Survivor (2 page)

I looked in the mirror and made a face.  My thick,
light brown hair was flat on one side and poufy on the other.  I decided it
wasn’t worth the half an hour ordeal just to brush my hair and get it into a
ponytail.  I ran my fingers through the thick mass and left it hanging loose. 
My hands were strong, since they did all the work, but they weren’t
coordinated.

After I got dressed, I ate breakfast, gave Taz a
final pat, and headed out.  I had packed up all my stuff and headed toward the
door when he intercepted me, his eyes in full-out puppy mode, and his leash
dangling from his mouth.  My memory was always worse on days like this.  I
laughed and let him take me for a walk.

In order to get to the library where I worked, I had
to take the subway, so I hustled myself out of the elevator and across the
street to the little station.  Adjusting to all the little changes, like not
being able to drive for instance, had been hard at first.  Little by little, I
was beginning to accept who I was now. 
The new normal,
as one of my
therapists had put it.  I patiently waited on the small platform, grateful that
we had the modest train system in such a small town.  Though the population
wasn’t very big, Westfall had become a sort of business hub, and lots of people
commuted to work here from the even smaller towns surrounding us.

I was pretty lucky to have a job, especially one
that I enjoyed and was actually willing to pay me for my time.  It didn’t pay
much, but it was more than most people with a severe brain injury could have
managed.  I was lucky to have even emerged from “minimally conscious”- or so
I’ve been told.  Surviving was amazing.  Living on my own was amazing.  Working
was amazing.  Sometimes I didn’t want to be amazing.  I would settle for plain
old normal, but the drunk who had sent his big truck barreling into my tiny
little car hadn’t asked my opinion on the matter.

I got to work late, but my hours at the library were
flexible.  I suffered from delayed processing speed.  That, paired with my
motor issues, made me slower than the average person at just about everything.  The
library paid me a weekly salary, which worked out well on both ends.  I could
take as long as I needed to do my job duties and I didn’t have to worry about
days when I was moving slower than usual.  

Janice was working again, and she greeted me right
at the door.  Taking my stuff, she herded me to the front desk.  The wrinkles
at the corners of her blue eyes were all crinkled up with merriment.  “Look!”
she said excitedly.  “Aren’t they beautiful?  They’re for you.”

I wheeled up to the desk and tentatively reached out
to touch the big petals of the white orchid growing in the center of a massive
floral arrangement.  There was a card on one of those little plastic sticks,
and I awkwardly pulled it out and handed it to her to open.

“Where did they come from?”  I was puzzled.  The
only people I could think of that would send me flowers that ridiculous were my
parents- and they wouldn’t bother without some reason.

Janice pulled out the card and handed it to me.  “A
man brought them in.  He was asking for you, but he said he couldn’t stay
long.”  She patted her perfectly rolled hair, and grinned like an addlepated
teenager.

I glanced down at the card.  
Thanks again
, it
said in pretty, loopy cursive.  It was signed
Peter.
 It had to be the
man from the subway.  He hadn’t told me his name, but I didn’t know any other
mysterious, handsome males.  I looked at Janice again.  That would certainly
explain her fluster.

The older woman smiled.  “He was real good looking.”
 I blushed and looked at the flowers again.  The orchid was surrounded by
various greenery.  It looked like it was growing up out of a jungle.  I had
never seen one so large.  “He said he would come back around lunch time,”
Janice continued slyly.

I looked at her in surprise.  “He’s coming back?”

 I glanced down at my clothes and patted my hair,
beginning to panic.  My wardrobe consisted of comfortable and easy to care for.
 I was wearing a pair of baggy jeans, a vibrant red sweatshirt, and a pair of
old sneakers.  I hadn’t bothered to pull my hair up, thinking it saved time to
just brush it out and ignore it, and it bobbled around my shoulder in untidy
waves.

Janice saw my horrified look and laughed.  She
patted my shoulder as she made her way back behind the desk.  “You look fine,
Melody.  You’re a beautiful girl no matter what you wear.”  Great, even the old
lady thought my clothes were hideous.

I shook my head and gestured at the flower
arrangement.  “How in the world am I gonna get that thing home?”  I asked
practically, hiding my excitement.  “I can barely manage to get all of my crap
on and off the train every day.”  No way could I manage a giant pot of
rainforest on top of all that. Janice just laughed, knowing I was avoiding the
real issue here.  He brought me flowers.  And he was coming back.

I sighed and got to work, losing myself as I tried
to get everything done quickly to make up for being late.  When noon rolled
around, I was organizing the lower shelves and straightening the chairs in the
children’s section.  I was so intent on my work that I had forgotten about the
flowers.  Coming around the front of the children’s display, I saw them sitting
on the corner of the desk and felt a little flush of excitement.  Just then,
the bell above the door jingled and the man from the subway walked in.

He looked older today- or at least more polished.  He
was wearing black slacks and a button-down shirt.  His dark hair, which had
been a bunch of wild waves the day before, was tamed, brushed back from his
forehead to make him look sleek and professional.  His green eyes were the
same, and I swallowed hard as I tried not to look as flustered as I felt.  His
eyes found me immediately, and he came to help me straighten a small table the
kids had scooted off the brightly carpeted area designated for them.

“Thanks,” I awkwardly gestured at the table, and he
smiled. 
“No problem.  Did you get the flowers?”  He looked around until he saw them
sitting on the edge of the front desk.

“They’re so pretty,” I said hesitantly, scrabbling
to put my thoughts together.  “You really didn’t have to do that, but thank
you.”

He shrugged.  “You helped me out, even though you
didn’t know a thing about me.”  He studied my face.  “I wanted to do something
nice for you.”

I shrugged, and we were both silent for a minute.  It
could be that he just pitied me.  But it sure didn’t feel like that.  I had no
idea how to handle this.  I hadn’t dated since I was eighteen years old- before
my accident.  Not that I was thinking of him as my boyfriend or anything, but I
hadn’t talked to a good-looking guy in a really long time.

“Um…so your name is Peter?”

He smiled and held out his hand.  I couldn’t help
grinning in response.  He had a beautiful smile… captivating.  “Peter
Marcellus.”

I shook his hand firmly.  “Melody Westcott.”

Gesturing toward the door, he raised an elegant eyebrow.
 “Well, Melody Westcott, would you care to eat lunch with me?”

 I nodded immediately.  My parents would have a
fit
if they knew I was about to leave the premises with a strange man.  Of course,
my parents tended to overlook the fact that I was twenty-three years old and
not nearly as cognitively disabled as they believed.

After I let Janice know I was leaving for lunch,
Peter helped me across the threshold and out into the sunshine.  Spring was just
breaking.  Birds were chattering, even here in town, and several of the brave
Michiganders passing by wore sleeveless shits and sandals.  I let out a sigh of
contentment as the warm sun touched my skin.  Peter paused in the threshold to
snap open a pair of dark sunglasses, and I was disappointed as he hid those
amazing eyes from view.

He gestured down the street toward the local park.  “Would
you like to eat outside?”

 I smiled up at him.  “Very much.”  My smile
faltered.  “But is that okay?  I mean,” I gestured to his neatly creased pants
and starched shirt, “you look so nice.”

He shrugged and waved away my concerns.  If it makes
you smile like that, then we are eating outside.”

After that, I couldn’t do anything
but
smile.
 It turned out Peter worked at a small law firm just down the street from the
Library.  He had to be back to the office by one o’clock, so we grabbed a
couple of hot dogs from a vendor and sat in the park watching the pigeons.  He
snagged a spot on a bench, in the shade of a big oak tree, and the sun cast
dappled shadows on him as we chatted.  I put myself directly in the sun,
angling my chair so I could see Peter but still feel the warm rays on my face.

“Are you a lawyer then,” I asked curiously.

He shook his head and tossed a piece of his hotdog
bun to one of the braver squirrels that had inched close to us.  “I’m a
paralegal, actually,” he said dismissively.

I frowned at him.  “How is that different?”

He considered for a moment.  “I help the lawyers
prepare their cases, and I help with… investigation, fact-finding, that sort of
thing.”

I smiled.  “Sounds cool,” I said enviously, “kind of
like a private eye or something.”

He snorted.  “It can be rather exciting at times,
but usually it’s just a lot of boring paperwork.”

I stuffed the last bite of hotdog in my mouth,
noticing that Peter had barely touched his.  He was probably used to eating
something a bit classier than street vendor hotdogs, and I suddenly felt
embarrassed and awkward.  Seeing my gaze on him, he smiled and took a big
bite.  I knew it was for show, but I appreciated the gesture.  He looked so
funny- in his nice suit, with his slicked back hair and expensive sunglasses,
holding a paper wrapped hotdog- that I couldn’t help but laugh.

When it was time for Peter to get back to work, we
made our way back toward the library.  I was sad to think that this was
probably the last time I would see him.  He was one of those rare people who make
you feel like you’ve been friends for years.  I was surprised when he hesitated
on the threshold.  He was still wearing those ridiculously dark glasses, and I
couldn’t read much from his expression.

“Do you work tomorrow?”  He asked hesitantly.

I nodded.  “Sure, I work every weekday.”

“Would you eat lunch with me again?”

Really, you cannot imagine how much that floored me.
 He wanted to see me again.

I looked up at him, puzzled.  “Why?”  I asked
frankly.

He didn’t pretend not to understand the million
questions behind that one word.  He squatted down to put us at eye level.  It
was nice.  He was quite tall, and he loomed over me when he was standing.  “Because
I find you interesting.”

Fed up with not being able to read his expressions,
I reached over and lifted up his sunglasses.  He didn’t look startled at my
invading his personal space.  He was pretty
interesting
himself. 
He gazed at me seriously, his strange emerald eyes sharp.  “May I spend my
lunch breaks with you?”

I nodded agreement and he broke into that dazzling
smile again.  I couldn’t look away from those eyes.  “Then I’ll see you tomorrow,”
he said, standing in a smooth motion.  I waved and went back inside, completely
flustered.

I
unlocked the door and flipped on the light,
gesturing for Peter to come in.  My apartment wasn’t very large, but thanks to
the open floor plan, it didn’t feel as cramped as it could have.  The front
door opened into the kitchen and dining area.  That opened into a living room,
with my bedroom and bathroom down a wide hall at the other end of the apartment.
 Taz met us in a wiggling flurry of happiness.  He accepted Peter’s attentions
without a qualm, and I smiled happily.  I never had people over to my house,
especially men, but Peter and I had been eating lunch together for a couple weeks
now, and I felt comfortable with him.  Animals are generally great at judging
character.  If Taz was okay with it, then so was I.

Peter set the plant in the center of my little table
and took my walker, propping it against the wall just inside the door.  I
barely ever used the wheeled monstrosity, but I usually carried it with me to
the library in case I needed to stand for a minute to see a higher shelf.

“Thanks again for helping me get home.  The ladies
will be glad I finally moved the plant.”  It took up a lot of counter space.  I
stretched my arms and sighed.  I had done a lot of re-shelving today and my
arms and shoulders were sore.

“My pleasure.”  He crossed to the kitchen in search
of water for the drooping plant.  I pointed at the lower cabinets.  “Where I
can reach them,” I explained, and he nodded.  The upper cabinets were mostly
empty.

He filled a cup with water and gave my dehydrated
orchid a drink.  “You have a very nice apartment,” he said, glancing around.

The boldness I had felt when I invited him here was
fading, and I fought a wave of embarrassment as his gaze traveled over my
sanctuary.  I wheeled into the living room, and he followed.  “The insurance
company helped to make it accessible for me after my accident,” I said off
hand.