The Burn Journals (13 page)

“Brent, why don't you show everybody how you can take your garments off.”

I'm wearing a Magic Johnson T-shirt and a loose pair of shorts, with some red, white, and blue boxers on underneath, and all of a sudden, I realize I look like an idiot.

“I can't,” I say.

“Yes, you can. Just start with your shirt like we've practiced.” My shoulders are up near my ears and all my muscles and my skin feel really tight, but I can reach up with my hands and grab the shirt at my shoulders and pull it slowly over my head. The shirt gets stuck with my head in it and the lights are dim and I can't see the camera anymore. This is nice in here. I could live like this.

Becky pulls the shirt the rest of the way over my head and keeps talking about my range of motion and about how the scar tissue over my joints restricts me. She explains that the scar tissue forms these things called bands, which are really like thick rubber bands, that make it really hard to move my arms and hands normally. She helps me unzip my Jobst garments and takes off the jacket.

I look down at myself. My skin is so purple. So gross. I look like I'm made of raspberries. God. I'm so disgusting. I can't do this anymore. Let's stop for a while. Let's just stop.

“Becky, can we stop?”

She's ignoring me. I can tell she's not going to stop, no matter what I do. I feel sad and sick and tired inside, and I'm crying, I don't want to be crying, but I am. I just can't do this anymore. I just can't go on doing this anymore. I just want it to stop. Please stop. Please.

She goes on for another twenty minutes, and I still can't stop crying. The people in Delaware are going to think I'm a baby.

Tonight's the big night. The big date night with Tina. Our night on the town. She's picking me up at six, and we're going to Ben & Jerry's, then we're going to the movies.

I've got my outfit all picked out. I'll be wearing my black Hard Rock Cafe London T-shirt. There was some concern that black would be too hot, but it's my favorite color, or it used to be, I'm not sure if it still is, and we're going to be inside for the whole time anyway.

My pants are those loose stretchy pants that you see on weight lifters and football players, not that I'm like those guys. They're just comfortable for me to wear, and also, they cover up the bandages on my legs.

Shoes. That's complicated, my feet are still too sensitive for anything too nice. I guess I could wear tennis shoes, but they might scrape against my skin and open up another hole, and then I'd have to stay in the hospital for three more months. I'll wear the shoes Magic Johnson sent me in the mail. Yeah, those have to be lucky anyway. I have to wear my stinking Jobst garments on my arms and chest. The part for my chest slips on like a jacket, but there are zippers that go up the arms, and when I'm all zipped in, I feel like I'm being swallowed by a boa constrictor. I'm not wearing my gloves tonight, they say my hands will be okay without them, but having the jacket on without the gloves makes all the blood push into my hands and they itch. I try to shake the itch out of them, but it doesn't really work. At least I already have my gloves off in case I get to feel her up or something.

I also have to wear the stinking face mask made out of the Jobst material, that's supposed to flatten out the scars on my face. Besides the fact that it sucks that I have to wear a stinking mask the first time I go outside, it really sucks that it makes my hair stick up. I put on my Lakers cap. That's better.

Tina's here. It's time to go, but Mom and Dad want to take a couple of pictures. One of me and Tina together outside my room, like we're going to the prom or something, and one of Calvin leaning down to tie my shoes for me because I'm not flexible enough to do that yet.

So, here we go. On our way. We're taking a wheelchair just in case, and since we're taking it, I might as well ride in it, at least to the car. “To save your strength,” says Tina. Hmm, save my strength for what?

At the elevators, I look around at the signs, trying to think of something funny to say. “Spina bifida, that sounds like some sort of Greek food.”

Tina doesn't laugh. She says, “You wouldn't say that if you knew what it was.”

Okay, parking garage, please. The elevator drops fast and I feel my stomach go into my throat. Being in an elevator in a wheelchair makes that feeling twice as bad.

Here we are in the garage. I've never been down here before. God, it's hot. It's like a hundred and twenty degrees down here.

“What kind of car do you have?”

“Mazda.”

“Miata?”

“No, I wish. There it is.”

“Oh, it's nice.”

“Yeah.”

Tina wheels me up to the passenger side and opens the door for me.

I can get myself in the car, but Tina puts her hand on my back anyway. I think she's a little nervous or something, she doesn't quite seem like herself.

She puts the wheelchair in the trunk and I look around for something to talk about. There's a bunch of tapes. I guess we can talk about music. There she is. Sweet Tina.

She starts the car and pops a tape in the stereo. It's rap. That's okay—I like rap.

I say, “Who's this?”

“Tribe Called Quest.”

“What?”

“A Tribe Called Quest.”

“Oh, I thought you said, ‘A Tribe Called Quest.'”

“I did.”

“Oh.”

We're pulling out of the parking garage. It's hot. I should roll down my window. That's a little better. Oh, look, the flowers are blooming. God, it's so humid and the air is so thick, but I'm outside and I can smell the cherry blossoms.

I forgot what this was like, being in a car, with the wind in my face. Tina rolls down her window and turns up the music.

She says, “I can't wait to see this movie.”

“I know. Bill Murray is so funny.”

“I love
Ghostbusters
.”

“Me too.”

We're out here and we're driving around and we're going to get ice cream at Ben & Jerry's, just like we planned, and then we're going to the movies. God, I'm lucky.

I look over at Tina. The sun is on her face. Her hair is coming out of her ponytail. I should reach over and push it behind her ear. No, I shouldn't do that. I shouldn't do that.

Ben & Jerry's is a little ice cream shop right on the corner. Tina finds a parking space right away and pulls in. Okay, here we go, the moment of truth, as they say. Out in the real world.

“Do you want the wheelchair or are you okay to walk?”

“I'm okay to walk.”

“Sure?”

“Yeah.”

I'm opening the door and it's just a matter of pulling myself onto my feet with the door and the side of the car. I can do this. Okay, here we go. That's good. Now we're walking. Tina puts her hand on my back and steadies me. She's so sweet. It's easier once I get going.

She opens the door for me and we go inside. It's so much cooler in here. And the smell, I've never smelled anything so good. It's like waffles and syrup or something.

Okay, the first problem is that I look like a total freak right now. People are looking at me and trying to figure out what happened to me and why I'm so burned up. I'll just keep looking out the window and pretend that I'm looking at something across the street.

We sit at a table next to the window and Tina goes up and gets a menu. I'm still looking out the window. God, my back is starting to itch. I try and scratch it by rubbing against the bench.

“So, Brent, they've got this sundae, which is enormous. It's got twenty scoops of ice cream, ten scoops of chopped nuts, brownies, cookies, M&M's, and whipped cream. How does that sound?”

“We're really going to get that?”

“You want to?”

“Can we? We can't eat it all.”

“We'll order it now, come back after the movie, and take it back to the Unit for an ice cream party afterward.”

“Oh God, that sounds great. Twenty scoops.”

“Yeah.” She's laughing. This is fun.

“So what should we get?”

“I don't know. Twenty scoops is a lot. Let's just get one of everything.”

I laugh and say, “Okay, but a few extra of New York Super Fudge Chunk.”

“Yeah, that's my favorite too.” We have a lot in common.

I think I see the people behind the counter looking over every couple of seconds to see what's wrong with my face. They're whispering too. What are they saying? I can't hear them, but they're definitely talking about me. They keep talking and looking back over to try and see what's wrong with my face and why I'm wearing these weird clothes. I shouldn't have worn these clothes, I just realized that they look really stupid, and I shouldn't be wearing a Lakers hat because nobody around here likes the stinking Lakers anyway. God, I'm an idiot. A stupid burned-up idiot with a big purple face and a bunch of bandages on under his clothes. I hate myself.

Wait, Tina just said something. “What?”

“Do you like Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough?”

“Oh yeah.”

“What were you thinking about?”

“Um . . . I was thinking about the movie and how funny it's going to be.”

“You were?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, I'll put the order in.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Tina's talking with the guy behind the counter. He's older than me. Like in college or something. I bet he's thinking about her breasts. He's probably
going to ask her out. And she'll say yes. He just looked
at me. Looked right at me and I didn't have a chance
to turn away first. He looked right at me and saw all
the big purple scars and these bandages and I couldn't do anything.

I hope he doesn't ask Tina what happened to me.

Here she comes. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yup.”

“How are you feeling?”

My face is purple and everyone is staring at me and I itch all over like I've got bugs crawling under my skin. “Pretty good.”

We go back outside and get in the car. Maybe we should just go back to the hospital. No, we shouldn't. We shouldn't. We should go to the movie. Bill Murray and Richard Dreyfuss. I just hope I'll be able to sit in the seat for the whole time. I think Tina is worried about that too because when we get to the mall and park the car, she asks me if I want to bring an extra cushion so I can sit on it.

I say, “No thanks.”

“It's going to be a long walk from here to the movie theater. Do you think you're up to it?”

“Sure. No problem.” How long a walk? I hope I don't fall down and faint in front of everybody.

I've never been to this mall before. It's huge, with glass ceilings and big holes cut in the floor so you can look down at the shops below.

Last year, before everything, when I used to go to the mall near my house, I would stand next to the open balconies and look down. I used to wonder what it would be like to fall. Would I be scared or would I just relax and enjoy the view as I fell? Would I feel it when I hit the ground or would my neck just snap against the floor? I used to like that feeling, of being right on the edge, ready to let gravity do all the work, but now I don't even like looking at the holes in the floor.

Here we are at the movie theater. I should pay for the tickets. No, I don't have any money. Okay, Tina can pay, just this once, but next time I'll be the man. She hands me the tickets to give to the usher. All right, I can do this.

The usher is Indian, and I can see him looking at me as I walk. He's looking at my face. He's looking at my hands. He's going to say something. I can tell he's going to say something. He's going to ask me. He better not ask me. If he asks me, Tina, you tell him. Tell him I got hurt in a house fire, and if he asks what started the fire, say electricity. Say that.

He takes the tickets out of my hand and looks at me again. Don't say anything. Don't say anything.

“Theater four is on your right. Enjoy the show.”

What? Oh, okay, he didn't ask me anything. He didn't say anything. “Where do you want to sit?”

“I like the aisle.”

“Back here?”

“Yeah. This is good.”

Laura and I sat in the back of the theater the only time we ever went on a date. We saw
Ski Patrol
and I spent the whole time trying to put my hand up her denim skirt, but I never got farther than halfway up her thigh.

I look at Tina's jean shorts. No, it's never gonna happen. Just enjoy the show.

The lights are going down. Here we go. Oh God, Bill Murray is so funny. He's walking along the street and he looks like he's afraid to touch anything. He's holding the door open with a handkerchief. I wish I was that funny.

Richard Dreyfuss is a doctor who is going on vacation with his family and Bill Murray wants to come too so he can be cured by the great doctor. The only good thing about leaving Children's is that I'll never have to see Dr. Rubinstein again.

Now Bill Murray's shown up at the vacation spot where Richard Dreyfuss is. Okay, here we go, here comes the comedy. Here comes the funny stuff. I don't know, I'm not really laughing. I'm sure it'll start to be funny in a few minutes, though.

Dreyfuss is trying to get Bill Murray to go back home, but he won't. And he's trying again, but he won't. And he's trying again, but he still won't.

Now Dreyfuss is kind of going crazy, he can't stand it anymore, and he's going to get Bill Murray to go home no matter what. He's tying Bill up, and he's pouring something on him. What is that? Oh God. That's not gasoline, is it? Don't be gasoline. Don't be gasoline. Don't put gasoline on him. That's not funny. This is a comedy. Don't put gasoline on him. Please don't burn him. That's not funny. Please don't. Don't burn him. Maybe I should close my eyes. I shouldn't watch this. We should have seen a different movie.

I feel sick. This is the worst. The absolute worst movie I've ever seen in my life.

Oh, now the house is blowing up. It's on fire. Everything is on fire. I didn't want to see a movie about fire. I wanted to see a funny movie. This is terrible. Tina shifts in her seat like she's uncomfortable. I wonder what she's thinking.

Finally it's over. Thank God. Thank God, it's over.

“What did you think of the movie?” asks Tina.

“It was good. How'd you like it?”

“I liked it.”

“Good.”