the lock, but kept missing. Stewart reached around her and touched her hand. The skin was as smooth as he remembered, buffed by the sand. He closed his hand over hers and directed the key into the lock.

The apartment was a single room, strewn with clothes. Stewart forced his wheels over the obstacles on the floor with some annoyance. He didn't care at this point if he left tire tracks on her clothes. He hoisted her off his lap and she landed on the mattress on the floor. She giggled, rolling onto her back and fixing him with her sparkling dark eyes.

“All the men around here are such jerks,” she said.

“Right. So you come to me.” Stewart sighed, but she was already passed out, her head back and her arms wide. If all the men are jerks, who do you turn to? The one guy you don’t see as a real man.

Stewart left, making sure the door was locked behind him.

***

Stewart woke to the sound of his cell phone ringing. Bleary eyed, he felt around beside the couch until he found his empty wheelchair and grabbed the phone out of the pouch.

“Hello?” he said.

“Stewart, this is Ellen,” his step-mother said. Her voice sounded tight.

“What's wrong?” he asked.

“It's your father. He's had a stroke.”

“Oh my God.”

“And I just don't know what to do. He's going to be okay, they say, but it'll be a long recovery. They'll send him home in a few days and I can't deal with him all by myself.”

“I'm sorry,” Stewart said.

“You've got to come. He doesn't listen to me, but I know you can get through to him.”

“I can’t even get into the house, how am I going to help?”

“I’ll have a ramp put in. Please, Stewart. He needs you.”

“He doesn’t need me, he hates me. He’s been trying to pretend I don’t exist for the past twenty years.” Stewart pinched the bridge of his nose. “He's going to be furious when he finds out you invited me.”

“Does that mean you'll come?”

Stewart sighed. “Yeah, it does.”

Stewart hung up and put the phone back, then rubbed his eyes and groaned. It was too late to go back to sleep. He had to get up for teaching.

In the afternoon Stewart began to gather his things back into his duffel bag. He'd just gotten his toothbrush from the bathroom when Leah burst through the door.

“Beat it, Jeff,” she said.

“Hey!” Jeff responded from the kitchen, “This is my apartment.”

Leah turned and fixed him with a stare, raising one eyebrow and he slunk into the hallway.
“What happened to you last night?” Leah demanded, turning on Stewart. One hand was on her hip.

“You passed out,” Stewart said, “I went home.”

“I don't get you, Stewart.” She walked over to the couch where he had been spending his nights and sat down with her legs wide.

“What's not to get?”

“Stop packing for a minute and talk to me. You weren't even going to tell me you were moving?”

“I'm just going to my dad's.” He put his duffel bag on the floor and stopped moving, facing her.

“Why do you keep putting me off?”

“Come on, Leah, I know you don't really want washed up old me.”

“You must have a pretty low opinion of me if you think that I can’t deal with you being in a wheelchair.”

“Be honest with me and be honest with yourself.”

“You act like you’re totally comfortable and secure with your disability, but maybe you’re the one who needs to be honest with themselves. I swear to God, when I look at you I just see Stewart. The same Stewart I loved as a kid. The changes are just details.”

“I wish I could believe that, but I know the kind of men you date and it’s not me.”

“Sure,” Leah said, snorting. “You know everything. Clearly my pattern is jerks.” And she left the apartment, pulling the door shut behind her with as much force as her lean, muscular arms could manage. The entire apartment seemed to shake.

The door opened slowly and Jeff gingerly walked back in. “What the hell did you say to her?”
Stewart glared at him. “I don't want to talk about it.” He continued to pack his things into his duffel bag.

“You’re about to explode,” Jeff said.

“I’m fine.”

“Look, I understand, it’s more than you expected. After hiding away from all us lunatics, it’s got to be difficult to come back and deal with us again.”

“You’re cool,” Stewart said, a smile creeping onto his face, “I got no problem with you. The others I can handle. I’ve had plenty of people in South Carolina and Massachusetts wanting things from me too. I have it under control.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yeah,” Stewart said, not at all convinced himself.

He threw his bag into the back of his car and pulled his body into the driver's seat. While he disassembled his chair and put it on the seat beside him, he wondered what he would find at his father's house. He had to admit he was curious to see the inside of the house again, to see how it had changed and whether it still felt the same or not. He called Ellen and let her know he was on his way.

She had done as she said and there was an aluminum ramp over the stairs. It was steep and it creaked and shook as Stewart wheeled up, but it worked. When the door opened Stewart saw the two girls standing in front of him. They just stared at first.

“Hey,” he said. “Remember me?”

They were eerily similar, both tall and thin with long blonde hair, both wearing tight jeans and layers of different colored t-shirts. Both nodded at him. One was slightly taller than the other. Stewart tried addressing her. “You're Samantha, right?” he said.

“Yes,” the shorter one said. “And I'm Sylvia.”

“You were this tall when I left,” Stewart said, holding his hand out flat at the same level as the top of his wheel.

“Mom said you were coming back,” Samantha said, her voice much softer than her younger sister.

“And you didn't believe her, did you?” Stewart said.

“I did at first,” Sylvia said. “But you didn't and you didn't and you didn't.”

Stewart nodded. “I'm sorry about that,” he said. They were all quiet for a moment, then Stewart said, “So, has Dad been behaving himself?”

The girls giggled.

“I'll take that as a no. Lead the way.”

They stepped back and Stewart pulled up on his wheels to get over the edge of the doorway. He followed the two girls down the hall. He wheeled slowly while he looked around. A lot was different: new paint color on the wall, new pictures hanging, new types of decorations. He wouldn't have known it was the same house.

“He's in there,” Sylvia whispered, indicating the back den. The girls backed away. They didn't seem to want to go anywhere near their father. Stewart rolled to the doorway and gently nudged the door open with his knees.

Inside, the room was dim. A single tall lamp in the corner cast an orange glow across a circle of the floor. The room was set up as a study, but there was now a twin bed with white sheets blocking the rust colored couch. It didn't look like it belonged. Beside the bed was a large, boxy wheelchair with stickers on it indicating the hospital it came from.

His father was laying on his side on the bed. Richard's face hadn't been shaved in several days and his clothes were stained. He looked like a vagrant Ellen had found on the side of the road more than he looked like Stewart's father. The face of the man didn't move much, but his eyes were staring at Stewart with rage and hatred. To the side, Ellen was kneeling on the ground and trying to change Richard's socks.

She stopped as Stewart came in and the look on her face was gratitude and relief.

“What are you doing here?” Richard said and Stewart was startled by the way the words ran

together even though he knew that his father's speech could easily have been affected by the stroke.

“I'm an expert on 'can't move',” Stewart said. He rolled farther into the room.

Richard grunted and moved his eyes down to the carpet. Ellen stood and lightly ran over to Stewart. “Thank you so much for coming,” she said. “Can I talk to you out in the hall?”
Stewart nodded and backed up out of the room. Ellen closed the door gently behind her.

“He needs help with everything and he yells about it,” she whispered. “I'm so frazzled.”

“It's okay,” Stewart said. “I can handle him.” He knew that Ellen wasn't used to seeing the angry side of Richard. He reserved that for the people he didn't respect. “So what's his situation?” Stewart asked.

“He's needing to relearn a lot of motion and he is weak on his left side. We have a physical therapist coming to the house each day, but a lot of the time it's just me and I have to go to work. Will you be able to stay with him?”

Stewart nodded. “Student teaching ends next week and then I'll be free.”

Ellen looked down at the floor and said even more softly, “You still have money from your mother?”

Stewart swallowed. “Yeah,” he said, “I do.”

“We'll pay for your food and you living here and all that, of course.”

“Sure. It's no problem. Go on now,” Stewart said, nodding to the rest of the house. “Let me take care of it.”

Ellen smiled and leaned down to take his hands from his lap and squeeze them. “Bless you,” she said.

Stewart went into the room again, this time alone. Richard's eyes were closed and he didn't respond when Stewart came back in. Stewart assessed the room and decided he needed to get the rug out of the way. It was a thick, patterned rug and Stewart could tell just by looking at it that he wouldn't be able to wheel over it. While his father lay quietly, Stewart leaned over and rolled the rug, pushing it with his feet until it was against the far wall.

“What are you doing here?” Richard groaned from the bed.

Stewart looked at him. “Helping,” he said.

“I don't need you.”

“Sure,” Stewart said. “Why don't we get you up so I can change those sheets?”

Richard snorted and didn't move. Stewart grabbed hold of the ugly, shiny wheelchair that was so different from his own. He pulled it to the side of the bed and set the brake. Then he pulled himself as close to the bed as he could get and set his own brake.

Stewart leaned over, one hand on the edge of his chair to keep his balance, the other getting under his father's good arm. “Okay, here we go.” Thank goodness for the core muscles he still had. “Are you going to help or what?”

“What's the point?” Richard said.

Stewart ignored him and dragged his father into the chair without help. He gave it a solid push to get it out of the way and went to find the sheets. Richard slumped and watched as Stewart fixed up the bed.

“Do you need to use the bathroom?” Stewart asked.

Richard glared at him.

“Right,” Stewart muttered. He turned his father towards the bathroom, then got behind him and nestled his knees against the canvas back of the other chair. His arms burned with the effort of pushing both of them, but it worked. In the bathroom there was a seat over the toilet and Stewart helped his father onto it. Then he backed out of the room to give him privacy.
When Stewart came back in Richard said, “Is this what you do? With this stupid thing?” He rolled his head at the raised toilet seat with handles.

“No,” Stewart said while getting Richard back in the other wheelchair.

Richard made a skeptical sound. Stewart said, “You don't need to worry about how I use the bathroom, okay?”

Before getting his father back into bed, Stewart finished changing the socks that Ellen had been trying to do. He bent down and when he was finished, he pushed his body back up by gripping his own knees and pushing up with his arms.

He got Richard back into bed and covered him with a blanket, then left him alone.

***

Stewart finished his student teaching and then he stayed at the house, prodding Richard and taking care of him while being treated with sullen silence or insults. He wondered how long he would keep doing this. His father was definitely making improvement and the physcial therapist frequently reassured Ellen that a full recovery was likely.

Stewart suspected that Ellen was hoping this situation might connect him to his father again. Stewart doubted that was going to happen. Richard still hated him and it wasn't as though helping him to get dressed or use the bathroom was making them bond as father and son.

One day while Stewart was doing some exercises on Richard that the physical therapist had shown them, his cell phone rang. Stewart put down his father's leg and said, “I'll be right back.”
He backed to the edge of the room and looked at the phone. It was his aunt's number.

“Claire?” he said.

“Actually it’s John,” his uncle said.

“Is everything okay?” Stewart glanced back at Richard, who was trying to turn over and kicking all the sheets off the bed in the process.

“Not exactly,” John said.

Suddenly he had all of Stewart's attenion and nothing in the room registered anymore. “Oh my God. Are Claire and the kids…?”

“They’re fine. It’s Ms. Morris.”

Though the room returned to normal, Stewart felt his chest tightening. “What's happened?” he said.

“I'm sorry, Stewart, but she's taken her life.”

Stewart could think of nothing to say. He felt the world change in that instant as his mind tried to reimagine it without Pete's mother. All the years since Pete died Stewart had kept in touch with her, tried to keep her going. It was the only way he could see to redeem himself from his role on that stormy July day.

“Stewart?” John said. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said. He took a deep breath. “Listen, I'm not going to be able to go to the funeral, they need me here.”

“I don't need a babysitter,” his father piped up from the other side of the room.

“Shut up,” Stewart called over his shoulder.

“It's okay,” John said over the phone. “Everyone knows how much you helped her over these last few years.”

“Thanks for telling me.” Stewart hung up and sat still for several minutes, the phone still in his hand.

“My sister okay?” Richard said and Stewart's attention snapped back.

“Yes.” Stewart turned and wheeled back to the bed. “It's Ms. Morris. She killed herself.”

Richard snorted. “Is that all? That crazy bitty finally offed herself. About time she put herself out of her misery.”

Stewart's anger coursed through him so quickly that before he realized what he was doing he had grabbed hold of his father's arm and was squeezing tight.

Richard smiled. “You see?” he said, “I know the real you. And you're no different. You're just as violent as ever, nothing has changed.”

Stewart let go and stared into his father's face. Was it true? Had he not changed from the angry little boy he had been? He swallowed hard. His phone, resting on his lap, beeped and Stewart looked down at a text message from Jeff. Come by the bar tonight? Stewart picked it up and texted back, Absolutely. On my way.

“I'm going to go,” he whispered. He piveted and pushed out of the room with Richard laughing behind him. “That's right,” Richard said, “Run away.”

Stewart found his step-mother and told her that he needed a break.

“Of course,” Ellen said. She squeezed his shoulder. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Just someone I know died.”

“Oh, I'm so sorry, Stewart.”

Stewart nodded. “I'm going to go out for a while.”

“Sure,” Ellen said.

When he got to the bar, it was busy. Jeff was running back and forth from the kitchen and barely had time to even nod. As Stewart looked around the room his gaze stopped when he saw Lee, who had not yet noticed him in the crowd. Suddenly this was looking like a set up. He knew Jeff well enough to recognize it. His friend must have seen Lee there and told Stewart to come without mentioning it to Lee. And Jeff was right. Stewart did want to talk to Lee.

He edged his way through the people, muttering, “Excuse me” every few moments and trying not to run over toes. When Lee looked up and caught sight of Stewart, his eyes grew large and he glanced around as though looking for a door to escape through.

Stewart rolled directly in front of him and said, "What is your problem?"

Lee looked down, watching his shoe as it scuffed at a mark on the floor. "I don't have a problem," he said.

"Look at me," Stewart said. He waited until Lee finally raised his eyes from the ground. "We need to talk about what happened to Pete and what happened to me, let's go outside where we can get some privacy.” The look in Lee's eyes was fear. Stewart wondered what his old friend thought he could do to him.

Behind the bar, on a strip of boardwalk between it and the beach, next to a dumpster, they found a private space.

“You froze,” Stewart said. “You didn't do anything.”

Lee swallowed, then nodded. “How did you know?”

“Jeff told me.”

Lee looked away, crossed his arms.

“Look,” Stewart said, “It's okay. It happens. None of us knew what to do.” He paused, then took a guess at what was bothering Lee. “I'm not upset that you have your career.”

“Yeah, right,” Lee muttered.

Stewart shook his head and smiled. “I hope you'll believe me. I think things happened how they happened and there's no point trying to figure out what we could have done differently. If we did that, I wouldn't have teased Pete and he wouldn't have been out in the ocean in the first place.”
Lee nodded.

"You're suffering too,” Stewart said, “I know you are. It's got to be hard that no one can see your wounds, while mine are obvious.”

“I can't stop thinking about it,” Lee said. “Over and over in my mind. I mean, shit man, look at yourself.”

“I'm fine, Lee, trust me.”

“How did Jeff manage to get his wits together and call 911?”

Stewart shrugged. “Luck?”

That night, long after everyone had gone to bed, Stewart returned to his father's house. The door creaked open and he rolled into the dark hallway. He thought about packing his bag and leaving right now. Richard wasn't interested in mending anything between them and it wasn't Stewart's job to change that. Things could go back to the way they had been.

Some part of him already knew he wasn't going to give up. He would see this project through, make sure his father was healed and then he would find his own place and see his sisters there once in a while. That would be it.

In the morning Stewart continued his routine as though Richard had never upset him.

“Came slinking back, did you?” Richard said when Stewart brought in his breakfast.

“Just eat,” Stewart said. Richard was able to feed himself now, a noticeable improvement from when Stewart first arrived. When Richard had finished, Stewart moved into place to help him get into the other wheelchair and into the bathroom. With his arm over Stewart's shoulder, Richard muttered, “Life like this isn't worth it.”

Stewart rolled his eyes. “You know what? It isn't all or nothing. I've been living for years with less than full function and it's completely doable. You don't have to give up as soon as you lose a little bit. Grow up.”

“That's rich.”

“Can we just get through this? Talking isn't necessary.”

“You don't know,” Richard said, his hot breath hitting Stewart's face. “You don't know anything.”
“Fine.”

“I didn't deserve this,” Richard muttered. Stewart stopped in the doorway to the bathroom and looked at his father. “And I did?” he said.

Richard didn't answer, but the look on his face said that's exactly what he thought. “You think that I deserved to get paralyzed?” Stewart continued.

Richard looked at him, eyes burning with anger. “You were such a brat. Stubborn, difficult,diffident.”

“I lost my mother,” Stewart said.

“And I lost my wife. You didn’t care how I felt.”

“I was six!”

A voice behind them said, “Is this a bad time?”

Stewart twisted his chair and saw Leah standing in the doorway. He frowned. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“You might not stand up for yourself, but I'm your friend and I will.” She walked closer to where Richard was in the bathroom and Stewart just outside it. Looking right at his father, she said, “Your son is a good man. You're lucky to have him. I hope you can see that. Don't be such an ass to him.”

Both men were too surprised to say anything and Leah turned and strode out of the room.

“Who was that?” Richard said.

“We used to date,” Stewart said.

“What a looker,” Richard said. “Not surprised you couldn't hang on to her.”

“Yeah,” Stewart said.

Once he got his father back into bed Stewart felt his own exhaustion. Jeff was right, he was close to bursting. Definitely time for him to visit his favorite place and get some peace. He slipped by the kitchen where Ellen and the girls were eating without them seeing him and got out the front door. While he drove towards the beach, he wondered about Leah showing up like that. Had Jeff told her to? Did she really think telling Richard off was going to help? He had to admit it felt nice that she had made the attempt.

There was one spot that he always went to relax and reflect. No one else came to this corner, far from the tourist attractions. He sat at the edge of the boardwalk and watched small waves getting tangled in rocks. Between the rocks and him there was sand that was almost as white as snow. The air was thick with salt and all was silent except for the rushing sound of the water itself.

Behind him he heard light footsteps against the wooden boardwalk. When he turned his head, Leah was walking towards him, barefoot with flip-flops tangling from one hand.

“I swear to God,” Stewart said, “How do you people get by without me?”

Leah sat down beside him, her butt on the sandy wood of the boardwalk. He could only see the top of her head. “We manage,” she said. “You don't have to take it all on by yourself, you know.”

They sat side by side in silence for a few minutes. Then Stewart said, “Pete's mother is dead.”

“I'm sorry,” Leah said. They both continued to look down towards the water. “Why does it bother you so much?”

Stewart crossed his arms. “I wanted to help,” he said. “The truth is, if not for me, Pete never would have been trying to surf during that storm. I goaded him into it.”

“Wow,” Leah said.

“Yeah. I thought if I could help his mother, I could fix what I'd done.”

Leah scooted closer to his chair and leaned her head against the side of his knee. “You brought her peace. I'm sure of it. And it's time for you to let it go.”

“Do you think I've changed?” Stewart said. “Have I become a better person than the one who taunted Pete?”

“Take it from me,” Leah said, “I've known you most of your life and you have changed. You're not that cocky boy anymore. Don't keep beating yourself up over the past. We were all dumb kids.”

Leah stood up and walked down onto the sand, turning back with the wind blowing her hair in all directions. Stewart couldn't help thinking she looked like a sea goddess. "Come join me," she said.

"Do you think that's a good idea?" he asked.

"I think it's the best idea I've ever had."

He smiled. He leaned over his legs and placed one hand flat on the sand, but it was too soft and he ended up tumbling out of his wheelchair onto the beach, laughing. His legs were twisted around each other.

Leah giggled and grabbed his ankles, pulling him down towards her and straightening his body in the process. Though it was dark out, the air was still warm. Leah climbed up Stewart, straddling him. He looked up at her dark eyes and wondered at how strange it was that when they were teenagers, he had never taken a moment to really just look at her. Then she leaned forward and pressed her lips on his. He reached his arms around her and held her tightly against himself. He smelled deeply of her salty hair and honey skin.

“We’re good together,” Leah said, “And you know it.”

“Yes,” Stewart said, surrendering. “We are.”

***

Thanks for reading! See more of Stewart in the novel (W)hole, the story of which is a prequel to this one. Stewart and Leah will also be returning in some erotic short stories, like Home for Christmas. You can learn more about my other stories and novels at www.ruthmadison.com
-Ruth

The Video

2011-12-11T12:20:00.000-08:00

http://paradevostories.blogspot.com/2011/10/video.html

Part 3! Hope it's okay. In the second half of the post there are some extra spaces between paragraphs, sorry about that. I'm still figuring out how to post things properly and stuff. Also, sorry it took me over a month to update this! Things have been super busy for me, but as it's Christmas soon, hopefully I'll have more time to write. :) Hope you all enjoy it!

New Story

2011-12-11T05:50:00.001-08:00

So I posted a chapter of a new story below called The Elevator Guy. Like I said, it's not about SCI, so hopefully it is OK. If people enjoy it, I can continue writing.

The Elevator Guy (Chapter 1)

2011-12-11T05:48:00.000-08:00

Noel’s Memory Book:

Sonya, my speech therapist, wants me to keep a Memory Bookto help me with my memory, which is crap. That tends to happen when you destroy half your brain. So this book is for me to try to rememberappointments and stuff that’s important for me to remember. Also to help me to learn to write better withmy left hand, since my right hand is curled into a mostly useless ball. Next time I fall asleep while driving andsmash my head in, I’m going to try not to destroy the dominant side of mybrain. That’s the plan.

I told Sonya I’d try this out but I kind of feel like I’mkeeping a diary which is about as emasculating as my shit job pressing buttonsin the elevator. That’s right, I pressbuttons in an elevator at the local hospital. They call me the Elevator Operator, but I don’t kid myself.

All right, stuff I’m supposed to remember:

1. Go shopping for toilet paper. Rose got me groceries yesterday but no toiletpaper. Situation getting desperate.

2. Doctor’s appointment next week forBotox injections in my right arm and leg. Hate injections. But seems tohelp.

The new medical students are starting this week. I’m considering calling in sick. The students always stare at me, like I’msome kind of freak, which I guess I am. Last year on their first day, I left my cane in my locker to give themone less thing to stare at, but that didn’t go well. It’s one thing to walk while holding ontofurniture in my apartment, but it’s much harder to hold onto the wall at thehospital. No traction on the wall. I practically ended up flat on the floor, andI don’t need any more facial fractures. And now, since I’m due for injections, I’m walking worse and worse. Very unsteady on my feet now. If I’m totally honest with myself, I’dprobably be better off with my forearm crutch, but I only resort to that on myvery worst days.

I hate those med students. I hate the way they look at me. They’re so full of themselves. Especially the ones who think they’re going to be famous surgeons some day. I wish they could see a glimpse of what theirlives are going to be like ten years from now. Maybe they’ll be fighting malpractice suits. Maybe they’ll have quit medicine. Maybe they’ll be pushing buttons in a goddamnelevator.

Shit, what was I talking about again? Right, shopping for toilet paper. Can pick it up at the drug store. Need two packages, maybe three.

Chloe’s Diary:

You know what I hate more than anything?

When you’re sitting on the toilet in a public restroom andthe person in the next stall starts talking to you. I really, really hate that. I do not want to have a conversation when I’mpeeing. Nobody does. If people were meant to talk while sitting onthe toilet, God would have put phones in bathrooms.

But my new roommate, Olivia Chaw, doesn’t seem to getit. She does it all the time at home andit drives me crazy. Seriously, Olivia,you can’t wait two minutes to ask me what I want for dinner so I can finishpeeing? The Lean Cuisine isn’t going anywhere.

And now she’s doing it in a public restroom at school. She’s talking about the boys in our medschool class, who we just met during a luncheon for the entering med schoolclass. She’s already ranked our maleclassmates by order of cuteness. Tellme, who does that? This girl is insane.

“That guy Graham is number one,” she says.

“Uh huh,” I mumble, determined not to get involved in thisdiscussion till I’ve flushed. She’s notgetting the hint At All.

After two consecutive flushes, Olivia and I emerge from our respectivestalls. One thing I can say for Olivia:she’s a hottie. She has a petite,heart-shaped face and flawless skin, and although she’s wearing a ton ofmake-up, she doesn’t need it. Also, notthat I’m into that kind of stuff, but she has a killer bod.

Olivia checks out her make-up in the bathroom mirror. I kind of get the feeling that Olivia is onthe prowl. I’m less on the prowl. Or rather, not on the prowl at all. Actually, getting a date is pretty low on mylist of priorities right now, a little bit below making sure there’s milk inthe refrigerator and worrying about world hunger, which is actually really lowon my list of priorities too.

“Hey,” she says, “you going back to the luncheon or do youwant to find our new lockers?”

This morning, we were assigned lockers near the anatomylabs, to store clothing and other items while in the lab. I’m not particularly excited about visitingthese lockers. For starters, theyprobably smell horrible. The last thingI need is to have the smell of anatomy lab clinging to me while I meet all mynew classmates. But then again, whatelse am I supposed to do? Study?

“Lockers,” I say without enthusiasm.

We go out in to the hallway and Olivia hits the elevatorbutton. The elevator arrives and to my surprise,there’s a guy inside sitting on a little stool. I couldn’t be more shocked. Olivia looks as taken aback as I am. We both stand there, staring at him, not surewhat to do. I almost expect him to tellus that this elevator has been reserved for a private party. “You getting in?” he asks in a low, boredvoice.

We timidly get into the elevator. Apparently, this guy is the elevator operatorbecause he asks us where we want to go and presses the button for us. (That or he’s just really really bored.) I’ve never seen an elevator operator before,except in a Looney Tunes cartoon and that’s usually a dog. I mean, his job is to press the buttons onthe elevator. That’s not hard oranything. I could do that on my own andhave been since I was five. Actually, Ithink when I was five, being an elevator operator would have been my dreamjob. Maybe it still is. Maybe he and I could trade places, like inthat movie with Dan Aykroyd and Eddie Murphy, I forget what it’s called.

The guy is staring at us intensely the whole ride and it’sscaring me a little. He’s slightly olderthan us, maybe late twenties, and he’s got this kind of glazed look in hiseyes. I guess operating the elevator isnot that stimulating. He has short brownhair that looks reddish under the lights of the elevator, and a light stubbleof a beard across his chin. It seemslike the elevator operator ought to speak with a clipped British accent and bedressed up in some overly fancy royal blue outfit, but this guy is just dressedin casual clothes: sneakers, blue jeans, and a green T-shirt.

After we get out of the elevator, Olivia takes my arm andwhispers in my ear, “Oh god, he was kind of creepy, wasn’t he?” She then adds: “Although sort of cute.” I’m starting to think Olivia has divided themale gender up into The Cute and the Non-Cute. I had to agree with her on this one though. The elevator guy was a little creepy but alsopretty cute.

We pass the anatomy labs, which are locked. I shiver as we pass by. It’s cold down here. I guess they keep it cold because of the deadbodies and all.

Our lockers are in a long narrow hallway around the cornerfrom the anatomy labs. Olivia’s happyher locker is one of the lower ones, because she’s short. My locker number is 257. I open it up and inside there’s… a bloodysevered arm! No, I’m just kidding, it’sempty.

I try to picture myself coming here every day, pulling out apair of scrubs and changing to march off to anatomy lab, and I almost smile. I am now a med student. That’s sort of cool, right?

Noel’s Memory Book:

The new med students started today. I still hate them, but I think my anger isimproved because I only want to punch some of them in the nose. Good progress. Must tell Sonya.

I have good days and bad days and lately the good days arefewer and further in-between. Today wasnot a good day. The splint that I wearon my right hand to keep it in a “functional position” did not want to goon. That whole arm is just gettingworse—the muscles tightening up until the little strength I have is pretty muchuseless. My fear is that someday allthat will be left of my hand will be a gnarled fist.

My right leg was even worse. My right ankle kept spasming every time I touched it, going intorhythmic jerking movements that the doctor referred to as “clonus.” On days like this, I get worried that my timeon my feet has an expiration date. Ihope not, obviously. There was a momentwhen I considering crawling to the closet and getting out my wheelchair, butthe spasms finally calmed down enough that I could get to the bathroom to takean extra pill.

Unlike my hand, most people don’t notice my legs until theysee me walk. I don’t walk well atall. At best, I need a cane, and let metell you, my cane isn’t subtle or decorative. It’s not a Mr. Peanut cane. It’sa metal quad cane with four spokes that touch the ground to give me addedstability. And even the cane alone isn’tenough to keep me upright. My right legwould probably collapse if I didn’t have a brace riding all the way up to abovemy knee. And then my left leg (or what’sleft of it) is all plastic and metal. Mypants mostly cover up the messes that used to be my legs.

In attempt to look normal today, or as normal as is possiblefor me these days, I had my cane behind my stool in the elevator. I didn’t want any of the students to have thepleasure of seeing me hobble along. They’llfigure it out eventually though, I guess. I’d like to say I don’t care what those assholes think of me, but it’spretty hard not to care at all.

I saw a girl in the elevator today who reminds me ofLiz. She looks sort of like Liz, butit’s more than that. I’m not sure. She’s cute, anyway. I can’t put my finger on it, but there’ssomething about her that reminds me of the Liz I knew eight years ago, beforeshe became the way she is now. That oldLiz was great. Before she became MissHeartless Chief Orthopedic Surgery Resident engaged to Mister BackstabbingPsychiatrist.

I wonder when that wedding is anyway. It’s probably at the end of the year. Liz will make a beautiful bride. I always thought so. God, I hate her.

Chloe’s Diary:

In order to postpone the inevitable actual starting ofmedical school, today we’re all learning Basic Life Support. We’re learning how to save lives. This is important stuff, you guys.

In the elevator, Olivia is reciting stuff she memorized lastnight. “The ratio is thirty compressionsfor every two breaths,” she says authoritatively.

Creepy Elevator Guy, which is the nickname we gave him lastnight, is watching us, and when Olivia says that, he snorts with some mixtureof laughter and contempt. When even theguy who presses the buttons in the elevator thinks you’re a loser, you knowyou’re in trouble.

Olivia looks pissed. She tries to stare down Creepy Elevator Guy, who clearly has nointention of getting stared down. “What?” she says.

“Nothing,” he says and shrugs, but I can tell he’s stilltrying not to laugh at her. YesterdayOlivia called him cute and he really is. Although most of all, I’m intrigued by the thin white scar below hisleft eye. And actually, now that I’mlooking I can see another scar along his left jawline that’s almost concealedby his reddish brown stubble. I’vealways found scars incredibly sexy. Exceptnow I’m staring. Stop staring at CreepyElevator Guy, Chloe. It’s impolite. People will get the wrong idea.

“This could save someone’s life,” Olivia says. “This is really important stuff.”

“It sure is,” Creepy Elevator Guy says in a way that makesit really obvious he doesn’t think so.

Olivia mutters the word “asshole” under her breath andeither Creepy Elevator Guy doesn’t hear it or he pretends not to. Either way, I’m extremely relieved to get outof that elevator in one piece.

Noel’s Memory Book:

I saw that girl again this morning. I think her name is Chloe, or at least,that’s what I heard her friend calling her. I didn’t catch her friend’s name, but I think they might beroommates. Between the two of them, thefriend is the prettier one, for sure. But I was never the kind of guy who went for the hottest girl in theroom.

There’s something nice about Chloe. I like the way her otherwise straight brownhair curls around her ears. I like theway she chews on her lip as she watches the floor numbers in the elevator. I like the way all her clothes are at least asize too big and her shirt sleeves come down nearly to her fingertips. She looks like she’s trying so hard to belike everyone else, but she just can’t quite fit in. Like she’s playing Medical Student Dress-up.

It’s been a long time since I’ve been attracted to a girl. At least, in a serious way. I’m sure they would be mortified to learnthis, but there have been a few times when an attractive woman was standingclose to me in the elevator and I started to get hard. It’s been a really long time, as I said, andI can’t control it as well as I used to. It’s hard to distract myself. Anyway, it’s not like I would do something about it, like rub againstthe girl. I’m not a pervert.

But this is an entirely different thing. Liking Chloe isn’t a reflex. In another time or place, she’s the sort ofgirl I would have liked to go out with. But I realize it’s not going to happen in this time or place. I may have smashed up my brain, but I’m not acomplete idiot.

And if I had any doubt in my mind, as the girls were leavingthe elevator, I heard the friend mutter something about “Creepy ElevatorGuy.” Apparently, that’s my nicknamethis year. All right. Could be worse. Last year, there was a guy who used to callme “Gimpy Joe.”

Chloe’s Diary:

I think there’s supposed to be something magical about thefirst anatomy lab. The first time youcut into that cadaver is supposed to be one of those transitional experiences thatturns you from a boy into a man. (Iguess in my case, it would be more appropriate to say “a girl into a woman” butI’ve noticed that things that turn girls into women generally involve sex and Ireally really hoped there would not be any sex involved in this first anatomylab.)

I got good grades in college, so I’m not used to feelingstupid. But I did feel stupid, over andover. My partners in the lab are Olivia,my roommate, which is fine, but then I’m also stuck with Olivia’s number onepick on handsome classmates: Graham Kingsley. Or should I say, Graham Kingsley, Future Surgeon, as he’s reminded ushalf a dozen times in the five minutes after we were introduced. I have to admit, Graham is very good lookingin a classic movie star kind of way. He’s got dark wavy hair, really chiseled andperfect features, and he’s even got a little cleft in his chin, if you likethat kind of stuff, which I honestly don’t. Most girls do though, apparently, because they’re throwing themselves atthe guy left and right and it’s incredibly annoying.

The last of our lab partners is Claire Sheldon: gorgeous,blonde, and tall as the sky. (I am shortas the grass.) She’s the only girl inthe class who looks good in scrubs, and of course, we hate each other immediately.

For the first half of lab, Olivia and I huddle in the cornerand she whispers some rumor in my ear about our professor, Jeremy Conrad. Dr. Conrad is in his early forties and hasbrown hair threaded with silver and what seems like a kind face. He looks distinguished yet somehowapproachable.

“You know what I heard?” Olivia whispers in my ear. “I heard Dr. Conrad comes into the anatomylab at night and has sex with the female corpses.”

I stare at her. “Okay, there is zero chance that is actually true.”

“It IS true!” Olivia insists, her voice much louder than Iwould have liked. “Everyone knows thatDr. Conrad is a huge necrophiliac.”

The terribly handsome Graham looks up at us, obviouslyhaving heard. I’m blushing, but he seemstotally unperturbed. “I heard the samething,” he says.

At this point, I don’t even care if Dr. Conrad is readingFrench poetry to the cadavers at night, I just want Olivia and Graham to shutup about it. Thankfully, Claire turns tothem and snaps, “Can you shut up, please? You’re all disgusting.”

I spend much of the rest of class watching Graham and Clairedo our dissection. Graham informs usagain that he wants to be a surgeon, in case I have early Alzheimer’s diseaseand have forgotten. I’m minding my ownbusiness until Dr. Conrad approaches me from behind and scares the shit out ofme.

“Chloe, what muscle is that?”

How the hell does he know my name? My lab partners don’t even know my name. Dr. Conrad is smiling at me, but all I canthink about is what he might be doing with the cadavers at night. Thanks a lot, Olivia.

“Um,” I say brilliantly. “Which muscle?”

Dr. Conrad points with a gloved hand. I’m wearing two pairs of gloves, although itseems sort of unnecessary considering I’ve barely touched the body.

“The trapezius?” I guess.

Dr. Conrad stares at me like he can’t believe I saidsomething so stupid.

“The rhomboids?” Dr.Conrad looks even more horrified. Clearly, I have no idea. Please somebody put me out of my misery.

“It’s the serratus posterior,” Graham says. I hate that guy.

“That’s right,” Dr. Conrad says. My cheeks are on fire. I’ve never been so embarrassed.

By the end of lab, my brain feels full. Graham takes off early, leaving Olivia,Claire, and me to clean up. Claire lookspissed. She’s muttering under her breaththat next time he’s going to damn well do his share. I’m past caring. I just want to get out here.

Instead of going to the bathroom where all the other girlsare changing, I grab my clothes and go up a flight, so I can be alone. I sit in the stall for a long time, justtrying to calm myself down. Dr. Conradthinks I’m an idiot. Actually, I kind ofthink I’m an idiot now. I don’t belongin medical school. I hate it. I don’t want to be here.

I pick up my cell phone, wondering who I should call whomight make me feel better. None of myfriends from college were dumb enough to go to med school. They wouldn’t understand. My parents? They’d freak out if I suggested I was quitting, especially my dad.

Finally, I get dressed and go back downstairs to put myscrubs in the locker. Everyone isgone. Olivia is probably wondering whereI am. Or else she’s with Graham, hearingall about how he wants to be a surgeon.

I head over to the elevator and press the button. The door opens and just my luck: CreepyElevator Guy is sitting on his stool. Istand there for a minute, frozen. Hestares back at me. “You coming inside?”

I nod and slip inside and tell him my floor. He hits the right button, which seems like abit of a miracle after yesterday. Whenthere were a bunch of people in the elevator, he was missing about half thebuttons. It’s not like this is a hardjob.

I see him crinkle his nose and I know why: I stink. It's an inevitable side effect of anatomy lab. Good thing I'm not looking for a boyfriend.

“Sorry,” I say.

Creepy Elevator Guy shrugs. “It’s the same every year,” he says.

I snort. “So I’mtypical?”

“Yes, you are,” he says. “You’ve got that look. You justhad your first anatomy lab and you want to drop out.”

I stare at him. “What?” I had just been talkingabout the smell.

He shrugs again. “Typical. Soon you won’t be afirst year who wants to quit—you’ll be a second year who wants to quit. Then you’ll be a resident who wants toquit. It’s a natural progression.”

This seems like a suspiciously large amount of insight for aguy who runs the elevators, but then again, I guess he’s seen a lot of us comethrough over the years. So I’mtypical. That’s not so bad.

He lifts his green eyes to look at me and for a second, mybreath catches in my throat. It’s been awhile since I’ve been physically close to a guy and he’s surprisinglyattractive. For a guy who runs theelevator. “You’re Chloe, right?” hesays. I like his voice.

“Right,” I say, surprised. He must have heard Olivia say my name.

“My name is Noel,” he says. “So you don’t have to call me Creepy Elevator Guy anymore.”

Oh hell, he heard us. For a second, I thought I was connecting with Creepy Elevator Guy, butapparently not. “I didn’t…” I begin.

He shrugs again and the elevator doors open. It’s my floor. I hurry home to shower in scalding hot waterand possibly bleach.

Noel’s Memory Book:

Chloe has a positive Fingernail Sign.

The Fingernail Sign is something I made up last year. I see the med students in the elevator and Ilook at their fingernails and how bitten down they are. I call it a positive Fingernail Sign and it’ssuggests a pretty bad prognosis. Itmeans the student is probably going to be miserable all year.

Chloe probably has the most strongly positive FingernailSign I’ve ever seen. Her fingernailslook terrible. She’s only been here aweek and I could already see little droplets of blood oozing from the jaggededges of her nails. She reallybrutalized her poor nails.

I was never a nail-biter. I never even got nervous before exams. I always felt confident I’d do great and I always did. When I took the MCATs to get into medicalschool, I didn’t even break a sweat.

Now I do worry, but about entirely different things. I worry that the shots will stop working onmy leg and I won’t be able to walk anymore. I worry about how I’m going to manage my finances when my parents aren’taround anymore. And most of all, I worrythat a nice, cute girl like Chloe will never be interested in me again.

Actually, that last one isn’t so much of a worry as it is acertainty.

Chloe’s Diary:

My first anatomy quiz is tomorrow. I’m not going to panic. Okay, I’m panicking a little. I just need to relax and not panic. STOP PANICKING, CHLOE! Get a hold of yourself, woman.

Graham has seized control in anatomy lab again. Olivia and I are helpless to stop him, butClaire is the only one who tries. Thetwo of them bicker like they’re married. Olivia thinks it’s just a matter of time before they start hookingup. Actually, I think they’d make a goodcouple. They’re both really attractiveand very driven. I think when theyfight, there’s an undertone of sexual tension. Like yes, they’re yelling at each other, but any minute they might startmaking out. Any minute now.

“If you don’t move over, I swear to god I’m going to stabyou,” Claire says. She’s kind of intense. She wants to be an OB/GYN and I canpractically see her screaming “PUSH!!!” at a laboring woman.

“You don’t have the guts to stab me,” Graham says.

I’m not so sure. Claire really looks like she might stab him. I think despite his confidence, he’s a littleworried too, so he steps aside.

Graham has been stripping the spine. He’s ripped out the vertebrae and now we haveto get through the layers of the spinal cord. We’ve been here an hour and I haven’t picked up the scalpel once. I don’t even know where my scalpel is.

“Chloe, what are the membranes covering the spinal cord?”

Goddammit, it’s Dr. Conrad again. Why me??

“Um,” I say.

Graham is watching this little interaction inamusement. I hate him.

“Chloe, are you reading the lab manual prior to coming tolab?” Dr. Conrad asks me.

“Honestly,” I say, “no.”

“Why not?”

“I just don’t get a lot out of it,” I admit.

“That’s not surprising if you don’t read it.”

Oh ho ho, so funny. WhatI’d really like to ask him is if there’s some easier version of the labmanual. Like “Anatomy For Dummies.” I bet a book like that exists. I’m going to check on Amazon as soon as I gethome.

“Are you studying for the quiz tomorrow?” Dr. Conrad asksme.

“Yes,” I say. I havea sinking feeling in my stomach.

“Good.”

I’m going to fail this quiz, aren’t I? I’m going to get the lowest score in theclass. I’m going to get the lowest scorein the history of all time. I’m going toget, like, negative a thousand.

Noel’s Memory Book:

Doctor’s visit. Injection day.

Rose drove me. I wasso nervous in the car, I was shaking. Ihate these goddamn injections. She wasmaking chit chat during the drive, because she knew I was scared and wanted toget my mind off it. It didn’t reallyhelp. I never liked needles, at leastnot on myself. Now that I get stuck withthem on a regular basis, it’s worse.

I started getting the injections about six months ago. This was my third set, I think. Yeah, definitely was my third. The first time I felt like crap for daysafter, like I had the flu or something. The second time was better. Thistime, who knows?

When the nurse called my name, Rose came into the room withme without asking. I probably would havewanted her to come anyway, but I wished she’d ask. She never asks. She’s my big sister, not my wife or mymother. She should ask.

When did it stop being okay to be afraid of needles? When I was five I got vaccines and I cried,and I got rewarded with a lollipop. Whenyou’re 29, you can’t cry from pain anymore. It’s not macho. No girl will wantyou. Although it’s not like any girlwill ever want me again anyway. So I may as well cry, right?

The doctor doing the injections was real cute. Dr. McCoy. She was maybe five years older than me, but she seemed really young andsexy. She wore a navy skirt that camedown just above her knees and I got a good view of her legs. Just her touching me got me visibly turnedon. Yet another thing I have difficultycontrolling now, it’s embarrassing.

I saw Dr. McCoy looking down at my lap and I was scared shecould tell the effect she was having on me. If she did, she was probably either amused or disgusted, though I’m notsure which would be worse. I tried mybest to distract myself and get rid of the damn erection. Dr. McCoy didn’t have a wedding band, but Ididn’t kid myself for a second that she’d be interested in me. Five years ago, I think I could have hit onher and she would have definitely gone for it. As a surgery resident, women were always flirting with me. I didn’t even have to try back then.

She took my right hand in hers and tried to stretch out mywrist and fingers. She was real gentlebut it still made me wince and I could tell she felt sorry for me. My fingers don’t move easily. They tend to curl up into a fist. I’ve been using a splint, but it just keepsgetting worse. I can’t even really movemy fingers anymore on my own and the splint barely fits. I try not to let on how much this bothersme. But they’re my fingersgoddammit. Of my right hand, which usedto be my dominant hand. “Do the injectionshelp?” Dr. McCoy asked me.

I nodded. Injections+ stretching + splints make it somewhat better. But I can’t do much with my right hand anymore. My handwriting with my left hand is crap, butI’ve been working on it because I’ve abandoned all hope that my right hand willever function normally again. The best Ican hope for is that it won’t end up as a curled up, immobile, unusable ball.

Then came the needles. A shot, I could take. But in thiscase, the needle was attached to an electrical stimulator that worked on the musclesin my forearm. When she moved the needleand applied a current, my fingers started to jump against my will. Dr. McCoy dug around, waiting for my fingersto jump in just the right way. Everytime the needle shifted, I wanted to scream with pain. Rose was holding my left hand and my eyesstarted tearing up against my will. Iwasn’t crying, just tearing, but it was still really embarrassing. I closed my eyes and tried to pretend I wassomewhere else. “It’s okay, Noel,” Roserubbed my knee. “Almost done.”

Except she wasn’t almost done and it took for freaking everas usual. Dr. McCoy injected thebotulinum toxin, the same stuff that causes food poisoning and makes wrinklesgo away, into the muscles of my arm. She’s killing the muscles. In aweek or two, things should start to get better. My fingers will open up and I’ll maybe be able to use them again alittle for basic things. That will begreat.

When she finally removed the needle from my forearm, Dr.McCoy gave me a kind, mildly condescending smile. “You did great, Noel,” she said and patted meon the shoulder.

I wished it could have been over at that point, but itwasn’t—I still had to get injections done on my right leg. I wear a Knee Ankle Foot Orthosis on my rightleg that goes all the way up above me knee, and Rose helped me take it off sothat Dr. McCoy could get at my right calf. Without my KAFO brace, my knee buckles and my foot scrapes against thefloor as I walk.

I lay down on my stomach on the table and I braced myself asDr. McCoy cleaned the skin with alcohol. I got four needles into my calf, to kill themuscle that makes my foot point downward against its will. I put the brace back on and I was glad Rosewas there because I could tell right away it was going to be hard to walk outof here, even though I brought my forearm crutch for extra support. I hate the way that forearm crutch makes melook, but it definitely provides more support than my cane. I’d stowed my wheelchair away in a closet andwas determined to never use it again. That was out of the question, at least right now.

After the injections were done and Rose was helping me putmy brace back on, Dr. McCoy said to me, “How is your prosthetic doing?”

“Fine,” I mumbled. Inaddition to my weak right leg, I lost my left leg just below the knee. I wear a prosthetic, but it’s still much morestable than my weak right leg.

“Would you like me to take a look?” she asked.

I tried to shake my head, but immediately Rose was insistingshe should look, because she had noticed a red area last week. I put on the prosthetic myself, so I’m notsure how Rose had the opportunity to notice such a thing, but the two women inthe room weren’t satisfied until I’d stripped off the prosthetic and Dr. McCoywas fingering my stump.

It’s embarrassing to admit that my stump is fairly sensitiveand under ordinary circumstances, Dr. McCoy’s soft fingers on my flesh wouldhave been enough to bring my erection back. But my arm and leg were still smarting from the needles, and all I couldthink about was whether my leg would work well enough to get me from here toRose’s car. I knew she’d drive mestraight home and then I could lie down until the pain disappeared.

Yeah, it was awful. But it’s done. Three months untilnext time. Rose already wrote it in mycalendar book because she knows I won’t remember otherwise.

The Elevator Guy (Chapter 2)

2011-12-10T23:00:00.000-08:00

Chloe’s Diary:

My quiz is happening today. Like it or not. (Not.)

The important thing is not to remain calm. I studied. Yes, the amount of information to study was equivalent to the contentsof an encyclopedia and the amount I studied is equivalent to maybe ten pages ofsaid encyclopedia. But that is no reasonto panic. I mean, it’s just a quiz. No biggie.

When I get into the elevator, Noel says to me, “Your firstquiz is today, isn’t it?”

How does he know that? I guess everyone talks about their quizzes in front of him. Other students sort of act like he isn’t eventhere. “Um, it is…” I admit.

“You’ll do fine,” he says. “Everyone gets nervous. But it’snot a big deal.”

I don’t know why, but this reassurance really helps me. Honest truth: I let the elevator across thehall go without me so that I could ride up with Noel this morning. I find it kind of comforting to talk tohim. He’s really reassuring. It’s his voice. When he tells me I’ll be okay, I feel like Ihave to believe him. Don’t tellOlivia. She hates Creepy Elevator Guy.

It turns out he’s right. When I get to the auditorium where I’m taking the quiz, everyone looksterrified. I think I only maybe look anaverage amount terrified. The guysitting next to me is shaking so hard that when he tries to sip from his opencoffee cup, it spills all over his lap. Ithink it scalded him.

A teaching assistant shushes us and then distributes the twopage quiz. Immediately, I see a crosssection of the spinal cord. Theinstructions read: Draw all nerves coming out of the spinal cord, includinglabeling the cell bodies.

Okay, that sounds hard. Kind of open-ended. I glance atthe next question: it’s hard too! Thisis a hard quiz.

I look around and everyone is scribbling furiously on theirpapers. I look down at my blank quiz.

Oh hell.

Forty five minutes later, I’m handing in a paper I’m notvery proud of. I didn’t do well. Actually, it was a disaster. I go to the bathroom and cry. I know it’s just a stupid quiz, but I’m notused to bombing exams. I’m in over myhead.

Noel’s Memory Book:

Sonya’s assignment for me is to write down my firstmemory. Except I have two firstmemories.

Age three years old, my dad trapped a rat in ourkitchen. The images are fuzzy, but Iremember being terrified. I huddledbehind ten year old Rose’s skinny legs as he picked it up by its tail andreleased it outside. So he said, atleast. Later I found out he flushed itdown the toilet.

Next is from about 25 years later. Still very fuzzy. I remember the face of Megan, my speechtherapist, dangling a spoonful of what looked like baby food in front of mymouth. “Take a bite, Noel,” she said ina gentle voice.

I felt confused. Ididn’t know where I was and I suddenly realized that I was sitting in awheelchair. I had never sat in awheelchair before in my life and when I tried to get up, I noticed the rightside of my body felt really heavy. Therewas a belt across my lap, holding me in place, and I tried to paw at it with myleft hand, but Megan grabbed my hand and shook her head no. I tried to get up using my legs, but only myleft leg moved.

I looked back at the spoonful of food that Megan was holdingout to me expectantly. Recognizing whatshe wanted, I opened my mouth for a bite. I felt the food go into my mouth and it was like my tongue wasn’t surewhat to do with it. I started coughing.

The worst part was that Megan seemed completelyunsurprised. It was like she expected meto be unable to swallow this spoonful of baby food. When it dribbled out of my mouth, she dabbedat it with a napkin.

Of the two, I would say the second was far scarier.

Chloe’s Diary:

You’ll be really proud to learn that prior to coming to labtoday, I read the anatomy lab manual for twenty minutes. On the toilet. It still counts. And I have to say, once you’ve used a book inthe anatomy lab, reading in the bathroom seems a lot more sanitary.

As I’m walking to the lab, I see a guy with reddish brownhair standing in front of the vending machine, fumbling with his change. The guy is very cute, and I think regretfullyabout how long it’s been since I’ve had a boyfriend. I miss the way it feels to have a guy’s warm,heavy arm around my shoulders. For asecond, I’m considering trying out my rusty flirting skills, then I realizewith a jolt of surprise that it’s Noel. I’ve never seen him outside the elevator before. This seems weird, surreal. Like in high school when you run into yourteacher at the grocery store and he’s wearing a sweater and jeans.

I wonder if I should go up and say hi. Also, I’d like a Milky Way. I’ve only gained ten of the fifty pounds Iassume I’m going to gain this year.

I walk up to him and get close enough that I can smell hisaftershave. It smells nice. Minty. “Hi,” I say.

He looks up at me, wide eyed and alarmed. He then drops all his change. I have that effect on men. “Chloe,” he says. “Hey.”

I expect him to pick up the coins, but he’s just standingthere. “Um, your coins?” I say.

“Oh,” he says. “Yeah.”

I watch as he steadies himself on the wall and fiddles withhis right knee before gingerly lowers himself to the ground. It is not a graceful motion by anymeans. My stomach churns a little bit asI now notice he’s only picking up coins with his left hand. In addition to some issue with his legs, hisright hand is… well, I don’t know. It’sall curled up. Like those kids withcerebral palsy or something. How did Inot notice this before? Is Noel… I mean,is there something wrong with him? Theremust be.

Of course, I’m staring. Noel looks up at me and he has this dark expression on his face. “Do you need… help?” I ask lamely.

“Help?” He’s glaringat me now. “No, I don’t need help,Chloe. I’m fine. Go to lab.”

My heart is slamming in my chest. Something is wrong with Noel. For sure. I mean, I don’t know how I didn’t realize it sooner. What thirty year old guy presses buttons inan elevator for a living? And also, hesucks at it. All the other studentsgiggle about how he gets all the floors wrong.

He must be… what the word? You can’t say retarded, right? Developmentally disabled is what you’re supposed to call them, I think.

But he doesn’t seem retarded. I mean, developmentally disabled. He seems… nice. Retarded guys are not that cute. At least, I don’t think they are. But there’s something wrong with him, that’sfor certain. And I can’t ask him what itis. It’s obvious this isn’t something hewants to talk about, even though I really would love to learn more abouthim. How could I show him that I’m notjust nosy but that I’m actually interested in… him?

“Ready to crack open the ribs?” Olivia says to me as Iarrive at my locker.

“Huh?” I say.

She rolls her eyes. “The dissection. Are you readyfor some rib cracking?”

Oh hell. I read thewrong pages.

Noel’s Memory Book:

My hand is somewhat better since the injections, aftergetting stretched out by the therapists and using a splint. I haven’t been wearing the splint as much asI know I should. I’ve been wearing it athome, but not as much during the day.

So I made up excuses about how it was uncomfortable or Idon’t really need it, but that’s not the truth. The truth is that I didn’t want Chloe to see it. Stupid, right? I can hide my legs under my pants and concealmy right hand in my pocket or something, but that damn splint is impossible tohide. So I ditched the splint.

This is my freaking hand. My right hand. It’s mind-bogglingthat I would risk use of my hand for a girl. A GIRL. But Chloe. God. She’s… well, she’s really cute. But more than that, she’s got this kind ofvulnerable, lost look that makes me want to come to her rescue. Liz always told me I was a sucker for adamsel in distress. And she has a greatsmile when she smiles at me, which she does a lot. It’s been a really long time for me, and Iadmit, she’s the first one I’ve met since this happened to me where I thoughtfor a minute that I had a chance of… well, you know. The way she looked at me. I wasn’t imagining it, I know it. There was something there between us. A little something. I’m not terrible looking as long as you don’tlook too close.

Not anymore though. One look at the way I was fumbling to pick up that change and she waswhite like a sheet. I could see her facechange. She figured out something’swrong with me.

The Elevator Guy (Chapter 3)

2011-12-10T22:30:00.000-08:00

Noel’s Memory Book:

I’m so angry, I could spit.

Why, Liz? There are adozen elevators in this building. Whymine?

She looked surprised to see me in here, like she’dcompletely forgotten I work here. Maybeshe did. She’s so caught up in her ownlittle world. So self absorbed.

She was wearing scrubs. Liz always looked great in scrubs. I could see the outline of her breasts under the green scrub top. Can’t help but think back to when… no, stopit. I’m not going to think aboutthat. I don’t care what’s under Liz’sscrub top and I’m sure she doesn’t want me thinking about it either. She had indentations on her face from theface mask and cap she’d been wearing recently. The fresh out of surgery look. The most beautiful look in the world.

She looked tired. Actually, she looked kind of terrible. Older than she actually is. She’salmost thirty, like me, but looks at least five years older than that. She’s got gray hairs. Liz has gray hairs, I can’t believe it. I’ll always think about her as being 22.

And the rock on her finger, it’s the size of a Buick. It makes her long thin fingers looktiny. It makes her raw red hands lookless raw and red. The rock I gave herwas tiny by comparison. No, it was justtiny. Objectively tiny. I still had to save up for months to buy it,between my loans and my crappy resident’s salary. She used to thread it into the drawstring ofher scrub pants during surgeries. It’sin my sock drawer now. I should returnit but I haven’t gotten around to it.

Liz looked surprised to see me. Oh gee, Noel, what a SHOCK. I didn’t know you worked here. When she looks at me, I know she’s able tosee all the scars. She knows about theones hidden by my hair, on my chest, and what my legs look like under my pants. She knows my right hand doesn’t work. I can’t hide anything from her.

“What floor?” I asked her.

“Twelve.” Of course. Surgery.

She pulled her hair out of the ponytail, shook it out andput it up again. “How’s Glenn?” I asked.

“Good,” she said.

“Wonderful,” I said. “I want the two of you to be really good. I want you to both to be so damn happy.”

“Noel…”

I turned away from her. I can’t even look at her anymore.

Three years ago, this is what happened: Liz was gowning upfor a fixation of a femur fracture when she was paged. The scrub nurse returned the page for her,and tapped Liz on the shoulder, told her she needed to talk to her inprivate. Liz yelled at the scrub nurse,said her time was too important and she didn’t want to be bothered. The nurse then told her in front of theentire team that I was down in the trauma bay, unconscious, intubated, probablyabout to die.

I can imagine her face when she saw me. I’ve seen photos of what I looked like. I had a tube in my throat and one in mybladder. The left side of my face wascompletely smashed, destroyed, my skull in pieces. As an orthopedic surgeon, I’m sure she couldtake one look at my crushed left leg and knew it was beyond salvage, but thatwas the least of my problems. If all Ilost was a leg, I’d probably feel bitter about it and have no idea how luckyI’d have been.

I still wonder, did she look me over like a surgeon would,assessing the damage, deciding what was worthy of repair? Did she check my one remaining pupil forsigns that it was still responding to light? Did she rush to the bedside of the man she’d intended to spend the restof her life with, hold my hand, and cry? Did she cry at all?

All I know is that she wasn’t crying when she called myparents to tell them to come to the hospital to say goodbye to their youngest child.

And then I wonder at what point she gave up on me. When she saw me half-dead in the trauma bay,did she already know it was over? Wasshe already planning the next guy to spend the rest of her life with?

She didn’t even wait a year. Not even six months. I wasn’teven worth six months to her.

Whenever I see Liz, I feel disgusted. I loved her so much once, but I think I hateher now. I should quit this job. It’s not like I need the minimum wage. I’ve got disability. Then she’d be out of my life for good.

Chloe’s Diary:

When I come out of the lab today, I notice that I don’t feelthe immediate urge to shower in bleach. This is progress! As I come outof the bathroom from changing, I think that maybe this med school thing isgoing to work out. Maybe this isn’t too…

Hey, what’s that paper in my mailbox?

Oh GOD, it’s the quiz. Oh no…. I am not ready to see that. I need another week. Anothermonth. Or maybe they could just show methe quiz after I graduate.

No, I have to be a man about this. (Or really, a woman, but seriously, that justdoesn’t sound right.) I need to look atthe test. I need to find out what Idon’t know so I can do better next time. I mean, it’s just a quiz. What’sthe worst that it could be? I don’tthink I got a…

Oh hell, I got a 38.

There’s a mean distribution posted on the wall, but I don’tneed to see it to know that a 38 out of 100 is not a good score. All right, the mean was 75. Great. I feel better now that I know I’m three standard deviations below themean. That was helpful information. So helpful, I’m going to cry.

I can’t even look at all the red pen. I just stuff the paper into my book bag andhead for the elevators. Graham andClaire are both waiting for the elevator to come as they compare their exams. They study together a lot and there’s alreadya rumor going through the class that they’re hooking up. As I awkwardly stand next to them, feelingsimultaneously ugly and stupid, they don’t even acknowledge me. I can’t help but glance at Graham’s score: 97. I don’t know how I could hate him more than Ido at this minute.

“…so unfair,” Claire is saying. “I should have gotten full credit for thatquestion.”

Poor Claire. What didshe get—a 95?

The elevator doors open and there’s Noel. I consider waiting for another elevator, butthen I get inside. Noel and I haven’ttalked since that day at the vending machine. Graham looks kind of annoyed to see him too. He’s said a few not so nice things about Noeland his inability to press the right floors. Luckily, we’re all going to the same place this time. The lobby.

“I wonder,” Graham says to no one in particular. “Do you think I got the highest score on thequiz? I think I might have.”

Okay, maybe it was possible to hate him more. I really want to smack him upside the head.

I look up at Noel. Hegives me a half-smile and rolls his eyes so dramatically that I’m sure Grahammust have noticed, but he’s so self-absorbed that he doesn’t. Despite everything, I lower my head andsnicker. Graham looks at me, confused. If you can’t laugh, you’ll jump out thewindow. I’m really glad the bad tensionbetween me and Noel seems to have dissolved.

Noel’s Memory Book:

The med students are divided into three groups: the ones whostare at me, the ones who try not to stare at me, and the ones who don’t give ashit about me.

By age 22, which many of them are, their brains aredeveloped enough that they know it’s rude to stare. It’s just that a lot of them still aren’tmature enough to actually stop themselves from doing it.

Why do they stare? Because I’m not much older than they are and my job is something sobasic that they must wonder why I’ve been hired to do it. Or maybe they notice the scars on my face ormy screwed up right hand or the way I limp around with my cane. As much as I try to convince myself thesethings aren’t obvious, I know they are.

When I was in 4^th grade, there was a boy in myclass named Patrick who was disabled. Istill don’t know exactly what was wrong with him, but he walked with forearmcrutches and his speech often came out garbled. He frequently left the room to go to special classes of his own. None of us talked to Patrick or wanted to befriends with him, and he mostly kept to himself. After my injury, when I became aware enoughto realize how garbled my own speech was, I couldn’t help but think ofPatrick. I worked hard at it, trying tospeak clearer, not wanting to spend my life sounding like he did. I don’t think I do anymore, but who the hellknows. I get the feeling when thestudents look at me, they see someone like Patrick. That’s why none of them talk to me.

I think the med students like having me around. When things get really bad for them, theyknow it could be worse. They could bepressing buttons in the elevator. Atleast they’re in med school. They thinkthere’s no way on earth they’ll ever end up like me. Not possible. I’m in another category, another life. They have no idea. Drivecarefully, kids.

And then there’s Chloe. Chloe is the first med student I’ve come across who looks at me like I’ma regular person. And when I look back,she smiles. Her roommate might beprettier than she is, but when she smiles, she’s really beautiful.

Ever since that awkward encounter at the snack machine,she’s been avoiding looking at me, but today I made her smile. I rolled my eyes at one of her arrogantclassmates and she lit up. I thinkthings are back the way they were. Between us, that is. I likeher. But I’m aware that nothing couldever happen with her. So I’m going towear my hand splint.

Noel’s Memory Book:

Chloe looked sad today. She came into the elevator and she had that defeated look. It’s tooearly in the year for her to look so beaten down. I looked at her fingernails and they weretorn to shreds. Extremely positiveFingernail Sign.

I knew I had to say something to her. She kept glancing at me with an expectantlook on her face. I’ve told her thingsbefore that have made her happier. Icould do it again. I just have to keepreminding myself that there’s nothing between us. She’s never going to fall in love with me oranything like that. I’m not the guy Iused to be. I can try to be her friend,but if I try anything more, she’ll freak out. Or worse, pity me.

“Don’t quit,” I said to her. I don’t know why I said it. But Iknew what was going through her head.

“What?” she said. Shelooked up at me with her wide brown eyes and pushed her glasses up on her nose. They were always sliding down her nose. It was kind of cute.

“I mean,” I said. “You look like you’re having a bad day.”

“Oh, yeah,” she mumbled. “Kind of.” She shrugged like itwas no big deal, even though it was obviously a big deal.

“Why did you come to med school in the first place?” I askedher.

“To help people,” she answered so quickly that I couldn’thelp but laugh. She looked offended, butshe was also smiling. “What?”

“Nothing, you’ve just been really well trained,” Isaid. “You realize that you’re already inmed school. You don’t have tointerview anymore for your spot.”

“Oh.” Sheblushed.

“So tell me the real reason.”

“The real reason?” Chloe bit her lip. She was really thinking about it, whichamazed me. You don’t start thinkingabout why you’re going to med school weeks after you already started. I knew my reasons ten years before I applied,when I was just 13 years old.

I was volunteering over the summer in a hospital EmergencyRoom. Mostly, it was pretty boring. I always thought that the ER was excitinglike on TV, but it was actually pretty dull. Lots of stomach pain, lots of fevers. Not too many gunshot wounds.

But every once in a while, a major trauma would rollin. I would stare in fascination as apatient would be rushed into the ER, bleeding, unconscious, the works. I’d watch as they’d intubate the patient,assess their injuries, and rush them to the OR. If the surgeon knew me, he’d let me observe from the back of theroom. I’d watch as the surgeon wouldslice open the patients, stop the bleeding, and save their lives. It was the most amazing thing I’d ever seen.

I decided that summer that I wanted to be a traumasurgeon. I wanted to have patientsdelivered to me on the brink of death and save their lives. I got to do it for a short time and I waspretty good at it. Then it ended upbeing me on the table in the trauma room, bleeding and unconscious. They sliced me open, stopped the bleeding,and saved my life. Except sometimes Iwish they hadn’t.

“I didn’t want to do anything else, I guess,” Chloe said. “So my dad—he’s a doctor—said I should bepre-med. And… here I am.”

I didn’t know what to say. It’s hard to believe someone could make this kind of a commitmentwithout feeling the passion that I used to feel. No wonder she’s miserable.

“That’s a terrible reason, isn’t it?” She looked a little panicked.

“That’s okay,” I said. “It’s better than if you said you were here because you wanted to makemoney.”

That brought a small smile to Chloe’s face. Eventually, I’m sure she’ll figure out whatshe wants to do with her career, but in the meantime, she’s probably going tobe pretty unhappy. I need to look outfor her, make sure she doesn’t jump out a window.

The Elevator Guy (Chapter 4)

2011-12-10T22:00:00.000-08:00

Chloe’s Diary:

Another quiz today. Ican’t take this constant testing anymore. It’s wearing on my nerves. Ishould have become a bus driver.

Noel’s Memory Book:

I think about girls a lot. More than I used to, actually. Iused to mostly just think about Liz. Imean, yeah, I liked the usual stuff guys like. But I was happy with Liz. Didn’tfantasize too much about other girls. Well, sometimes. I mean, every guyfantasizes about the young scrub nurses. I’m only human.

But now it’s out of control. I think about girls all the freaking time like I’m 15 again. And it’s frustrating because my chances ofhaving a girlfriend are really low right now, even worse than when I was 15. It used to be easy. I was confident, smart, decent looking. Girls always said yes to me. Well, except Liz. She made me work for it. But damn, she was worth it.

But now. I can’timagine a girl agreeing to go out with me unless it was out of pity. Who would go out with a guy with one leg thatdoesn’t work and one leg that’s missing, who gets lost on his way home fromwork? At night when I get undressed,sometimes I look at my legs: my right leg atrophied and wasted, my right gone, andI know there’s no way. No fucking way. Any girl in her right mind would bedisgusted.

I saw Chloe in the elevator this morning and I felt soattracted to her, it was almost painful. I tried to put it out of my mind, think about other things. Usually I can sort of distract myself, butit’s really, really difficult with Chloe. As much as I try not to, I really like her.

I watched as Chloe bit her lip and nervously toyed with herhair. She was giving me that expectantlook again. “Another quiz?” I asked her.

“Yeah,” she said. Shewas looking at me, waiting for me to say something. She wanted to be reassured. It made me feel good that I could give hersome kind of reassurance.

“You’ll be fine,” I told her. “The quizzes aren’t worth much anyway. They’re just to help you figure out what tostudy for the final.”

She gave me another look, like she sometimes does when I saysomething that shows just a little more insight than the guy who works theelevator ought to have. But she’d neversuspect the truth, that I have an MD. It’s not even on her radar. She’djust as soon suspect that roach crawling along the floor won the Nobel Prize.

“You’re doing okay on the quizzes, right?” I asked her.

Maybe I imagined it, but she hesitated. “Sure,” she said.

Somehow I had a flashback to Liz hiding her failing anatomytest papers from me. She didn’t want meto know. She was embarrassed. She once admitted to me that she always feltkind of inferior to me. I remember howbad I felt when she said that. I neverwanted Liz to feel like we were anything other than equals. “You’ll be fine,” I told Chloe again.

I have this crazy fantasy about Chloe. It’s late in the evening and I offer to walkher to her car. You know, for protection(as if I could fight off anyone trying to hurt her). We get outside and it’s raining and the wateris making her clothes cling to her body. As we walk, she leans into me more and more and I feel the heat of herbody against mine. And I don’t fallover, which is what I’d probably end up doing if she leaned against me likethat in real life. And then just beforeshe gets into her car, she hesitates outside the door. And I kiss her. And it’s incredible.

I can’t imagine if she knew what I was thinking about her. She’d probably spray me with mace.

Chloe’s Diary:

Today’s dissection is insane. We’re picking apart the celiac trunk. Whatever that is, right?

“This is the portal vein,” Graham says, hooking a bloodvessel around his index finger. “It’sfed by the splenic vein, the superior mesenteric vein, and the inferiormesenteric vein.”

“Oh,” I say. How thehell am I going to remember this? Howdoes Graham know so much? He must studyduring all his waking hours. At least,all his waking hours when he’s not hooking up with Claire. Although I can sort of imagine them havingsex while taking turns holding the textbook with a free hand.

Dr. Conrad comes over to look at our dissection. It looks great, of course. “What are branches of the celiac trunk, Chloe?”

I want to crawl under the table. Why does he always ask me? Why can’t he ask me a question I know? Like, he should ask me where the closestbathroom is. I totally know that one.

Dr. Conrad gives me this look and I know I haven’t beenimpressing him lately. Then Olivia getsthe answer right. I’m mortified.

I’m feeling tense and awful by the time the lab ends and allI want to do is get out of my scrubs. Iwalk with Olivia to the lockers and there’s no one there. “I’m going to just change here,” I say.

“In the hallway?” Olivia gasps, horrified by mybrazenness.

I’m already stripping off my shirt and scrub bottoms. I’ve never considered myself particularlymodest and this really isn’t a big deal. I’m down to my bra and panties when the door to the locker area opensand in walks my entire class. Ohhell.

I hear a few whistles and I’m fumbling with my T-shirt,trying to get it on before this gets any worse than it already is. Okay, so a bunch of people in my class saw mealmost naked. So what? I’m basically wearing the equivalent of aswim suit. Except for the fact that youcan see my nipples through it. At leastI shaved my legs.

“Hi, Chloe.”

I’m about to put my shirt over my head when I look up. It’s Graham. He’s standing about a foot away from me. And looking at me. Not the way heusually looks at me, like he thinks I’m a complete moron. He’s looking at me like Olivia would like himto look at her.

I’m frozen. He openshis own locker, which is a few doors from mine. Then he pulls his scrub top over his head.

And can I just say… oh… my… god…

Graham is RIPPED. Howin hell does a first year med student end up with a six pack like that? He’s… I mean, I never appreciated musclesbefore, but my god. And now he’s got hispants off and is just in his boxers. Ohwow. He’s not like a muscleman, but he hassuch a perfect physique. I actually likehis ass. I’ve never admired a man’sass. I never knew such a thing waspossible. I just want to run my handsover his…

Oh hell, now I’m staring.

And Graham knows I’m staring. He’s kind of grinning at me. Oh god, this is weird. Yet surprisingly notthat awkward.

I quickly put my shirt over my head and pull on myjeans. Graham is getting dressed too,but really sloooowwwly. He knows I’m watching.

Oh god, I can’t believe I’m ogling Graham. Olivia will never let me live this down. I’d have to live out the rest of my dayshiding in a cave.

Noel’s Memory Book:

Sonya gave me a homework assignment to make a list of thingsI’m grateful for. It will be a shortlist.

Here’s one: I’m grateful I can eat normal food. Moist ground puree is not how I wanted to eatfor the rest of my life. Everythingtasted like Gerber Baby Food. And everytime I ate, I’d either start choking or they’d tell me I was choking and didn’trealize it. Frustrating. Also, I hated food quotas. I had to eat more than half my baby foodevery day or else I was never going to get the tube out of my stomach, theysaid. I really hated having that tube inmy stomach. So I forced myself to try toeat.

They even ruined drinks. They made my apple juice into a mushy solid. So my solids were turned liquidy and myliquids were turned into solids. Everything had the same disgusting consistency.

All right, so I’m grateful I can eat a piece of chicken andchew it with teeth that aren’t all mine, but at least they work. And that damn tube finally got pulled out ofmy stomach (which hurt like hell, by the way).

And another thing is I guess I’m grateful I can walk. Nobody ever thought I would. In the early months after my injury,apparently I got a bone infection in the stump of my left leg, and the surgeonasked my mother for permission to take the rest of my leg off, up to mid-thigh. Like it was no big deal. “We’re just going to revise the amputation toabove the knee,” he told her.

“But won’t that make it harder for him to walk?” my motherasked.

Apparently, the surgeon looked at her like she wascrazy. “That’s what you’re worriedabout?” he said. Obviously, I’d never walk again. He actually told her that, verbatim. Thank god she didn’t let him do it becauseI’d really have a lot more trouble walking if I didn’t have that knee.

And then when I became more aware of what was going onaround me, I remember my left pants leg was always empty because the doctorssaid there was no point in ordering me a prosthetic when there was no chance ofme ever walking between the amputation and my weak right leg. When I first came home, I mostly used thewheelchair and the therapists warned that I might never be able to be a“community ambulatory.” I do wish Iwalked better. I need the cane outsidethe house or a crutch on bad days, and I limp pretty noticeably, but I guess itcould be a lot worse.

Also, I’m grateful I can live on my own now. In rehab, my doctor told me in no uncertainterms that I’d never be able to. I’dalways need assistance. Twenty-four hoursupervision, they said. I moved back inwith my parents after rehab and they had to show me around the house I’d livedin for eighteen years. I used to getlost and confused while going to the bathroom. Now I have my own crappy apartment. I got a crappy job. It’s goingokay.

So fine, there are things I should be grateful for. But if I hadn’t smashed my car up, I wouldn’thave to think about any of those things. I’d still be able to walk and live alone and eat non-mashed foods. And I’d be a goddamn surgeon.

Chloe’s Diary:

I can’t believe I failed another quiz. I can’t believe it.

I’m trying not to think about it. I’m scared I’m going to get my wish and endup flunking out of med school. Well, Ididn’t wish to flunk out. Buteither way, I’ll be out.

Olivia and I are waiting for the elevator. I look down at my nails and realize they’reall bitten down. When did I start bitingmy nails? I’ve done some serious naildamage. I need Manicure 911.

The elevator comes and Noel is inside, sitting on hisstool. He asks us what floor we want togo to. Olivia sighs like he’s reallyputting her out. He ignores her.

“Graham totally likes you, by the way,” Olivia comments tome. “It’s obvious.”

Noel looks at me and raises his eyebrows somewhatcomically. I almost start laughing.

“I thought you said he and Claire are hooking up,” I pointout.

Olivia hesitates. “Idon’t know. Claire is so… cold. I’m sure he’d rather go out with you. I would.”

“You want to go out with me?”

“Shut-up. You knowwhat I mean.”

“Gosh, I’m flattered, Olivia. I like dark chocolates, by the way.”

“Shut-up, Chloe!”

Noel is looking down and I can tell he’s trying hard not tolaugh. I have to confess, as much asGraham’s chest impressed me, I still find myself thinking about Noel. Like, a lot. I know he’s not retarded. I don’tknow what’s going on with him, but he’s obviously a smart guy. And he’s the only person in this place whodoesn’t take everything so seriously.

With his head bowed, I can see something I never noticedbefore: a scar that starts just below his hairline and disappears beneath hisreddish brown hair. It looks like a longone. God, what happened to him?

The Elevator Guy (Chapter 5)

2011-12-10T21:30:00.000-08:00

Chloe’s Diary:

Dr. Conrad asked me if I’d meet with him at the end of the day. I’m scared.

His office is downstairs, near the anatomy labs. My hands keep shaking as I walk there. This must be about failing the two anatomy quizzes. And the fact that I never know the answers to his questions in anatomy lab. Double whammy.

Dr. Conrad has kind of a small, cramped office. I think he may have got shafted in the office department. He stands up when I come in and shakes my hand. His lean and his silvery hair makes him look sort of like an aging movie star. He kind of reminds me of George Clooney. When he smiles, some fine lines around his eyes crinkle disarmingly.

“Have a seat, Chloe,” he says.

I sit.

“How are you liking anatomy so far?” he asks me.

“Um…” I choose my words carefully. “I… like it?”

Dr. Conrad narrows his eyes. Wrong answer? I thought that was an easy one.

“The reason I called you here,” he says, “is this.”

He’s holding up a sheet of paper we had filled out a few weeks ago, that had asked us some questions about ourselves, including what kind of doctor we wanted to be. “Oh.”

“You know, out of over 150 students, you’re the only one who couldn’t think of one specialty you’re interested in.”

I hung my head, not sure what to say.

“Aren’t you interested in medicine?” he asks me.

“I am!” I cry. “I swear! I want to be here!”

Dr. Conrad laughs. “Relax, Chloe. I’m just trying to get to know you.”

I let out a breath. I can’t seem to relax though. I keep squeezing a handful of my shirt hem in my fist.

“I want to try to help you,” he says.

“Okay…”

“I’d like to assign you a resident mentor.”

A resident mentor? Why do I need a resident mentor? Is this a typical thing he does for students who are failing? Or do I just seem particularly pathetic? “Okay…”

“Her name is Elizabeth Woodhouse,” he says. “She used to be one of my students and now she’s a chief resident in the orthopedic surgery department.”

Chief resident in ortho. I bet she was never failing anatomy.

Dr. Conrad holds out a piece of paper to me. “I wrote down her number. I want you to give her a call. I think you’ll really like her. Might help you figure out what you want to do with your career.”

I’m crumpling the paper into a little ball as I shove it into my jacket pocket when I reach the elevators. When the doors open, I see Noel, but instead of sitting on his stool, he’s on his feet. He’s holding a metal cane and leaning heavily on it, and is about to get out of the elevator when he lays his eyes on me.

“Chloe?” He looks surprised to see me.

“Hi,” I say, shoving my hands deeper into my pockets.

We stare at each other for long enough that the doors to the elevator start to close again, and Noel reaches out to keep the door open. “Uh, go ahead, Chloe,” he says.

I squeeze past him, getting maybe a little closer than I need to be. Our eyes meet for a split second, then his face flushes and he looks away. Damn, he’s very cute. Why do I keep having these thoughts about him? I can’t be thinking about guys, any guys, right now. I’m practically flunking out of school.

Noel gets out of the elevator, which seems a little weird. What’s he doing down here so late? Of course, I can’t ask him that, because then he’ll ask me what I’m doing down here. And even though Noel is easy to talk to, I feel like I can’t talk to him or anyone about that.

In any case, it’s pretty clear that neither of us wants to share what we’re doing near the anatomy lab late in the evening. So we wave goodbye without another word as the elevator door closes.

Noel’s Memory Book:

I’m drenched.

The shuttle to my apartment lets me off five blocks away so I have to walk the rest of the distance. I can’t drive. I get lost too easy. My reflexes suck. My right leg doesn’t work well enough to operate the pedals. I could have a seizure. Anyway, no driving. So I walked. And tonight it was raining. Pouring.

After all the students were gone for the day, I met up with Dr. Conrad in the anatomy lab. He swore there were no tests coming up so there was no reason for anyone to be here. But I was still nervous. When I saw Chloe standing in front of the elevator, I started shaking so badly, I was sure I’d trip and fall on my face. I didn’t want her to ask me why I was down near the anatomy labs. What would I say? I couldn’t tell her the truth. I don’t even think she’d believe it.

This was all Dr. Conrad’s idea. When he found out I was thinking about coming back to the hospital, he said I could come to the anatomy labs and practice dissections with him. I don’t think either of us thought I’d ever be able to go back to being a surgeon, but maybe there was something I could do. A doctorate in anatomy, some other medical career that didn’t involve too much dexterity… something. Dr. Conrad’s offer was part of the reason I agreed to come here and humiliate myself on a daily basis.

Dr. Conrad had peeled the plastic away from one of the bodies. I pulled some gloves on. I had to struggle a lot to get one on my right hand. I left my cane at the door and I had to lean against the table for support. He handed me a scalpel, which I held unsteadily in my left hand, knowing any cuts I made would be as imperfect as my handwriting. If only I could still use my right hand. “This dissection of the gallbladder is incomplete,” he said. “They’d probably appreciate it if you finish it for them.”

I nodded. I looked at the gallbladder. I probably removed a hundred of these during residency. I tried to remember the anatomy.

“What’s that duct called?” Dr. Conrad prompted me.

I couldn’t remember. None of this seemed familiar to me, even though I’d spent all night last night reading about it. This was the third gallbladder I’ve looked at with Dr. Conrad. I thought I could do this. Nothing sticks anymore. It’s been almost three years. I’m as good as I’ll ever be.

I put down my scalpel. “Forget it,” I said.

“Noel…”

“What’s the point?” I said. “I can’t do this.”

Dr. Conrad put his hand on my shoulder. I felt like crying and before I could stop it, I was. It’s so hard to control my emotions now. It’s like being five years old.

“Noel, it’s okay,” Dr. Conrad said. “You don’t have to do this.” And he hugged me. Which was surprisingly not awkward. It was during his lab that I knew for the first time that I definitely wanted to be a surgeon. It fit that this lab was the same place where I gave up for good on any kind of career beyond pressing the buttons in a goddamn elevator.

Chloe’s Diary:

“Look at this,” Graham says to me. Claire and Olivia aren’t around. They’re looking at some other cadavers.

I look where he’s pointing.

“It’s an aberrant obturator artery,” he says. I’m trying to see where he’s pointing. Finally, he takes my hand and places it on the artery. Except then he doesn’t let go. I feel his warmth through my glove. I don’t know why his hands are so warm. It’s like negative ten degrees in this room.

“Um, thanks,” I say.

Our eyes meet. For a second, I feel breathless. Graham is a jerk, but he’s sure good looking.

No, I’m not going to become one of those girls that fawns over Graham Kingsley. I won’t.

But sheesh, he’s sexy.

Chloe’s Diary:

I call the number on the sheet of paper that Dr. Conrad gave me. Dr. Elizabeth Woodhouse. Her name sounds so fancy, like the kind of person who spent her life going to prep schools. I never went to any prep schools. Actually, I’m not even entirely sure what a prep school is or how it differs from a private school. Maybe my new buddy Elizabeth Woodhouse will explain it to me.

The phone rings enough times that I think it’s about to go to voicemail, but then I hear a voice on the other line, “Hello?”

She sounds kind of tired. And irritable. Apparently, I’ve irrevocably pissed her off just by the act of calling. Already this is going well.

“Um, hi,” I say respectfully. “I’m looking for Dr. Woodhouse.”

“Yeah?” She doesn’t sound any friendlier.

“Um, my name is Chloe Ross,” I say. “Dr. Conrad, my anatomy professor, gave me your number. He said I should, um, talk to you?”

There’s a really long pause. I think Elizabeth Woodhouse is debating whether or not to hang up on me. “Okay,” she finally says.

“So, um…” I’m struggling here. Throw me a rope, Elizabeth Woodhouse! “Should we… um, meet?”

“Fine,” she says. “Do you know where the surgery resident lounge is?”

“No.”

She sighs this really loud and drawn out sigh before she gives me directions to get there. We’re meeting there on Saturday afternoon. I’m not excited about going to the hospital on a Saturday afternoon, but I guess that’s something I’m going to have to get used to if I’m going to be a doctor.

I can’t help but wonder what Dr. Conrad was thinking. Why did he assign this woman to me as a mentor? She obviously doesn’t want a mentee. I don’t want to be a surgeon. This is not a great match. And Dr. Conrad seems so pleased with himself, like he had just discovered peanut butter and jelly. Elizabeth Woodhouse and I are not peanut butter and jelly. We’re more like… anchovies and ice cream.

Oh well, I guess it’s too late to get out of it now.

Noel’s Memory Book

I just got back from my parents’ house for dinner. I go there at least a couple of times a month. It’s nice to get a good hot meal. Most of the time I make TV dinners or heat up meals that my mother or Rose packed for me. I would never attempt to use the stove. I’m 99% sure I would burn my apartment down.

Rose set an alarm on my watch so I’d remember to leave work on time. Then she drove me. Rose does a lot for me. She sometimes acts more like my mother than my sister. She was seven years old when I was born and my parents let her name me. She called me Noel because she loved Christmas. Noel Andrews. If she had to go with the Christmas theme, I probably would have preferred something like Chris or Nick, but it could have been worse, I guess. Mistletoe Andrews. Prancer Andrews. Bethlehem Andrews. You get the idea.

I’m grateful for a lot of the things Rose has done for me. She looks out for me. When Liz dumped me while I was still in a minimally conscious state, Rose told her off. She drives me everywhere and sets alarms on my watch to help me remember things. She helps me pay my bills. She pays my rent. She drives me to doctors’ appointments. Without her, I think I’d probably still be living with my parents.

But I think what bothers me most is when I got hurt, Rose was married. Now she’s not. I keep thinking that might be my fault.

There’s a ramp to the front door, courtesy of when I first came home and mostly used a wheelchair. It’s actually much easier to go up the ramp than a bunch of stairs, so I’m grateful it’s still there. But it also makes me sick, remembering those early days when I first got out of rehab, when I thought I’d probably never be able to walk again.

My mother was really happy to see me and confirm I’m still in one piece. More or less. She held me arms’ length away from her, inspecting me. I tolerated it until she got to my eyes, when I finally had to pull away.

Much like my left leg, my left eye is fake. It was crushed along with the left side of my skull. The first prosthetic eye I got didn’t look very real at all. Considering how messed up the rest of my face looked, I guess they figured there was no point in bothering making my eye look good. But I hated the fact that it was so obvious that it was a prosthetic.

Then about a year ago, after my surgeries were all completed and I looked a lot more normal, I got a new prosthetic eye that’s supposed to look extremely real. And it really does. It’s the same color as my real eye and it moves when I move my other eye. But I get a little uncomfortable when someone looks at my eyes too closely, even when it’s my own mother.

“You look great, Noel,” she said.

“Thank you,” I mumbled, embarrassed that she felt a need to say something like that. I know I don’t look great. “Can I help with dinner? Set the table?”

My mother laughed. “Don’t be silly. Just relax.”

When I was a teenager, I would have killed for her to say that to me. I spent half my childhood setting the table, hauling the trash to the curb, washing the dishes. Now if I offer to help with anything, my mother acts like I’m being ridiculous. I could set the table. I might be slow, but I could do it. But I didn’t push it because I didn’t want her to start reminding me of all the reason why I couldn’t do it.

We sat down to dinner about half an hour after I arrived. It was kind of like old times, except that my brother Brad wasn’t there. He was probably out clubbing or something. Actually, that’s sort of like old times too. He’s 33 years old, which I think is too old to be clubbing every weekend. It’s almost pathetic. Well, I shouldn’t talk.

The meal was chicken cutlets, and I knew exactly which plate was meant to be mine because it was the one where the chicken was cut up into little tiny chewable bites. I felt kind of silly having her cut my meat for me like I was a kid, but I guess it’s hard with my hand all messed up. The injections helped a little, but I still can’t really use it for much. I’m walking slightly better, at least. My limp is less pronounced.

My parents and Rose were talking and I was having a lot of trouble focusing on the conversation. Usually I’m okay around my family, but today they were just talking too fast or something. I don’t know, maybe I had a lot on my mind. I tried not to let it upset me. I used to practically start crying when I had difficulty following a conversation, but today I just ate my food.

Nobody says it, but I know they all think I’m different than I was before I got hurt. They’re right, I am. I still am the same person, but I’m also not. I still have most of the same memories, but I’m different. I used to be really competitive and driven. Still, I wish they wouldn’t treat me different.

“Noel, how is your job?” my mother asked me. Maybe she realized I was struggling to keep up with the conversation.

“Fine,” I said. Awful. I hate my job, but it’s better than being home all day.

“It’s a very important job,” my father said. “I’m sure a lot of people need help in the elevator.” My father is a professor.

“Right,” I said. I don’t want to let on how much I hate my job. It would just make everyone feel bad.

“Oh, guess what!” my mother said. “Gwen’s daughter Carol had a second baby!”

Gwen is my parents’ neighbor, which I only remember because she’s lived next door for thirty years and my mom always talks about her. Her daughter Carol was best friends with Rose when they were growing up. I looked at Rose and she looked sad. She’s going to be forty in a few years and she’s not even married. I know she wanted to have kids. I feel bad again, like this is my fault. I didn’t want her to give up having kids for me.

At the end of the meal, my mother packed up two Tupperware containers of food and handed them to Rose saying, “Put them in his refrigerator.” Rose drove me home and started to get out of the car. “It’s okay,” I told her. “I can make it.”

“I’ll just help you put them in the fridge,” she said.

“I’m fine,” I said, speaking through gritted teeth. I had the two containers balanced between my right forearm and my chest while I held the cane in my left hand. Admittedly, it was pretty precarious, but I thought I could manage. Anyway, I didn’t want Rose’s help.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m okay, Rose,” I said. “Go home.”

I had to rest my cane against the building to get out my keys from my pocket, but I made it without dropping everything. I live in the basement apartment in a larger house, owned by an elderly couple. The door to my apartment locks automatically behind me. To date, I’ve locked myself out of my apartment no less than twenty times.

Chloe’s Diary:

Everyone looks different at parties. I didn’t think much of my class, but now that I see every all cleaned up, they’re actually a really attractive bunch.

The party is at the house of one of the second year students. They’re celebrating their first exam of the year (in microbiology) being over. Our first big anatomy exam is still yet to come. But we’re not going to be thinking about that tonight.

I tried to look nice for tonight. Olivia forced me, but also, I want to look good. I think I reached a hotness level of maybe 7 out of 10, which is pretty good for me. I’m wearing a whorish black leather skirt and a somewhat tight red tank top. I’m wearing my push-up bra that manages to make my B-cup breasts look at least a C. I dug out my contact lenses, which I don’t think I’ve worn once since school started. Honestly, they looked a little sketchy, but I popped them in anyway. My eyes kind of hurt.

I’m scoping out the alcohol situation when I see a cup being thrust into my face. I blink and then accept it. The hand attached to the drink belongs to Graham Kingsley. “What is this?” I ask.

“What is this?” he repeats. “Don’t you say thanks?”

“Thanks,” I say obediently. “Um, what is it?”

“Rum and coke,” he says.

I take a sip and almost choke. Oh my god, this is not rum and coke. This is rum and rum. I hold it up and examine it: he must have put like five droplets of coke in this drink.

“Trust me, there’s coca cola in it,” he says.

I put the drink down on a coffee table. I’m not drinking this.

“What’s wrong?” he asks me.

“I don’t want to get alcohol poisoning tonight,” I explain.

He grins. “Alcohol is good for you. It kills off all the slow brain cells. Makes your mind sharper.”

“Fascinating.”

I expect Graham to move on, but he doesn’t. He stays next to me, sipping his beer. He’s really good looking. I can’t help but compare him to Noel in looks. Graham is more classically handsome, the kind of guy that teenage girls would swoon over if he were in movies, which he totally could be. Noel wouldn’t be in movies, but he’s got that cute boy next door thing going on. I feel comfortable with him, like I’ve known him forever. Graham just makes me nervous.

And I have to admit, I find Noel’s scars incredibly sexy. He’s got that one under his left eye, then one on his chin that’s almost hidden by the one or two day’s growth of beard he’s always got, then one that I know goes through his hair. And I have this feeling that he’s got a lot more scars that I can’t see. Graham, on the other hand, has tanned, perfect skin. How in hell does he have such a great tan when all he does is study?

I suddenly notice that Graham is standing very close to me, so close that I’m not breathing out completely because I’m worried I’ll bump into him. He slid in close to me so fast, I didn’t even notice. Man, he’s smooth. I feel like this whole situation is really precarious. And now… now he’s got his hand on my back. And now he’s pulling me closer to him. Okay, this is… I should really be stopping this.

Or not. I mean, I could just let this happen.

I feel that drink of rum I took starting to hit me. I look up at Graham and he’s giving me this look like he WANTS me. And god, he’s good looking. I realize he’s about to kiss me.

“What about Claire?” I whisper.

“What about her?”

“Aren’t you… dating her?”

“No,” he says. “I’m not.”

And now we’re kissing. And boy, it’s been a while since I’ve kissed a guy. I mean, I just realized it’s been months and months. So this is actually really quite nice. And Graham is a great kisser. I’ll bet he has all kind of experience.

Of course, now I’m self-conscious. I don’t have as much kissing experience as he does. I’m probably terrible at it. Oh god, that would be embarrassing.

Except Graham isn’t acting like I’m terrible. He’s acting more into than I am. He’s pushing me against a wall, his hands sliding up the back of my neck as his tongue massages mine. He wants me. Graham Kingsley wants me. For some reason. This is unbelievable.

I bet everyone is staring. I bet everyone is watching us and is totally jealous because they wish they were kissing Graham. I bet Olivia is dying.

But I don’t care. Graham is amazing. This is like the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me. Whatever Graham wants tonight, he’s totally going to get it.

Graham swears up and down he’s not drunk, so I let him drive us to his apartment. Honestly, even if it turned out he was drunk, I’m past caring at this point. We pick his apartment over mine because he lives alone so it’ll be more discreet. Of course, we just made out in front of the whole class. I think everyone’s going to know about this come Monday.

Everyone is going to know about this. I’m going to go from being known as the invisible girl to being The Girl Who Hooked Up With Graham Kingsley. And it’s becoming clear that actually Graham doesn’t hook up as much as I originally thought. I’m quizzing him about it during the drive to his apartment.

“I really thought you were dating Claire,” I say.

“Nope,” he says.

“But you hooked up with her?”

“I didn’t.”

“What about Mara? Did you hook up with her?”

“No.”

“What about Alexis?”

Finally, Graham looks at me and laughs. “You think I’m a real player, don’t you?”

“Well, who have you hooked up with?” I ask.

“Just you,” he replies.

I’m aghast. “Just me?”

He nods.

How can that be? Graham must be hooking up with other girls. I mean, it’s almost a crime for him not to. I mean, LOOK at him.

But, you know, Graham has surprised me. I thought I was going to be blowing my rape whistle at some point tonight, but he’s surprisingly respectful once we get to his apartment. We mostly just kiss. He cops a feel a few times, but I can hardly blame the guy since we’re lying on his bed.

Then we just talk for a little bit. Not about anything deep, but about class and about things we like and Graham mentions he has an older brother who’s a surgeon. I drift off at some point, maybe mid sentence.

Noel’s Memory Book:

Today was not a good day. I had a seizure.

I’ve had seizures before. Lots of them. I take a medication now to keep them from happening and I’ve been good for about six months. I was even going to ask about getting off the meds. Guess not.

The worst part was Rose was there. She was doing my laundry. I think I could probably do my own laundry since there the machines are right in the next room with no stairs involved, but the one time I tried, I left the clothes in the washing machine for two days. Finally, Mrs. Marcus, who owns the house, came to tell me. So I got the clothes out. It wasn’t a big deal. Nothing exploded because I forgot to transfer my clothes to the dryer. They did get a little mildewed. I had to wash them again.

Anyway, I just remember seeing some flashes of light and then the next thing Rose was standing over me and looking worried. I felt confused and out of it, even more than usual. “Noel, talk to me…” She looked terrified.

So Rose scheduled an appointment with my neurologist. I really don’t want to go. I don’t want to be pressured into more seizure meds. I’m fine. I had one seizure. It’s not a big deal. She gets worried too easily. Even my mother said it was no big deal. But I’ll go to make Rose happy.

Chloe’s Diary:

I wake up and Graham is already up. He’s, I swear to god, studying. I’m asleep and he’s sitting at his desk and studying. I watch him for a minute. He’s really good looking. He could be in an ad for… I don’t know, desks or chairs or some kind of furniture that could be used for studying.

“Are you studying?” I ask, even though it’s obvious he is.

“Yeah,” he says. “We’ve got a quiz this week.”

Sheesh, he is driven. “What’s the quiz on?” I ask.

He stares at me. “You seriously don’t know?”

“Well…” I mumble. “Of course I know.”

I stand up unsteadily. My head hurts. I had like two sips of rum, why do I feel so awful? I’m still wearing my clothes from the night before. I stumble in the direction of the bathroom, where I pee for a solid five minutes, then peel my contact lenses off my eyeballs. I look better when I’m all blurry. I run my wet fingers through my hair in a largely unsuccessful attempt to comb it.

I go back into Graham’s bedroom and he’s still studying. “Can you drive me home?” I ask.

“Sure,” he says, without looking up. God, I wonder if he’s having regrets about last night. Maybe he woke up and screamed when he saw me, and then tried to throw a paper bag over my head. Finally, he looks up. “Do you want to go out to dinner tonight?”

I’m shocked by the invitation. Graham Kingsley is asking me out. Me! On a date! I almost say yes, then I remember I’m meeting Elizabeth Woodhouse this afternoon and I don’t know how long it will be. Plus I’m not sure if I really want to have dinner with Graham. He’s sort of a jerk. “I’m busy tonight,” I say.

“Oh,” he says. “Well, how about tomorrow night?”

Seriously? Now Graham Kingsley is pestering me for a date. Wait till I tell Olivia. “Um,” I say, “I just don’t know if…”

I notice Graham is staring at me with his eyebrows raised. He’s looking at me like I’m insane to be refusing a dinner invitation with him. Maybe I am. I wonder if Graham has ever been turned down by a woman in his whole life. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to be the first. “Okay,” I finally say.

“Great.” He grins at me. Gosh, he’s cute. Maybe it won’t be so bad to date him.

The Elevator Guy (Chapter 6)

2011-12-10T21:00:00.000-08:00

Noel’s Memory Book:

The thing about Liz is she never told me she was dumpingme. She told Rose. Well, she didn’t so much tell Rose as Roseconfronted her when she hadn’t been to the hospital to see me in a month. Liz wasn’t answering her cell phone, so Rosewent to her apartment, the one bedroom dump that Liz and I had shared before myaccident. I wasn’t there, of course, butI’ve heard the story so many times, I feel like I was.

“You haven’t been at the hospital to see Noel in a while,”Rose said to Liz when she answered the door.

I imagine Liz kept her composure, because she had a lot ofpractice doing so. It’s not easy beingthe only female ortho resident. I betshe jutted out her chin and said, “You don’t know what it’s like, Rose. I’m on overnight call every three days. Anyway, it’s not like he even knows I’mthere.”

“He knows,” Rose insisted. Although I’m not sure I did back then.

“I think we’re kidding ourselves,” Liz said. “Deep down, you know he’s not going to getany better, you just won’t admit it. He’s not in there anymore. Comeon. Look at him.”

“If it were you in that hospital, he’d never leave yourside,” Rose pointed out. That one wasabsolutely true. “He gave up a lot foryou.” I’m not sure if she actuallyrecounted the fact that with my grades, I could have gone to the best surgeryresidency in the country if I wanted, but I stayed put so that Liz could doorthopedic surgery. It didn’t feel likesuch a big sacrifice though and I never allowed her to feel any guilt about it. I just wanted to be with her.

I don’t think Liz had much to say to that one. I guess she knew I loved her more than sheloved me.

“So that’s it?” Rose said. “You’re not coming to see him anymore?”

And then Liz said something along the lines of that she’dalways be there for me as a friend. It’snot you, it’s me. And she returned thering.

“It must be nice,” Rose said to her, “to just be able towalk away.”

When I first became a little bit lucid, I thought about Liz. Before I could remember her name, I could seeher face. I knew she was someoneimportant, someone I loved. I always expectedshe’d be coming to see me. But she neverdid.

I wasn’t big on questions during the first part of my rehabstay. I couldn’t talk that well. The dominant part of the brain controlsspeech and that’s the part I damaged. Ihad so much trouble getting words out for a long time. I knew what I wanted to say, but I justcouldn’t think of the right words. Sometimes I said something that I thought made sense, but nobody seemedto know what I was talking about. And ofcourse, my speech was pretty slurred at first. I had a lot of difficulty getting my tongue and lips to move the way I wantedthem to.

That said, one of my first coherent sentences was, “Where’sLiz?”

My mother and Rose told me tearfully: Liz moved on. I wanted to ask them if Liz knew I wasgetting better and if she might come back. But there was no point in asking. I already knew the answer.

Rose showed me the ring. I remembered picking it out for her, agonizing about how to pay for thediamond she deserved. I cried when I sawit. I’m glad Liz didn’t see that.

Chloe’s Diary:

After some amount of wandering around, completely lost, Imanage to locate the surgery resident lounge. It’s not locked, thank god.

I step inside and I can actually smell testosterone. It’s like the smell of a hundred boxershorts. Actually, now that I’m lookingaround, I realize that there actually IS a pair of boxer shorts lying on one ofthe chairs. Ugh, I hope it’s not used.

The walls of the lounge are covered with call schedules,bone-related pictures, and then of course, there’s the porn. There’s literally porn on the walls. It’s all photos of naked girls, ofcourse. Three photos total that looklike they’re ripped from some magazine.

I plop down on a chair to wait for Elizabeth Woodhouse. I’m fifteen minutes early, so I figure Imight be waiting a while. I end upwaiting almost an hour. I’m actuallydebating if I should just leave when this woman comes into the lounge, lookingtired and pissed off. She rips herfacemask from her chin and I can see she’s pretty in a thin and angular way. She doesn’t even look at me when she walksin. She just makes a beeline right tothe wall of porn and stares at it, her eyes wide and furious. “Goddamn it,” she mutters. She rips the photos off the wall and crumblesthem up in her hands, then tosses them in the garbage.

I’m too scared to say anything. I am really intimidated by this woman. I’m afraid if she notices me, she’ll slice meto bits with her scalpel. Actually, Ikind of wish I hadn’t come. What was Dr.Conrad thinking when he paired us up? Hemust have formaldehyde-induced dementia.

Finally, she sees me. She narrows her eyes, like maybe a velociraptor would before it pounceson its prey. I squirm and she walks overto me. “Are you Chloe?”

For a second, I actually consider saying no. “Yes.”

“I’m Elizabeth,”she says.

She holds out her hand and I shake it. Her skin is very dry and cracked.

She plops down onto the couch next to me. She looks exhausted. “Don’t become a surgeon,” she says. “It will ruin your life. The male surgeons will never accept you andyou’ll have no life outside of the hospital. It’s a mistake. Don’t do it.”

“Okay,” I say obediently.

“Why do you want to become a surgeon anyway?” she asks me.

“I don’t,” I admit.

She stares at me. “Then why the hell are you here? Why are you wasting my time?”

“But… you just told me not to become a surgeon!”

“Yes, but…” Elizabethbites her lip. “You’re supposed to tellme that it’s your dream and you’re never going to give it up no matter what Itell you. And then I’ll keep trying totalk you out of it, but eventually you’ll do it anyway.”

I don’t know what to say to that. She’s certainly thought about this a lot. “Sorry?”

Elizabeth sighsand leans her head against the cushions of the couch. “I hate being the only female residentin the ortho department.”

Funnily enough, I’m finding myself starting to relax. Elizabethdoesn’t seem so bad anymore. She’s just…I don’t know. Lonely, maybe? She looks really unhappy. Part of me wonders if Dr. Conrad didn’tassign me to her more for her than for me. She looked really excited at the prospect of having a littleprotégé. I feel bad letting her down.

“Well,” I say slowly. “I haven’t ruled out surgery. Ijust don’t know what I want to do yet.”

“More women need to go into surgery,” Elizabethsays enthusiastically. “All you need isconfidence, good dexterity, and good knowledge of anatomy.”

Well, zero out of three ain’t bad.

“But,” Elizabethamends, “I didn’t have any of those things when I was at your phase oftraining. I… I wasn’t very confident atall.”

I am shocked to hear this. Elizabeth seems like thepicture of confidence.

“Also,” she adds in a confidential tone, “I almost failedanatomy.”

“Oh?” I say, trying to sound casual. “Um, how did you end up passing?”

Elizabeth smilesand she gets this far off look in her eyes. “My boyfriend helped me. He… uh,tutored me a lot. Actually, if not forhim and Dr. Conrad, I don’t think I’d be here right now. He encouraged me so much. He was amazing.”

I look down at Elizabeth’sright hand. She’s wearing a white goldengagement ring with a diamond that almost blinds me. “Your fiancé?” I ask.

“No, he…. We broke up.” She looks down. “It didn’t workout.”

I’ve heard residency wreaks havoc on relationship. But it seems like she’s found a niceguy. Or at least, a rich guy. It’s funny though because I could swear fromthe way she’s talking that she’s still a little hung up on that guy from medschool.

Elizabeth getspaged away to another surgery, but we make plans to meet up for dinner sometime. She’s going to convince me to be asurgeon. Well, actually, probablynot. But I’ll let her try.

Noel’s Memory Book:

You know what I miss? Driving.

I used to love to drive. I got a learner’s permit on my sixteenth birthday and I couldn’t wait. I was behind the wheel that same day with myfather.

I always considered myself a great driver. I had a few close calls the first year I hadmy license, but I was pretty comfortable behind the wheel. I would hop on the highway, weave in and outof lanes, driving maybe 80 milesper hour. Okay, I was a littlereckless. But I was a good driver. I really was.

It kills me that this happened to me in a car accident. Why couldn’t I have gotten shot by adisgruntled patient? Eight years ofperfect driving without one accident, then I fall asleep at the wheel andnearly kill myself.

I can’t drive at all now, which is really frustrating. Being without a car is more crippling thanhaving two legs that don’t really work. I guess I could try moving to a place where I don’t need a car, but thatwould involve moving away from my family. Anyway, there’s a shuttle from the hospital that goes nearly to myapartment. I make it work. And Rose helps me out when I need it.

I wonder if I’ll ever be able to drive again. I really want to. I can’t do it now, when my memory and senseof direction are so poor, and my seizures are apparently still active. Plus I can’t see out of my left eye. So it looks pretty bad for me, I guess. I probably shouldn’t be driving for my ownsafety and the safety of everyone around me.

Chloe’s Diary:

So somehow I’m out on a date with Graham Kingsley. This is surreal.

He picked me up and brought me a rose. That was really sweet, although I honestlywasn’t sure what to do with it. I heldit during the ride to the restaurant and then ended up leaving it in his car.

The restaurant he takes me to is really nice. Swanky. It’s the kind of place where instead of a hostess, there’s a maitre d’. Everyone is dressed up really nice and I wishI were wearing something better than the short black dress I settled on. We’re seated at a small table for two with asingle candle between us. I see theprices on the menu and gasp a little. Hopefully, we’re not splitting the check. Actually, I think Graham is loaded, so Ishouldn’t worry about it. Just anotherthing he’s got going for him.

Graham orders a steak. I can’t eat steak right now because it reminds me too much of thecadaver, so I order chicken. Somehow itseems fitting.

“You look nervous,” Graham notes.

“Nervous?” I squeak.

He laughs. “Relax. It’s just me.”

It’s very hard to relax though, especially with the wayGraham is looking at me. I’m thinkingmaybe this whole date is a mistake.

“What’s wrong?” he says. “Talk to me, Chloe.”

“I just feel like…” I wring my hands together. “We don’t have anything in common.”

“Well,” Graham says thoughtfully, “we’re both medstudents. In fact, we go to the sameschool. And we’re in the sameclass. Plus we’re in the same labgroup. So actually, we have quite a bitin common.”

“Yeah, but…”

He raises an eyebrow. “But you’re nice and I’m an asshole?”

I almost choke. To mysurprise, he starts laughing. I guesshe’s realistic about himself.

“You know what your problem is, Chloe?” he says and Iwince. I hate it when people saythat. “You want everyone to likeyou. Well, it’s not possible. Everyone can’t like you.”

“Well, I don’t want everyone to hate me.”

“Sometimes it’s the only way to get what you want,” Grahamsays thoughtfully. “Besides, everyonedoesn’t hate me. You don’t hate me.”

I don’t say anything. There were moments when I thought I hated Graham, but this isn’t one ofthose moments.

“In fact,” Graham says, “I think you like me.”

“Hmm,” I say. “It’spossible.”

“That’s good,” he says, “because I like you.”

I want to ask him why, but I’m afraid he might ask me thesame question. Instead, I let him kissme. Honestly, at this moment, I canimagine being in a relationship with Graham Kingsley. And it’ll be great because we both know itwon’t last so it will be fun and free. Graham and I aren’t going to fall in love. But man, is he a good kisser.

Noel’s Memory Book:

When I talk to other people who have had a brain injury, onething that’s important to all of us is being independent. When I was in rehab, I thought about how Iwas going to dress myself and feed myself. When I lived with my parents, all I could think about was how I wasgoing to manage to move out on my own.

Now I live by myself, but I’m still not independent. My parents and Rose sort through most of myfinances. Rose updates my appointmentbook and drives me places. Any timethere’s any break in my routine, I get thrown off.

I asked Sonya if there’s any chance that someday I won’tneed this help. I know that the longerit’s been since my injury, the smaller the chance that I’ll get better. At this point, I’m really not getting better. I’m just learning techniques to compensatefor what I’ve lost.

Sonya told me she thinks I could do it. There are ways to set up automatic paymentsonline. I could hire people to help mearound the house if I needed it.

Thinking about that keeps me going. I hate thinking I’ll always be dependent onmy family. And the truth is, part of meis hoping that maybe someday I’ll have a family that’s dependent on me. Like, a wife or something. But that just seems so far off right now. I don’t want to even mention it to Sonyabecause I’m sure she’ll think the idea of someone like me even attracting agirlfriend much less a wife is pretty ridiculous, and that I’m pathetic foreven daydreaming about it.

Chloe’s Diary:

Everyone knows Graham and I hooked up. It’s the biggest news in class. I am famous. I think the Paparazzi have been following me all day.

Honestly, I’m kind of enjoying the attention. Everyone is looking at me with awe. The girls are super impressed… andjealous. I don’t know if anyone has everbeen jealous of me before. It’s actuallyreally fun. I feel like I totally missedout by not being one of the popular kids at school.

I was afraid Graham might be embarrassed about the wholething, but he isn’t. He is completelycavalier about it. I overheard someoneask him if he was dating me and he shrugged and said, “Yeah.” I mean, I would have liked it better if hewas more effusive, but at least he didn’t deny it or anything.

After class, Graham and I wait for the elevator together toget down to the anatomy lab. These arethings that med student couples do together: go to anatomy lab. Granted, he doesn’t actually talk to me. He’s holding the anatomy lab manual andflipping through it.

The elevator doors open and Noel is inside. I freeze up as Graham boards the elevator andmotions for me to follow him. “Chloe, youcoming?” Graham says. Noel is holdingthe door for me. I feel like I can’tmove.

Okay, honestly, I didn’t want Noel to know about me andGraham. It’s not like there’s somethinggoing on between me and Noel, but… there’s kind of a tension between us. I like him. I think about him a lot and I look forward to seeing him every day. And I can tell by the way he looks at me andthe way he talks to me that he feels similarly. Yes, Noel is… messed up. Butsomehow that’s what I like about him. Unlike Graham, he’s not perfect.

But anyway, I’ve got to get in this elevator.

I board and Noel smiles at me. A big smile where I can see several of histeeth. I’m the only med student that hesmiles at. And now I have this horriblesinking feeling. I’m trying to stay faraway from Graham, thinking he’s pretty absorbed in the lab manual. Graham barely knows I’m here. I mean, why would he…

Oh hell, now Graham’s got his arm around me. I don’t know how that happened. It’s like he sensed I didn’t want him to doit, so he did it. I wish I could pullaway, but I can’t. And Noel is staringat us, his jaw dropped open. He’sshaking his head in disbelief. I can’teven look at him. Oh god.

The doors to the elevator open. “Nice job, elevator guy,” Graham says in kindof a sarcastic voice.

“Have a nice day,” Noel says in a voice that completelylacks intonation.

Well, that went horribly. And Graham is just walking along to the lab like nothing happened. I’m more upset about this than I thought Iwould be. I feel like crying. I kind of want to get back in the elevatorand try to explain, but what would I say? “This isn’t what it looks like”? It’sexactly what it looks like. I’m datingthe biggest jerk in my class.

The Elevator Guy (Chapter 7)

2011-12-10T20:30:00.000-08:00

Noel’s Memory Book

I’m in shock.

I admit it, I like Chloe. More than like her. I think about her. All the time. I know I say that I’ve convinced myself that nothing could ever happen between the two of us, but I guess that’s not quite true. Every time she smiles at me, I get a little jolt. I can’t turn it off. At first I thought I liked her because she reminded me of Liz, but it’s more than that now. I’m falling for her.

Then I saw that asshole Graham put his arm around her and I felt sick. I’ve seen him around a lot, enough to know what he’s like. Superficially, I admit it: he’s a little like I used to be. The whole wannabe surgeon mentality. But I don’t think I was that bad. I really don’t. I was a good guy deep down. Or at least, I became a good guy. Liz made me want to be a good guy. I changed for her.

It was obvious by the way Graham casually put his arm around her and she didn’t push him away or slap him, they’re an item. They’re dating. How the hell could she date him? What is she thinking? What’s going through her head??

After I saw them, I ran out of the elevator and went to the bathroom. I needed a minute. I leaned over the sink and stared at myself in the mirror. My reddish brown hair was kind of sticking up. I remember the first time they let me see myself in the mirror after my accident, it was a shock. The scars on my face were still fresh and my left eye was gone. I looked like a freaking Halloween costume.

I’d been wearing a helmet since part of my skull had been removed, and the therapist tried to convince me it was a bad idea to take it off in front of the mirror. But I really just had to see and I promised I’d stay in my wheelchair. The therapist, a cute young woman with a blond ponytail, gently pulled the helmet off, and I almost threw up when I got a look at myself. My hair was gone, shaved, and I could clearly see the thick scars on my scalp. Where the piece of my skull had been removed, my head was sunken and misshapen. My left eyelid was sealed shut and the entire side of my face seemed collapsed.

“They’ll do surgery to fix it, Noel,” the pretty therapist assured me when she saw my horror, but I had been a surgeon and I couldn’t envision any procedure that would fix the mess that was my face. For the rest of my life, I was going to look like the kind of guy that would make children scream and run away.

But amazingly, she was right. One cranioplasty, a few facial surgeries, and several years later, I almost look normal again. You can’t see the scar on my skull because of my hair. You can’t see the scar on my chin because my stubble hides it. The glass eye looks real enough. I’m not someone kids on the street would run from screaming anymore. I look almost like my old self, as long as you don’t look too hard.

Maybe it would be better if I didn’t look normal. It would be better if girls like Chloe were just afraid of me. If there was no way I could delude myself into thinking I had a shot with her. I mean, I should just stop thinking about women altogether. Women don’t want a guy who routinely gets lost on the way to the grocery store. They want a guy who’s confident and treats them like dirt.

Chloe’s Diary:

It is so incredibly sweet dating Graham. I mean, I like him and all, but just the act of dating him is really what’s amazing. For the first time in my life, I’m popular. Well, I’m not really popular. But people invite me places because they have to because they’re inviting Graham. And the girls respect me. They think I must be awesome in bed or something, because I’m sure they think I’m not pretty enough to be dating him.

As for Graham himself… well, he’s…

He has a lot of good qualities. First, he’s good looking. I think I’ve mentioned that once or twice before, ha ha. Second, he’s very smart. Third, he’s very good at kissing. I’m sure he’s good at other stuff too, if we get to that point. Fourth, he’s funny. Or at least, he can sometimes be funny. When he wants to be.

He does have bad qualities. He’s kind of a jerk. He’s ridiculously competitive. He very obviously looks down on me and thinks I’m nowhere near as smart as he is. He says things that are blatantly patronizing and then acts like I shouldn’t be bothered because it’s so obviously true. He studies nonstop so it’s hard to convince him to do anything else. He talks about being a surgeon way too much. He’s still debating between ortho and plastics. Do you want me to list the pros and cons of ortho versus plastics? Because I could do it.

Okay, so like today, I said that maybe we should study together. He kind of laughed and said that he didn’t think that would useful for either of us. Whatever that means? Then he said that I could come by and we could watch some TV after 10PM, when he was done.

Also, he brags a lot. Everything from what an amazing skier he is to talking about his publications from college. It’s like he’s always trying to impress me. But maybe that’s a good thing. He wants to impress me. That’s good, right?

All right, he’s a crappy boyfriend. Oh well. I guess I need to end it.

Noel’s Memory Book:

Rose made me an appointment with my neurologist for tomorrow to discuss my seizures.

I’ve been with my neurologist Dr. Coulter for a while now. He’s a nice guy. Very friendly and he listens to me. A lot of doctors talk like I’m not even there. Like I’m too brain damaged to understand their fancy doctor talk. Dr. Coulter doesn’t do that though. He seems to respect me.

My first visit with Dr. Coulter was soon after I was discharged from inpatient rehab. I had just gotten my prosthetic and had started something called “pre-gait” therapy. Basically, it involved two therapists standing me up and encouraging me to take a few steps.

Before I got the prosthetic, somehow I’d been under the impression that as soon as I got that leg, I’d basically take off walking. But when I saw that it took two therapists supporting me just to walk a few steps, I got discouraged. Actually, if I could walk a few steps, I was lucky. A lot of times, we’d just stand there. Or march in place. It occurred to me that I was never going to actually walk again except in a gym with at least one person supporting me. I thought I’d been kidding myself, thinking I’d ever not need my wheelchair anymore.

I hadn’t realized until then how hopeful I’d been that I was going to walk. I started to hate my wheelchair, hate everyone else for being able to walk like it was nothing, and I just lost interest in everything. All I wanted to do was stay in bed.

My mother brought me to Dr. Coulter. I remember how worried she was. “He’s not acting like he did when he first came home,” she said, wringing her hands together. “He hardly talks and he just wants to sleep all the time. I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Dr. Coulter asked me a bunch of questions. Questions about where I was, the date, my birthday, the names of my brother and sister, little logic puzzles, phrases he wanted me to repeat. When he asked me to count backwards from a hundred by sevens, I just stopped answering him. I had enough.

“Well,” Dr. Coulter said, after he was done examining me. “I think we should scan his head.”

My mother was horrified. “You do?”

“He may be developing a posttraumatic hydrocephalus,” Dr. Coulter explained. “If that’s the case, I’d want him to see a surgeon.”

That perked my ears up. I’d just been through so many surgeries. My hair was finally starting to grow back. The thought of going under the knife again made my throat go dry. “No, I don’t want a head CT,” I pleaded.

“Noel…” Dr. Coulter began, then he stopped and frowned. “Wait, what did you call it?”

There was a long silence and my mother finally said, “He used to be a doctor.”

Dr. Coulter scratched his graying head of hair as he looked at me. He pulled up a stool and sat down. “Noel, why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

I confessed to him my fears about not being able to walk again, and then I cried because just about everything brought me to tears back then. Dr. Coulter decided against scanning my head and that’s how I ended up with my antidepressants.

I owe that guy a lot. If he hadn’t given me those pills, I wouldn’t have felt motivated to keep doing my therapies and finally get out of that damn wheelchair.

Chloe’s Diary:

So Graham is getting slightly better at the whole boyfriend deal. Today I was studying early in the morning in this classroom near the anatomy labs where a lot of med students study. I was just about ready to blow my brains out when Graham showed up with breakfast for me. Eggs and hash browns from the cafeteria. And coffee!

So I guess I’ll keep him. After all, Olivia isn’t bringing me breakfast.

Noel’s Memory Book:

Rose just dropped me off from my neurologist visit. We’re barely speaking. She was yelling in the car.

Aside from prescribing my antidepressants, Dr. Coulter has been managing my seizures as well. I was having a few seizures a month initially. Now no seizures for six months. Well, until last week. It’s still pretty good. The trade-off is I have to take a medication that makes me feel even more tired and confused than I already am.

When Dr. Coulter got into the room, immediately Rose launched into a detailed account of my seizure. Before the doctor could even open his mouth. I was just sitting there, not listening. Rose loves to describe my seizures like they’re the end of the world. It’s kind of embarrassing.

“So it sounds like you had a generalized seizure,” Dr. Coulter said. “What are you up to on your medication?”

“Keppra 1000 milligrams twice a day,” Rose said before I could answer. She looked at me accusingly, “You’re taking it, right?”

“Yes, I am,” I said. I’ve got an alarm set on my watch to remember.

“And is anything different?” Dr. Coulter asked. “Any new medications?”

“No,” I said.

“Alcohol? Have you been drinking at all?”

Rose looked horrified. I quickly answered, “No.” Why would I drink? I already feel like I’m kind of drunk most of the time.

“Well, Noel,” Dr. Coulter said. “One seizure in six months isn’t that bad. But if it really bothers you, we could go up on your dose of Keppra.”

“I don’t want to go up on the Keppra,” I said, at the same time Rose said, “Let’s increase the Keppra.”

Dr. Coulter smiled. “Seems like we have a difference of opinion here.”

“I don’t like Keppra,” I said. “It makes me feel fuzzy. Tired.” If the seizure hadn’t happened, I’d been hoping I could taper it down. So much for that.

“But you could have another seizure!” Rose said.

“So?”

Rose looked at Dr. Coulter, aghast at my answer.

“I don’t think that’s unreasonable,” Dr. Coulter said. “You don’t drive or do anything where you’d be in danger. So if you want to stay on your current dose of Keppra, then I think it’s fine. As long as you don’t have more seizures.”

“He could injure himself during a seizure!” Rose protested. “He could injure his head.”

“Too late,” I said. I could see a smile touch Dr. Coulter’s lips.

“You operate heavy equipment,” she pointed out.

“I operate an elevator,” I said. “The worst that could happen is someone misses their floor.”

Rose huffed. “You shouldn’t be making these decisions. You don’t understand the implications. You’re like… a child.”

I stared at her. That really really went too far. But unlike her, I wasn’t going to start acting like a lunatic in front of the doctor. “Dr. Coulter gave me a choice,” I said. “I get to make my own medical decisions. If you don’t like it, next time I’ll take a cab.”

That shut Rose up temporarily, but in the car, she started up again. It was pretty insulting. About how I couldn’t take care of myself and the seizures are really scary and I needed to listen to her. She was almost crying. I may be impaired but I’m not as bad as three years ago. I can hear what a doctor says and make a decision. I’m not like a child. I don’t even know how she could say that.

Chloe’s Diary:

We are finishing up the dissection of the thorax this week. We had our last quiz on the thorax yesterday. I’m 99% sure I failed it.

I should be studying, but what’s the point? I’m at Graham’s apartment, sitting on his bed and flipping through the anatomy atlas kind of halfheartedly. Graham’s got his last two quizzes lying on his desk. Let’s just say, he has no reason to be worried about this exam.

“I don’t understand the female pelvis,” I say.

“You don’t understand the female pelvis?” Graham repeats, smirking.

“It’s not funny!”

“It’s a little funny,” he says. He sits down next to me on his bed. I love Graham’s bed. He’s got one of those really expensive ultra-pedic mattresses or whatever, that conforms perfectly to the shape of your body to maximize the quality of your sleep. I feel Graham’s hand sliding down my back and going dangerously close to my own (female) pelvis. I hold my breath. “You’re tense.”

“A bit,” I admit.

“Would you like a massage?”

“Ooh, yes.”

I lie down on Graham’s bed and I let him slide his fingers under my shirt and over the bare skin of my back. His hands are very smooth and strong. I remember the way Elizabeth’s fingers felt, all dry and cracked from so many surgeries. I wonder if Graham’s hands will get like that eventually.

“You’re really tense, Chloe,” he says. “You need to relax.”

I feel his lips on my neck and that doesn’t help me much to relax, but it’s pretty nice. Ah, Graham.

Noel’s Memory Book:

Rose called me. She’s sorry. She asked me if she could come over and do my laundry. How could I say no?

Chloe’s Diary:

Olivia and I are alone in lab today. Graham and Claire are off together studying. It seems like all the smartest people in our class have decided that cracking the books is more important than being elbow-deep in a cadaver. Maybe we should leave.

“You’re putting the liver back wrong,” Olivia says to me.

I look down at the solid organ in my hands. The liver is actually a really interesting organ. It does a lot of things, none of which I entirely understand. “How do you know?” I say.

“Well, does your liver jut four inches out of your chest?”

“I guess not.”

I try to shove the liver into place, but it seems like a lost cause. I sigh and drop my hands to my sides. “Are you okay?” Olivia asks me.

Olivia has no idea I’ve been failing the quizzes. I like Olivia but I don’t feel close to her in that way. I don’t want to confide in her. There’s no one here I feel that I can talk to about intimate things. The only person who even comes close is Noel, who hates me now. And that just makes me so sad, I want to cry all over this dead body. We’ve got to spray it with water to keep it from drying out anyway.

The Elevator Guy (Chapter 8)

2011-12-10T20:00:00.000-08:00

Chloe’s Diary:

Elizabeth and I are having our female surgeon’s lunch. I thought it might be at an actual restaurant, but it ended up being in the cafeteria of the hospital. Oh well.

I like Elizabeth. She’s badass. While we were talking, she kept getting paged and barking orders into her cell phone. I really admire her. If someone told me I was going to be like her in eight years, I’d be pretty psyched. And very skeptical.

“Do you want to watch a surgery?” Elizabeth asks me.

“Sure,” I say.

She smiles. “I saw my first live surgery during my first year of med school. Something just clicked for me. I hadn’t really been thinking about surgery at all before that.”

“Did Dr. Conrad talk you into going to the surgery?” I ask.

“Sort of,” she says. “Actually, it was more my boyfriend. He wanted to be a surgeon and he made it sound so fantastic. He was the one who convinced me to watch one and I got hooked too.”

This is almost spooky. Elizabeth seems like she was so much like me, right down to the wannabe surgeon boyfriend. Does that mean I really am going to be like her someday? I just can’t picture it.

“My boyfriend wants to be a surgeon too,” I confide in her. “It’s actually… kind of annoying.”

Elizabeth laughs. “Well, yeah. It was sometimes annoying. But he was so passionate about it!” She looks kind of wistful. “Also, he always made sure I knew he cared about me more than his career.”

I remember what Elizabeth said about having come close to failing anatomy. “You said he tutored you through anatomy?”

She nods gravely. “I failed the first exam. I didn’t want to tell him because I was scared he wouldn’t respect me. Then one day, he stumbled on my exam paper while he was at my apartment. After that, he said it was his mission to help me pass.”

Interesting. Graham doesn’t know I’ve been failing, but part of me wonders what he’d say if I told him. Maybe he’d change his mind about studying with me. Maybe helping me pass would become his new mission. Maybe it would be something that would bring us together and make us care about each other as much as Elizabeth clearly had cared about her boyfriend. Of course, Elizabeth didn’t end up with her wannabe surgeon. I wonder what happened.

“So tell me about your boyfriend,” Elizabeth says. She’s forgotten all about talking me into being a surgeon.

“Uh… he’s…” I don’t know what to say. “Really smart.”

“Of course,” Elizabeth laughs.

“And… cute.”

She laughs again and I notice there’s a softness to her face. She’s not all badass surgeon. She’s still slightly human.

“Is he the one?” she asks.

Now it’s my turn to laugh. “No, he’s not.”

“Are you sure?”

“God, I hope not.”

“I didn’t think my boyfriend was right for me at all when I first met him,” Elizabeth recalls. “I didn’t even want to go out with him because I thought he was a jerk and we had nothing in common. I mean, he was definitely an arrogant asshole. But I also realized how sweet and considerate he was. And how much he loved me. He never made me doubt that. I really fell hard for him and I knew that he was the one I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.”

I frown at her. “Are you talking about your fiancé?”

Elizabeth’s mouth falls open and her cheeks turn pink. “I, um… yeah. My fiancé.”

Except I can tell that’s not who she meant. For some reason, Elizabeth is still hung up on this guy she dated in med school. God, can you imagine if I were still pining over Graham eight years from now? I’d kill myself.

Noel’s Memory Book:

I’m turning 30 in a week. I don’t even want to think about it. I had a list of goals that I wanted to accomplish before I hit 30. I don’t know where that list went but I think it’s safe to say that I’ve accomplished none of them. I’m not a surgeon. I’m not married. I don’t have a house. I didn’t get to visit the Great Wall of China. (I think that was on there.)

My brother Brad invited me to dinner to celebrate early. Rose invited herself along too. Brad wasn’t happy about that last part. They don’t get along too well.

The restaurant Brad took me to was basically a bar. It was so small that my cane kept catching on stools as I made my way to Brad’s table. Waitresses kept flouncing by in skimpy outfits while I tried not to stare and I could feel the smoke clinging to my clothes. Right away Brad ordered himself a whiskey and ordered me a beer. I tried to explain to him that I couldn’t drink.

“It’s your birthday!” Brad said. “You’re allowed to drink on your birthday.”

“It’s not my birthday,” I pointed out.

“Brad,” Rose said in a serious voice, “Noel could have a seizure if he drinks. Do you understand that?”

Brad sighed really loudly. “Fine. Loser.”

Sometimes I’m not sure which of my siblings is more annoying.

Even though we’re brothers and sister, we’re pretty different. Rose is the oldest and the responsible one. Brad is the party animal. I used to be the smart, competitive one. Now… I don’t know what I am. Not smart or competitive, that’s for sure.

Brad spent most of the dinner hitting on waitresses. He got two phone numbers. Rose looked kind of miserable. Partially, I think she was sad nobody was hitting on her. I wish Rose would find a boyfriend. I mean, she’s pretty. I’m not just saying that as her brother. She’s got a cute face, thick red hair, and a good figure. She should have a boyfriend.

“So do you want to hear what your present is, little brother?” Brad asked me. He was slurring his speech.

“Sure,” I said.

“For your very special thirtieth birthday, I am getting you…” He paused dramatically. “A hooker!”

Rose started coughing. I just stared at Brad. I wish he was offering me a hooker because he was drunk, but I don’t think so. I think this was a well thought out plan.

“That’s very nice of you,” I said carefully. “But I really don’t—”

“Are you out of your mind?” Rose nearly screamed.

“Rose, you have to understand something,” Brad said calmly. “Men have needs. And Noel here… it’s obvious he’s not getting any. And I’m thinking that’s not going to change any time soon.”

Thanks, Brad.

“Am I right?” Brad looked at me. “You haven’t been with anyone since Liz, have you?”

I couldn’t bring myself to answer that one.

“You can’t do this,” Rose said. “You are not hiring a hooker for Noel.”

“You’re not his mother, Rose,” Brad shot back. “And he’s not a kid. Christ, you’re pathetic.”

I looked over at Rose. Her eyes were filling up with tears. Brad struck a nerve. He’s such an asshole sometimes.

“You’re not going to sleep with a prostitute, are you?” Rose said to me.

“No, I’m not,” I said. I don’t think the situation is that bad yet. Well, maybe it is. But I still don’t want to have sex with a prostitute. I mean, that would really be a low.

“Are you sure, Noel?” Brad said. “I mean, I could get you one that’s really hot. I would get a real high priced girl. And I’m sure that whole missing leg deal wouldn’t bother her. They’re used to that kind of stuff.”

“Brad, I’m not sleeping with a hooker!”

He looked really disappointed. I hate to burst his bubble but that’s just not something I would do. I know it’s not going to ever happen with Chloe, but I’m not ready to resort to something like that. I mean, I’d have to be a lot more desperate than I am now. Now I’m just somewhat desperate. He can ask me again at my 35^th birthday, when I’m sure I’ll be equally single.

Chloe’s Diary:

Noel doesn’t even look at me anymore in the elevator. He averts his eyes. I think he’s pissed off I’m dating Graham.

The only nonverbal exchange we have is one day when I’m in the elevator with Graham. Graham is telling this story about how he worked in a research lab last summer. He had been dissecting a mouse and he said to some underling, “Scalpel!” And they handed him a scalpel. And that’s when he knew he wanted to be a surgeon.

I look up and my eyes meet Noel’s. He’s giving me this LOOK. And he shakes his head.

I know, I know. He’s right. Graham’s kind of a jerk.

But that’s all going to change. I’ve got this plan to tell Graham about my failing anatomy quizzes, the third of which arrived in my mailbox today. And then Graham is going to save me, just like Elizabeth’s ex-boyfriend saved her. That’s when Graham and I will really connect. I’ll know he cares about me.

Chloe’s Diary:

I know that before class, Graham usually studies in the empty classroom by the anatomy labs. I go there armed with my three failing quizzes. I don’t think I can bring myself to tell him I’m failing, but maybe I can just “accidentally” show him the quizzes. Then I can follow in Elizabeth’s footsteps and be saved by my wannabe surgeon boyfriend. Hurray!

Graham is sitting in his usual place in the classroom, at the desk in the back by the window. He’s deep in concentration—our exam is in only one week and I know he wants to get an A because he’s told me about a hundred times. I walk over to the desk next to him and take a seat. “Hi,” I say.

He raises his head briefly and smiles at me.

I pull my anatomy text out of my overstuffed bag. It’s got my three failing tests sticking out of it really conspicuously. I put the book down on the desk and wait for Graham to notice.

Okay, he’s not noticing.

I pick up the book and drop it back down with a loud “thump.” Graham looks up for a second, seems mildly irritated, but then goes back to his studying.

One thing I have to say about Graham is that he’s very, very focused.

I pull the quizzes out of the book. I flip through them rather loudly. He’s still not looking at me. Finally, I drop them on the floor right in front of him.

Nothing he could do to avoid this now. He sighs loudly, then bends down to pick them up. As he reaches for the tests, I can see the look on his face. He gets it. Finally.

“Chloe,” he says a little too loudly, “I didn’t know you were failing anatomy.”

There are two other people in the room. They definitely heard him. I should have planned this out better. “Um, well,” I say. “I still think I might do okay on the midterm.”

He looks down at my tests and shakes his head. “I doubt it. You really bombed these. You’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“Yeah, I know,” I say. I sit there, waiting. Chloe, I’m going to help you! We can do this together!

He shakes his head again. “Well, good luck with that.”

He hands the tests back to me. I’m stunned. Okay, maybe I was expecting too much. But he didn’t even show any sympathy. He basically just told me I was screwed and that was it. Clearly my boyfriend is a bigger jerk than Elizabeth’s boyfriend was.

I’m pissed off. But more than that, I’m scared. Our first anatomy exam is in one week. I just failed three quizzes in a row. Graham’s right: I’m in big trouble. I was hoping for some kind of miracle, but now it’s become clear to me that the miracle isn’t going to happen.

I stuff my failed exams back into my bag and run out of the room before I can start crying. I hit the button to call for the elevator. I’ve got to get out of here.

When I see Noel in the elevator, my heart sinks. I want to be alone. I don’t want to have to try to keep from crying through the duration of an elevator ride. But there isn’t much I can do so I step inside. He asks me where I want to go and I tell him the lobby. I’m going home.

I let my heavy bag fall to the floor, and as I do, my failed exams fall out. All three of them. You can clearly see the failing grades circled in red. I see Noel looking down at the test papers, his eyes widening. Great, now even the elevator guy knows I’m flunking anatomy. There’s no end to the depths of my humiliation.

“Chloe,” he says in a baffled voice. “You’re failing?”

I don’t say anything. I don’t trust myself to talk. I scoop up my exam papers from the floor and stuff them back into my bag. As I’m standing back up, I feel Noel’s hand on my arm. “Wait,” he says. “When is your midterm?”

“It’s in a week,” I say. I look away. “What do you care?”

“Let me help you,” he says.

What? Am I on crazy pills? The guy who operates the elevator wants to help me pass my anatomy exam?

He presses the button for the fourth floor. That’s where the library is. I watch as he grabs the cane he has behind his stool and shoos me out of the elevator. I follow him because… well, I’m curious. I can’t even imagine how the elevator guy is going to help me pass my anatomy exam. He can’t, that’s how. Part of me is scared that I’m about to figure out that Noel is a lot more mentally challenged than I gave him credit for.

This is the first time I’ve seen Noel walk any appreciable distance before, and he has a very pronounced limp. It’s pretty bad. He’s relying really heavily on his cane and don’t think he’d be able to walk at all without it. He seems to have difficulty bending his right knee or something, and when we walk into the library, he grabs the doorway for a second to steady himself.

I’m surprised how familiar Noel seems with the layout of the library. He passes the front desk and the stacks of books to the back, where the computer lab is. “Sit,” he instructs me, pointing at a computer. He sits down next to me by grabbing the computer desk for support and falling into the chair somewhat ungracefully. “Log in to the computer.”

I log in, eying him suspiciously the whole time. Noel instructs me to go to the school’s anatomy course website. I shake my head, “There’s no course website.”

“Are you kidding me?” Noel says, and for a second, he sounds a lot like Graham. It’s a little disturbing. Before I can’t dwell on it, he leans over me and starts pecking at keys with his left hand. And what do you know… there really is a website for our anatomy class. How did I manage to miss that?

“Okay,” he says, “now click where it says ‘old exams.’”

Sure enough, there’s a link on the screen that says “old exams.” When I click, there’s a wealth of old exam questions from the last decade. I click on last year’s midterm and immediately recognize two of the questions from one of the quizzes. I want to smack myself in the head for not knowing about this sooner.

“There’s a lot of material to learn in anatomy,” Noel says. “These exams will help you to know where to focus. Look up the answers to these questions and I guarantee you’ll pass the midterm. You may not get honors, but you’ll pass.”

He leans back in his chair, looking satisfied.

“Um,” I say. There’s an unspoken question in the air and we both know it. I don’t think I can leave here without asking. “How do you know about all this?”

He hesitates and fiddles with the handle of his cane. “Well, I’ve worked her a while. I hear students talk about the old exams. I figured I should, you know, pass on the tip.”

I look back at the computer. Something about this story seems incredibly fishy. For example, it doesn’t explain how he typed in the URL of the anatomy course website from memory. But I can’t think of any other explanation that makes sense, other than maybe he’s secretly been stalking med students. He doesn’t seem like a stalker though. “Thank you,” I say anyway.

“You’re welcome,” he says. He smiles. “It’s my mission to make sure you get out of this place in one piece.”

Huh. His mission? Where have I heard that before?

“Don’t worry,” he says. “You’re going to do fine on the test. I promise. Just study the questions.”

So I guess Noel and I are still friends. And as for Graham and I… well, we’ll see. I guess it’s not his job to be my anatomy tutor. Still, it would have been nice if he had surprised me for a change, instead of being… well, Graham.

Noel’s Memory Book

I discovered Liz’s failing midterm grade by accident. I was searching for a paperclip on her desk while she was in the bathroom and I found the test shoved in between her anatomy notes. Was I snooping? Maybe a little. I had noticed Liz was depressed lately and I wanted to know why.

I was never about subtlety, so I confronted her about the grade the second she came back into the room. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re failing?” I asked her.

Her eyes got that wet look that always made me melt. I was always a sucker for Liz crying. “Why? So you could lose all respect for me just like Dr. Conrad?”

“Over a grade?” I was baffled. “You think I’d lose respect for you over a grade?”

Liz just shook her head.

“Liz, let me help you,” I said.

“Forget it,” she muttered. “The last thing I want is for you to feel like you have to be my tutor.”

“I don’t feel that way,” I insisted. “I just want you to do well because… I love you.”

It was the first time I’d ever told Liz I loved her. We hadn’t been together that long, but I felt it at that moment. I loved her. More than I ever imagined I could love another person. I don’t know why exactly. There was just something about Liz, some inexplicable quality that drew me to her. I loved her.

I had been hoping she’d say it back, but she didn’t. She did later, of course. About a week later, when a studying session converted into a makeout session. But at that moment, she didn’t tell me she loved me. I guess I felt it first.

Nobody needs to tell me that Chloe doesn’t love me. I’m not an idiot. I don’t love her either, but there’s something about her too. Something that tells me that she’s the sort of person that I could love. I doubt we’d ever get to that point though. Not with her asshole boyfriend hanging around.

But none of that is the reason I helped Chloe for her midterm. I helped her because it was the right thing to do and I could. As a doctor, especially a surgeon, the instinct to help a person in distress is almost overwhelming. And clearly Chloe is a person in distress.

I can’t even imagine what she thought of me knowing all that stuff about anatomy. I know she didn’t believe my story about “overhearing” med students talking about it. She’s not an idiot either. But at the same time, there’s no way she’d guess the truth.

The Elevator Guy (Chapter 9)

2011-12-10T19:30:00.000-08:00

Chloe’s Diary:

I’m in the library studying with two girls in my class namedJamie and Alexis. We’re quizzing eachother on anatomy. It seems like everysocial relationship in med school is somehow based on studying. We’re getting very close to the exam, sonearly every table is occupied by a nervous-looking med student.

I’ve always gotten along with Jamie and Alexis, but now theyseem subdued. I think maybe they’re juststressed out until Jamie gets up the nerve to say something to me. “Chloe, why are you dating Graham?” she says.

I’m thrown by the question. Mostly because I don’t know. Whyam I dating Graham? Because he’s goodlooking? That can’t possibly beright. I’m not that shallow. Am I? Oh god, maybe I am.

“I, um,” I say brilliantly.

“I always thought you were really nice,” Jamie says. “But Graham is such a jerk. How can you stand him?”

I look down. I don’twant to answer this question. I don’twant to think about why I’m dating Graham. He clearly doesn’t care about me.

“He’s, um,” I say. “He’s not so bad.”

Jamie and Alexis look skeptical.

“He buys me flowers sometimes,” I say.

Alexis makes a face at me. “You’re dating him because he buys you flower sometimes?”

“No,” I say. “It’s…complicated.”

“Don’t let him take advantage of you, Chloe,” Jamie says.

“And if possible, you should sabotage him on the exams,”Alexis adds.

“You guys!” I say.

I have a bad feeling though. At first I thought everyone respected me for dating Graham, but now I’mnot so sure anymore. Anyone I’d actuallywant to respect me thinks I’m a phony for dating Graham. Actually, I’m starting to think I’m a phony.

I keep thinking of what Elizabethsaid about her med school boyfriend. About how he was really competitive and driven, but he always let herknow that he loved her. Graham doesn’tlove me. I don’t think he ever will.

Noel’s Memory Book:

Technically, I’m a Christian. A Protestant, specifically. My parents are religious. Kind of. Religious in that they go to church every Sunday and for holidays. Religious in that they believe in God andJesus and all that.

This religiousness didn’t really get passed down to theiroffspring. Rose is probably the best ofthe three of us, but Brad and I are both staunch atheists. I was an atheist before I got hurt, but now itactually gets me angry when my parents talk about religion. If there’s a God, why did he do this tome? I mean, I might not have been thenicest guy in the universe, but deep down I’m a good person. I am. I know I didn’t deserve this.

Of course, my mother says the miracle is that I wokeup. When I crashed the car, that wasfate, not God. He wasn’t payingattention. He was watching American Idolon TV or something.

Once I got out of rehab and was living with my mother, shemade me go to church with her on Sundays, like when I was a kid. I didn’t really have it in me to protest backthen, so I went. It was prettyawful. First of all, I ended up havingto see all of my mom’s friends who I didn’t recognize but who recognizedme. And they all talked to me in thiscondescending voice and told me how good I looked, even though I was sitting ina wheelchair, had scars all over my face, and I was still having a lot oftrouble with my speech. I could speak,but it was very slow and I could tell my words were slurred. It was hard for me to even just exchangepleasantries with these women. It waspretty obvious that nobody actually thought I looked good.

Then I’d have to sit through the sermon. It would last forever and I usually didn’tunderstand a freaking word of it. Abouthalf the time, I’d drift off. I’d blamemy sleepiness on my medications, but my parents should have realized it wasjust church boring the hell out of me.

Anyway, the reason I bring up religion is because my mothermet some woman in church and she wanted to set me up with her daughter. I’ve been resisting this kind of set-up, butnow that I know for sure things aren’t going to happen with me and Chloe, Ifeel like I should make an effort to date a little. You know any woman who’s letting her mom sether up has got to be a real winner, like me. My mother gave me her number and I called her today.

Her name is Jana. Iwas really nervous when I called her. Ihaven’t asked out a girl in a really long time. I guess Liz was the last girl I asked out and that was eight years ago. Plus I know I’m not exactly a catch (that’sthe understatement of the year). But Ialready had a guarantee from my mother that she was going to say yes.

I had already decided I was going to call her once and notleave a message, so I was about to hang up with she picked up the phone. “Hi, it’s Jana,” she said.

“Hi,” I said. “Um, myname is Noel Andrews. My mother told meto…”

“Oh right, Noel!” Shesounded nice enough on the phone, I guess. Enthusiastic.

“So, um…” I was having a lot of trouble getting wordsout. This happens when I’m nervous. All my speech therapy goes out thewindow. “Do you want to, um, go to… um…”

“Dinner?” Jana suggested.

“Right,” I said, relieved.

“Sure,” she said. “Howabout this Friday? Do you want to pickme up?”

I didn’t really want to get into an explanation about how Idon’t drive because I have a brain injury and if I don’t have a seizure whiledriving, I’d get lost after about a block. “I don’t have a car,” I said. That should have tipped her off that something wasn’t right. Who doesn’t have access to a car?

But we agreed to meet at the restaurant. I could tell she had no idea about myinjury. I wondered if my mother had toldher friend, but either way, clearly the information didn’t get passed on toJana. I’m pretty sure she’s going tofigure it out on the date though. Unfortunately,I can’t hide that there’s something wrong with me.

Chloe’s Diary

Our exam is in two days. I’m in Graham’s apartment. Actually, I’m in Graham’s bed. He’s lying on the bed studying with his shirt off and I’m nuzzledagainst his bare chest. I think I’vementioned that Graham has an amazing chest. It’s all firm with muscles. Idon’t know how he manages that, considering he never goes to the gym and hisonly recreational activity is studying. I once asked him how he manages to have such a muscular chest and hejust looked at me blankly. It’s like hedoesn’t even realize how good looking he is.

I can’t really enjoy it. I’m nervous about the test in two days, but somehow I’m even more upsetabout me and Graham. I don’t knowwhy. From the beginning, I knew it wasjust a fling between the two of us. Butthat doesn’t mean I want to be in a relationship with someone who doesn’t careabout me.

“How do you feel about me?” I suddenly ask Graham.

“Huh?” he says. Hedoesn’t look up from his anatomy book.

“I said, how do you feel about me?”

“I don’t know,” Graham says, his eyes still fixed on hisbook. “Right now, you’re kind ofannoying me.”

I sit up straight and put my hand over text of thebook. “Hey!” he cries.

“I’m trying to talk to you,” I say.

“Now?” he asks in an exasperated voice.

I stare at him.

“Fine,” he says and puts down the book.

I cross my legs and face him. “I want to know what this relationship meansto you.”

“I… don’t know how to answer that.”

I stick out my tongue at him. “Like, do you even care about me?”

“What?” he shakes his head. “Of course I care about you, Chloe. Why would you ask me that?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “Sometimes you act like you don’t.”

“Well, now you know,” he says. “So can I study, please?”

I cross my arms. “Saythere was a train about to hit me. Butthe only way you could save my life would be to get a failing grade inanatomy. What would you choose?”

Graham stares at me. “Are you serious?”

“Which one would you choose?”

He shakes his head again. “Boy, you must think I’m really heartless. You really think I’d let you die tokeep from failing anatomy?”

“You still haven’t answered the question.”

“I’d make a joke, but I think you really mean it,” Grahamsays. “Chloe, I know I’m not the warmestperson in the world, but you must know I care about you a lot, right?”

I don’t say anything. Graham puts his arm around me and pulls me closer to him. “I won’t study anymore tonight if it willmake you happy,” he says.

“Really?”

“Of course.”

I feel bad all of a sudden. I don’t know why I’m trying to get Graham to choose between me and hisgrade. “You can study if you want,” Isay.

I sort of hope we can go through another round of him sayinghe isn’t going to study, but instead he grabs the book and resumes right wherehe left off. Oh well.

Noel’s Memory Book:

I have no memory of my accident. I’ve had to piece together what happened fromwhat I’ve been told. I don’t remember theday I got hurt or actually anything from at least a week before that. And then at least three months after. It’s weird to have such a huge memorygap.

I was on call the night before. I was a second year general surgery residentand ironically, I had wanted to specialize in trauma. Residency rules state that you aren’t allowedto stay in the hospital more than thirty hours in a row, but from what I cantell, I’d been at the hospital at least forty hours. I first-assisted in a Whipple procedure, whichis one of those things that a surgery resident can’t say no to. Then I did a consult for a possible acuteabdomen in the psych ward for my best friend and former roommate Glenn, who wasthen a psychiatry resident.

When I headed out of the hospital, I had probably been awakefor forty-something hours. From whatI’ve been told, I likely fell asleep while driving home and my car spun out ofcontrol and hit a tree going maybe 70 miles per hour. Iwas wearing a seatbelt, but I didn’t have airbags and I smashed my head on thesteering wheel and had an epidural hematoma, among other injuries. I was taken right back to my own hospital,where the neurosurgeons evacuated the hematoma by cutting out a large chunk ofmy skull, which was crushed anyway.

After that, I was comatose for several weeks. The doctors told my family that there was avery good chance I wouldn’t wake up and that they should make some decisionsabout “pulling the plug.” Organdonation, all that jazz. Then I startedopening my eyes and pulling at my tubes. I still have no memories of this time.

I was in this minimally conscious state for about amonth. Once again, the doctors told myfamily that there was a good chance I might not get any better. They talked about nursing homes. It was around this time, I think, that Lizstarted sleeping with my friend Glenn.

In the next weeks, I start talking a little bit. It’s from this period that I have my firstmemories from after the accident, although it’s all really fuzzy. I have this vague memory of someone cuttingsutures out of my stomach and it being incredibly painful, and as tears welledup in my eyes, I cried out, “Stop!” Thenagain as I tried to bat away the scissors: “Stop!” My mother was suddenly at my side and shesaid joyfully, “Did you hear that? Hesaid ‘stop’! He spoke!”

I remember it was very, very hard to speak for a long time. I knew what I wanted to say, but I just couldget the words out. I also had a lot oftrouble swallowing food. Also, my rightarm and leg were completely paralyzed, so I couldn’t walk or use my right armat all. I also still remember the firsttime I saw the stump of my left leg, and felt ill at the thought that it wasall that remained of my leg. It was agesbefore I was offered a prosthetic.

I remember being frustrated a lot. Some days I wanted the therapists to justleave the hell alone, but they never did. I’d actually say to them, “Leave me alone. Let me stay in bed.” But they kept cheering me on, trying to getme to do simple things like feeding myself or putting on my shirt, saying,“Noel, you can do it!” Except Icouldn’t. You know how hard it is to puton a pair of pants when half your body doesn’t work?

Thank god things got better. By the time I went home from rehab, my speech was light years better,although still not normal. I could eaton my own and wheel my own chair. I usedto be grateful for those things. It waseasier to feel good about yourself when you’re in rehab and everyone around youhas a brain injury and a lot of them are doing pretty bad. But now I’m out in the real world and I don’tfeel lucky anymore.

Chloe’s Diary

T minus one. The testis tomorrow.

Graham gave me a ride to the hospital this afternoon so wecould study together in the anatomy labs. And by “together,” I just mean that we are in the same general roomtogether. Not that we are actuallystudying together. We started out at thesame cadaver, but then I asked him if the cadaver had a hysterectomy because Ididn’t see a uterus. He proceeded toinform me that we were looking at a male body, and that was pretty much the endof our attempt at studying together.

The anatomy lab is packed. Ten o’clock on a Sunday nightand more than half my class is probably here. It’s sort of depressing. I wantto go home and sleep, but I knew that when I came here with Graham, it wouldforce me to stay here and study.

The anatomy teaching assistants have put pins on variousstructures in the cadaver as sort of a “practice practical” exam. Early tomorrow morning, they’ll go in and putpins on different structures and we’ll have to go around the room to identifythem. I’m fairly nervous about this,considering I’m getting a lot of the practice pins wrong.

I’m standing over our own cadaver, staring at a pin in theabdominal cavity. The label says“gastroepiploic artery.” I have no ideawhat makes this the gastroepiploic artery and I have only the vaguest idea whatthe gastroepiploic artery is. Claire ison the other side of the cadaver, looking at the same pin, and I’m tempted toask her. But from experience, I knowthat if I ask Claire a question, she’ll just sigh loudly and look at me likeI’m an idiot. Even if she answers thequestion, it’s so not worth it.

“So,” Claire says out of nowhere. At first, I’m hoping she’s going to saysomething about the gastroepiploic artery. “You and Graham, huh?”

I’m stunned. Theseare the first words Claire has ever said to me that don’t have to do withanatomy.

“Yup,” I say. I don’tknow what else to say.

“I was surprised,” Claire says.

“You were?”

“Well,” she says, “you’re not really his type.”

I didn’t know Graham particularly had a type, but I waswilling to believe I wasn’t it. “What’shis type?”

“I know he likes blondes,” she says.

I eye Claire’s blond hair, which is pulled back from herface in a perfect ponytail. It suddenlyoccurs to me that even though Claire hates everyone, she actually talks toGraham a lot. And that’s when I realize:Claire has a crush on Graham!

The whole thing is almost comical. Claire is gorgeous. She’s really beautiful, like a model orsomething. And somehow this guy shelikes is going out with me instead of her. It must be absolutely killing her. And to be honest, it doesn’t seempossible. I’m just as perplexed asClaire must be.

I’m distracted for the next hour, but I don’t get a chanceto ask Graham about it until he’s driving me home at 1AM. I amexhausted. At this point, I don’t evencare if I pass. I just want the test tobe over so I can sleep.

“I think Claire likes you,” I blurt out.

Graham, who looks surprisingly fresh for 1AM, laughs. “Yeah,I know.”

“You know?”

“She told me.”

“When?”

He shrugs. “I don’tremember. Before you and I were dating.”

“And you weren’t interested?”

He shrugs again.

“Graham,” I say. “She’s gorgeous. I don’tunderstand how you could not want to… you know…”

“Because looks are all that matter, right?”

“Well, to guys, yes.”

“Thanks a lot, Chloe.” He reaches out and pinches me teasingly on the arm. “Besides, you’re as pretty as she is. You really don’t think so?”

I snort. “Uh huh.”

“Anyway,” he says, pulling into the driveway of thedorm. “If you really want to know, Ididn’t want to get involved with Claire because she’s a high-maintenancebitch.”

“So I’m low maintenance?”

Graham pulls a pained expression. “Not lately, no.”

I finally laugh despite myself. All right, I’ve been giving Graham a hardtime lately. Chalk it up to stress. I apologize to him and let him kiss megoodnight and good luck.

Noel’s Memory Book:

It’s officially my birthday today. I’m thirty.

My mother wanted to make some special dinner for me, but Isaid no. I don’t want to do anythingtoday. I just want to mope around myapartment and feel sorry for myself.

I couldn’t stop her from coming by with a cake. She and Dad showed up around dinnertime. I was eating a lasagna TV dinner. Mom saw it on the table and looked sad. “You shouldn’t eat alone on your birthday,honey,” she said.

“I’m fine,” I insisted.

She pressured me into letting her and Dad stay, at leasttill I was done with my TV dinner so that we could have cake together. Dad looked like he wanted to leave, to behonest. It’s always kind of awkwardbetween us these days. Dad and I used tobe pretty close, but not so much anymore.

It’s a little hard for me to talk about this, but when Ifirst got home from rehab, I was still nowhere near back to normal. When I was in rehab, we did work on using thetoilet, but I wasn’t quite there yet. When I had to go, I’d tell my father and he’d help me transfer to thetoilet. Usually, I made it. Sometimes I didn’t.

When you’re an adult and your dad has to help you getcleaned up because you crapped your pants, that really changes arelationship. I can barely look him inthe eyes anymore.

Mom cut the cake and made a big deal out of getting it atsome special bakery. I didn’t care. My sense of smell is gone, which means mysense of taste is just as bad. A cakefrom the grocery store would have been just as good.

She sang “happy birthday” to me, which both Dad and Iendured with moderate embarrassment. Shedidn’t light any candles though. Or askme to make a wish. I think if she hadasked me to make a wish, I would have lost it.

The Elevator Guy (Chapter 10)

2011-12-10T19:00:00.000-08:00

Chloe’s Diary

My anatomy exam is today. My stomach is doing butterflies. I feel like I’m going to throw up. Oh my god, what if I throw up during theexam? I will never live that down. Graham will dump me and I’ll have to drop outof school. I’ll have to get a jobfolding jeans at the Gap.

I arrive at the hospital and press the button for theelevator to take me down to the basement. It arrives but Noel’s not inside. He must be in the other elevator. I let it go and wait for the other elevator to come. When I see him, I feel a rush of relief.

“It’s the big day, huh?” he says, his green eyes meetingmine.

“Noel,” I say, grabbing his arm. He looks surprised but I can’t make myselflet go. He’s wearing a T-shirt so I canfeel all the reddish hairs on his forearm against my palm. “I’m freaking out.”

“Chloe, listen to me,” he says. “You’re going to do fine. I told you, Conrad always repeatsquestions. You did the old questions,right?”

“Yes, but…”

“You’re going to do fine,” he says again. His voice is very soothing. He’s got the confidence that I’m lacking. “Everyone gets scared before the firstexam. I promise, you’re going to pass.”

“You promise?”

“I promise,” he says firmly.

Obviously, he can’t promise me anything. But it makes me feel better when he saysit. I feel my shoulders relaxslightly.

The elevator doors open on the floor of the library andseveral of my classmates filter in. Imove into the corner, but I keep eye contact with Noel. He never talks to me when there are otherstudents around, but as I leave the elevator, he mouths the words, “Good luck.”

About twenty minutes later, I am standing in front of mycadaver with a clipboard. Structures ineach cadaver have been pinned, and each pin is labeled with a number. I am supposed to identify each of thenumbered structures. Dr. Conrad explainsthat we will have one minute for each number, then we will move on to the nextstation.

“I think you all know how this works,” Dr. Conrad says. He smiles at us. “All right, good luck, everyone. BEGIN!”

I look down at the first labeled structure. It’s a heart. Wait, no, they probably want something more specific than that. It’s a ventricle. It’s the right ventricle.

Triumphantly, I write down my answer. I look up at my classmate on the other sideof the cadaver and flash him an optimistic smile. He looks like he wants to strangle me.

Noel’s Memory Book:

I still remember my first anatomy exam. I came two points away from failing it.

I fell in love with Liz on my first day of anatomy. She was my lab partner. She hated me. She thought I was obnoxious and full of myself. I was both of those things. I couldn’t stop being who I was, but everyday when I looked at her across that dead body, I knew this was the woman Iwanted to spend the rest of my life with. I had never felt anything like that before.

I asked her out a few weeks into the year. I was really confident back then, thought Iwas the shit. So I was surprised whenshe said no. “Why not?” I asked. I had never been turned down by a girlbefore.

“I don’t think we have anything in common,” she said. She started talking about how all I caredabout was my grades and my career. Shethought I didn’t have room in my life for a girlfriend and that I’d probablytreat her badly.

I tried to convince her, but she wasn’t buying it. I asked her out again and she said no. At a party, I tried to approach her when shewas drinking, thinking her guard would be down. It wasn’t.

Liz pointed out that there were plenty of other girls outthere, but I didn’t want any of them. Ionly wanted Liz.

Desperate times called for desperate measures. I told Liz that if she didn’t go out with me,I was going on strike. I wasn’t going tostudy anymore until she agreed to grant me one date.

I kept my word. Ididn’t read my anatomy textbooks or the manual. I went to lab, but I pretty much had no idea what was going on. We had a quiz that I failed by an impressivemargin. I made a point of letting Lizsee my quiz grade.

“Noel, why are you doing this?” she asked, furrowing herbrow in her cute little way.

“Because I want you to see that I care about you more thanmy anatomy grade,” I explained.

“You’re wasting your time,” she said. “You should study.”

The day before the first anatomy exam, Liz still hadn’tagreed to go out with me. I wascompletely unprepared for the exam and I was starting to wonder why I had donethis to myself. Usually I was a prettylevelheaded guy. Doing some crazyromantic gesture for a girl wasn’t really like me. But I’d never met anyone like Liz before.

That night, soon after dinner, Liz showed up at mydoor. She was crying. “Please study,” she begged me. “I don’t want you to fail because of me. Please.”

“Will you go out with me?” I asked.

“Yes, yes!” she cried. “Now will you study?”

“Sure,” I said.

I stayed up all night studying for that exam. By the morning, I was just barely preparedenough to swing a passing grade. Unfortunately,Liz wasn’t so lucky, but I didn’t know it at the time.

We had our first date a week later. Four years later, we were engaged. In six months from now, she’s marryinganother guy.

Chloe’s Diary

I get back to my room and Olivia is crying. Her mascara is running down her cheeks. “I failed,” she sobs. “I know it. I definitely failed.”

“I’m sure you did fine,” I say.

“Don’t try to reassure me!” Olivia snaps. “I know I bombed it! I’m sure of it.”

Honestly, I am feeling a little confident about theexam. I don’t think I did well oranything, but I feel like I passed. Justlike Noel promised, several of the questions on the exam were ones I had seenbefore. I was able to answer thoseeasily. I think I did okay.

“I can’t take it anymore,” Olivia cries, curling up into alittle fetal ball on her bed. “This constantstudying, these exams… it’s too much!”

“It could be worse.”

Olivia makes a face at me. “At least you have a boyfriend. No guy wants me. I’m going to diealone.”

“All right, you’re being ridiculous,” I say.

“It’s true,” she sniffles. “I’ll have to, like, marry Creepy Elevator Guy and we’ll live in a caveor something.”

I wince. She stillrefers to Noel as Creepy Elevator Guy. If she knew some of the fantasies I’ve had about him… well, she’d besomewhat surprised, to say the least. Ishould probably defend him. I shouldexplain that he’s actually a very nice guy. That he’s smart and he gave me advice that probably helped me to pass myexam today. Also, he’s kind of sexy.

Actually, I probably shouldn’t say that last bit.

Chloe’s Diary

We are starting the Head and Neck section of anatomytoday.

Up until this point, there’s been a green cloth covering ourcadaver’s face. I don’t know where thecloth came from, but I thank whoever put it there. I didn’t want to look a dead body in theface.

Today we’re removing the cloth. I’m freaking out a little. I got to the lab early, before any of mypartners arrived and I’ve been standing there, psyching myself up. Graham arrives and gives me a funny look. “Why are you just standing there?” he says tome.

I’m embarrassed. “Noreason.”

Graham then yanks the cloth off the cadaver’s face. Well, that was easy.

The guy’s face is as gray as the rest of him. His eyes are closed, thank god, and his nose issmooshed into his face. I thought thiswas going to be harder than it is. Muchlike the rest of him, his face doesn’t seem real.

Graham flips open the anatomy manual. “Do you want to start peeling the face?”

“Oh god, no!” I cry.

He shrugs. “Allright, I can do that. Do you want to cutoff the scalp?”

“Um,” I say, “not really.”

Graham frowns at me. “Well, what would you like to do?”

“Sit in the corner and watch?”

Graham flashes me a really condescending smile. No wonder he doesn’t want to study withme. He must think I’m a completeidiot. Why is he even dating me?

“Hello there.” It’sDr. Conrad, sneaking up behind me again. I remember again what Olivia said about thinking he was sexy. He is kind of sexy, I guess. I don’t think he’s married or anything, whichis how the rumors about him and the dead bodies probably started. “You’re starting to work on the face?”

Graham nods. “I wasjust about to start peeling off his skin.”

Dr. Conrad looks at me. “Chloe, what are the branches of the facial nerve?”

I close my eyes for a second and recall a mnemonic I learnedlast night: To Zanzibar By Motor Car. “Temporal, zygomatic, buccal, mandibular, and cervical.”

I glance over at Graham, who looks shocked. Dr. Conrad smiles at me. “Excellent, Chloe,” he says. He adds, “Did you contact Elizabethyet?”

“Yes, I did,” I say. “Thank you.”

When Dr. Conrad moves on, Graham says to me, “Who’s Elizabeth?”

I hesitate. “Nobody.” I don’t want to tellGraham that Dr. Conrad assigned me a mentor in the surgery department. He’d totally make fun of me. I’m sure he’d think it was ridiculous thatsomeone like me was even slightly considering surgery.

Chloe’s Diary

We’re dissecting the pharyngeal muscles today. When Olivia and I arrive at the lab, Grahamand Claire are both hovering over our cadaver’s jaw. I’m not very excited about this, but at leastwe’re not dissecting the eyeball today. Ugh.

“Hello, ladies,” Graham says to us. “You’re just in time. Claire here is going to enlighten us allabout swallowing. It’s a subject sheknows a lot about. Claire?”

Claire looks pissed off. “Go to hell,” she says to him. She storms off.

Graham grins at me. He looks really proud of himself. “Claire’s in rare form today. Ispent the last fifteen minutes scheming a way to get her to leave. Pretty good, huh?”

The three of us having been taking turns coming up with waysto insult Claire enough that she’ll leave us alone. It’s surprisingly not difficult.

“Well, now who’s going to enlighten us about swallowing?”Olivia pouts.

“I’ll do it, of course,” Graham says as Olivia and Idissolve into laughter. Some days,anatomy lab can be kind of fun. Medschool isn’t so bad.

God, I wonder what I got on that test.

Noel’s Memory Book:

Am drunk. Can’t seestraight.

Going to throw up now.

Noel’s Memory Book:

I’m hungover. Ihaven’t been hungover since before my accident. I have a pounding headache. Ineed to take something for this. I’vegot Vicodin in the medicine cabinet. Twoshould do it. Maybe three.

So my date last night. Not good. Obviously.

I caught a cab over to the restaurant to meet Jana. I was very nervous. As I said, this was my first date in eightyears. Also, it’s hard for me to tellhow I come off to new people I meet. I’mnot sure how noticeable my injury is. Sonya and I really worked on my speech and my enunciation is muchbetter. But in addition to the wordfinding problems that I had, I also had issues with the rhythm of my speech. When I started talking again, everything wasa monotone. She had to help me learn howto put inflections in my speech again. Istill don’t know if I sound totally normal.

I’m embarrassed to admit that I spent a long time figuringout what to wear. I don’t own much“nice” clothing anymore, but I have a few dress shirts and pants. I never really had a great sense ofstyle. I used to have Liz pick out myoutfits for me when we were doing anything special, but I obviously can’t dothat anymore. As I was rolling up mypants leg to attach my prosthetic, I had a sudden premonition that the datewasn’t going to work out. How couldit? This girl had no fucking clue whatshe was about to walk into. If she hadany idea that I was attaching my left leg to my body at this moment, she’d calland cancel for sure.

I got to the restaurant early and waited in a chair by thehostess, hiding my cane behind the seat. When Jana walked in, I recognized her from her description of the reddress she’d be wearing. Jana wasactually sort of pretty. She wasn’t likea model or anything, but she was pretty enough that she didn’t need to get setup by her mother. She was maybe earlythirties. Nice blue eyes, trim figure. Of course, I couldn’t help but compare her toChloe. Chloe is younger, of course, andmuch less sophisticated. Jana seems alot more confident in the way she carries herself. I don’t think Jana would have a positiveFingernail Sign. Her fingernailsactually looked perfect. They were shinyand painted pink.

Jana’s eyes met mine and she must have recognized my owndescription of the brown jacket I’d be wearing. She walked over to me and maybe it was my imagination, but she seemedpretty pleased with what she saw. Ormaybe “relieved” would be a better word. As I said, I don’t look scary or anything. I look okay from far enough away.

“Noel?” she said. Shehad a nice voice, kind of husky, sexy.

“Right,” I said. “Youmust be Jana.”

I got to my feet, locking the knee joint of my brace assurreptitiously as I could. Jana offeredme her right hand to shake. I can’t do thatsince I can’t use my right hand. Isubverted the whole thing by instead clasping her hand in my left hand. At the time, it probably seemed like warmgesture or something. I wasn’t wearingmy right hand brace, even though I’ve been wearing it most of the time at worknow.

Of course, the whole thing was kind of an exercise infutility, considering I had my cane balanced against the wall and in a secondshe was going to see me walk. I wantedto leave the cane at home, but I knew I couldn’t walk well enough to go withoutit all evening. I even tried for a fewminutes in my living room, to see if I’d miraculously gotten much better atbalancing, but I hadn’t. So I broughtthe cane. When I grabbed it from itsplace against the wall, I could see her eyes widen and I quickly mumbled, “Ihurt my knee last week.” Then added,“ACL tear.” She seemed to buy it, eventhough if I had an ACL tear, I’d be on crutches probably, not a quad cane.

The hostess led us to our table. The fact that I was nervous was making mymuscles tighten up or something and it was actually getting very difficult towalk even with the cane, to the point where I wished I had my forearm crutch,although that surely wouldn’t have gone over well. There were a few moments when I was scaredthat I would actually fall, but through some miracle, I stayed on my feet. I was really relieved when we were finallyseated.

“So I wasn’t clear on what you do,” Jana said to me, tryingto make conversation.

For a minute, I was tempted to lie. I had already lied to her once. But what was the point? “I, uh, operate the elevator at thehospital,” I said. “Because, you know,there are a lot of people in stretchers and stuff, so it helps to have someoneto hold the doors.” That was how the jobdescription was initially presented to me. Really, it was a pity job, because they knew me and they felt sorry forme. Maybe it would have been useful if Icould have done that, but when I was in the main part of the hospital, I usedto get all the elevator buttons mixed up and everyone kept missing theirfloors. So they tucked me away on theacademic side of the hospital, where I’m useless but can’t hurt anyone.

“Oh, that’s an interesting job,” Jana said, although shelooked very unimpressed.

“What do you do?” I asked.

“I’m a bank vice president.”

So she’s a bank vice president and I press buttons in anelevator. I wondered if it would help ifI told her I used to be a surgeon. Butthen I’d have to explain why I’m not anymore.

The waiter dropped a basket with a loaf of bread on ourtable and I made the stupid mistake of attempting to take some of thebread. I reached for it with my lefthand but it didn’t come free right away, so I instinctively reached out andsteadied the loaf with my right hand like I usually do. Jana saw and her eyes widened. She looked at my face again and I could seethis time she was taking in all the scars. I guess she figured out my story about the ACL injury was bullshit. I lowered my eyes. Iwanted to crawl under the table.

I opened up my menu with my left hand. I was keeping my right hand under the tablefor the rest of the meal. I wasn’tgiving her another chance to get scared off. The bad news was that it was one of those menus that was a whole densepage of writing, much of which appeared to be in Italian. It was overwhelming. With the noise in the restaurant and thestress of having Jana looking at me and the time pressure to pick somethingbefore the waiter came back, I was having a lot of trouble focusing on themenu. I mean, I can read. That’s not the problem. But unless I have complete quiet, I can’tread more than a sentence without having to read it over and over again.

The waiter returned much too soon. He asked me what I wanted and I blanked. It needed to be something I didn’t need tocut with a knife. Well, this was anItalian restaurant. “Lasagna?”

“We don’t have lasagna,” the waiter said.

How was it possible an Italian restaurant didn’t havelasagna? “Um, spaghetti?”

“Which spaghetti?”

Are you freaking kidding me? “Just, you know, with tomato sauce.”

The waiter kind of looked at me, but thank god, he acceptedthat order. Jana was staring at methough. It was really awkward afterthat. I half expected her to get a callfrom one of her girlfriends with an emergency that would require her to rushout. That would have been great,actually. Instead, we both had to sitthrough this date. I don’t think itwould have gone good anyway. Jana wasn’tthe kind of girl I like. She was tooupscale. If I were Billy Joel, I’d bewriting a song about her, you know what I’m talking about. And she was obviously looking for someone alot better than me.

She did a pretty good job of faking it though. She asked me polite questions about myparents and my siblings. I did my bestto answer and repeated the same questions for her. Mostly I had to concentrate on trying to eatthe spaghetti, which is not the easiest pasta to eat with your left hand. Why didn’t I say ziti?

When the check came, I instinctively reached for it. I always paid the checks when I went out withLiz. Except now I don’t have a creditcard. I did have enough cash in mywallet to pay the bill, but as soon as I saw the numbers, I feltoverwhelmed. I had no idea how tocalculate the tip or figure out how to count out the money to leave.

I stared at the check for about five minutes before Janasaid, “Do you need help?”

“Yes,” I admitted.

Basically, I handed over my wallet and she figured out howmuch cash to leave. This was not myfinest moment.

“I’m sorry,” I said. Not for anything in particular, but I felt like I had to say it.

“It’s okay,” Jana said. “I mean, any single guy over thirty, there’s always something wrong withhim. I’m used to it by now.”

Ouch. But yeah, shewas right.

There wasn’t even a pretense of my saying I’d call her. There was no point. I also got the feeling my mother wasn’t goingto have any more dates for me from her church.

During the cab right home, I got really depressed. It was a bad date, but there wasn’t anythingI could have done to make it better. Howcan I ever hope to impress a girl if I can’t even figure out how to pay thecheck? That’s it, I’m screwed. I have zero chance of ever finding agirlfriend. I’m going to be alone forthe rest of my life.

“Hey,” I said to the cab driver. “Can you pull over in front of that liquorstore for a minute?”

I bought a bottle of vodka, then got back in the cab. I haven’t had any alcohol since before myaccident. I’m not supposed to, but Ireally didn’t care anymore. I neededsomething to make me go numb. When I gothome, I poured some in a cup. I didn’tbother to cut it with juice or anything. I took a sip and my throat burned. Pretty soon after, I felt a little better about the whole date withJana.

The next thing I remember is being woken up by the door tomy apartment opening. It was Rose. My head was killing me and just the sound ofthe door shutting closed was agony. Ihad been sleeping on the couch and my whole body ached. I was completely dressed too. I had even left both my prosthetic and myKAFO brace on overnight, which I’m not supposed to do.

“Noel?” Rose looked confused. “Were you sleeping on the couch all night?”

“Er,” I said. Iglanced over at the dining table and saw the bottle of vodka was stillthere. About a quarter of it wasgone. Wow, I drank a lot.

“Noel!” Rose cried. “Were you drinking?”

The loud sound of her voice set off the pain in myhead. I lowered my face into myhands. “Kind of.”

“How could you do that?” Rose said. She was really upset. “You just had a seizure a few weeks ago! You know you’re not supposed to drink!”

I couldn’t listen to this. I buried my face into the fabric of the cheap couch. “Please get out, Rose.”

“No, I’m not leaving,” she said. “You feel like crap, right? Well, good. Maybe you won’t do it again.”

“I’m an adult,” I said. “I can do what I want.”

“Noel,” she said. Hervoice got a little more gentle. “I don’tthink you realize quite how impaired you are. You need to listen to me, okay?”

You don’t realize quite how impaired you are. I wanted to protest, but I was scared she wasright. Jana figured it out prettyquick. As much as I sometimes feel likemy old self, I know I’m a lot different. I guess I need to try to remember that.