“The door!”
“What about it?”
“I heard it unlatch and then creak.”
“Yes.”
“Is someone home?”
“No. It’s just the wind.’
“Oh!”
“I’m so lonely, you know. I always hope someone will come by.”
“I’m here.”
“I know, and I feel so much less lonely when you are here. I am always thinking of my old friends, hoping they’ll pay me a visit. Skype connections are good, but they make me cry when they come to an end and I know my friend is thousands of miles away.”
Justine lets the old lady bathe in her memories and lets her fall asleep. When her time’s up, she leaves a note to let her know she left and the time at which the next aide will come.
She walks out into the bright sunlight. The sky is clear. There are clouds at the horizon, far away, unthreatening. She hops into her car to meet Chase for lunch. He is late.
She waits, remembering Katharine, the old lady she cares for, and how much Katharine misses her friends now that she is no longer able to get out, now that she is, for the most part, bedridden. Justine feels young and able. The world is her domain; she can go anywhere she wants, with whom she wants, anytime. Such freedom! What’s the meaning of a life limited to four walls, your books and a window? What’s the meaning of life when the only contacts you have are with aides you barely know who you have to show your wounds to and let them wipe your privates? Aides change all the time. Some may become your friends, but aren’t likely to visit you when they aren’t on duty. What’s the meaning of life when all you have is your computer, and time is measured by the meds you are to take?
Waiting for Chase, Justine counts herself lucky. She isn’t like Katharine. She can meet her friends when she wants. She’s not lonely. She checks her smart phone. No text from Chase. She’s thinking of ordering lunch. She has another client in 45 minutes. She texts Chase: “Can’t wait. Eating.”
On her way to her next client, the thought becomes more pressing: “Why didn’t Chase text back?”
Her next client has Alzheimer’s. She’s there for four hours. Bart barely talks and when he does, it makes little sense to her. When he walks out the door, now, he forgets how to get back home. He can no longer be left alone. He responds to old photos of his children. He recognizes his daughter by the sound of her voice as long as he does not see her at the same time. She talks from behind him, if she wants him to know who she is.
When Justine goes home there’s still no message from Chase. She goes on Facebook and exchanges comments with fb friends. No one seems to know where Chase is. She listens to a few Youtube videos. She gets more and more anxious with time. She hates her agitation and she hates that Chase does not call her. She calls him, not expecting a response. She goes to his apartment. He is not there. She calls Betty, his mom. She has not heard from him.
The next day, Justine listens to Katharine’s youthful adventures. All Katherine has is her memories, and her pain. That’s all she thinks she has. She encourages Justine not to wait for life. “Go and grab what you want before it’s too late, before you’re bedridden like me and you can’t to do anything about it anymore,” she says.
On her way to visit Bart, she wonders how it really matters. If she’s going to end up bedridden, what does it matter to accumulate experiences before it’s too late. To reminisce them later? There must be something else, she thinks, something that you never tire of, something that transcends being bedridden. But what is it? How to get to it? And why doesn’t Chase call her already?
After work Justine calls her mom, Vera. “Oh! Dear,” she says, “What do you think has happened?’
It suddenly dawns on Justine that Chase must have had an accident. She calls the local hospitals one after the other. Finally one of them tells her that Chase was transferred to the Northwestern Memorial Hospital in Chicago. “Chicago! Why?” she asks, “What happened?”
They don’t tell her without proof of relationship. “I’m his girlfriend!” she says. “We’ve been together two years!” she pleads. “Do you share the same address?” they ask. “No,” she answers. After they refuse to tell her more, she thinks she should have said yes.
Justine calls Betty and explains the situation. Betty makes a three-way call, including Justine, to the Northwestern Memorial Hospital. They are put on hold before they are transferred to a doctor who introduces himself as a spinal cord injury specialist.
“You are Chase Brancowitz’s mother?” he asks.
“Betty Brancowitz, yes,” she answers, “I am here with his girlfriend Justine.”
“This is the early stage of our treatment. It’s too early for a prognosis …”
“We don’t know anything,” Betty interrupts him. “Chase did not show up when we were expecting him to and he’s rarely late. We called local hospitals and we were told Chase was at your hospital. We live in Atlanta so we know something big must have happened. Please tell us what you know? Should we come over?”
“It happened at work yesterday around lunch time. Some coworkers saw him rush down the stairs and slip. He fell back. He hit his back and the back of his head on the steps. He must have had a concussion right then and fell unconscious. His body went all the way down the stairs. We found bruises in his neck and thoracic area. The local hospital made the right decision to send him here. We were expecting him so he did not have to wait at the emergency room. He had been given steroid drugs to prevent further damage and we sent him for X-rays. He also had an MRI and a CT scan.”
“Is he conscious now?”
“He can barely move. He is under strong anesthetics to prevent any motion that could hurt him further. He is not in a coma. We need more time to investigate how he lost his range of motion.”
“What’s the next course of action?”
“If he does not need surgery, he will be sent to the rehab center. We have one of the best. He will be in good hands.”
“Can we come visit him?”
“Give me 24 hours. I will call you back personally to let you know what would be best for him.”
“Thank you, Doctor!” Betty and Justine say together.
The doctor hangs up, Betty and Justine stay on to continue talking with each other. Betty invites Justine over so she does not have to spend the night alone. Justine thanks her but prefers to stay home by herself.
Betty calls Justine the next day. The doctor called her back. The news is difficult. Justine waits for Betty to stop crying.
“Chase has lost the use of his legs. They’re not responding. The problem is with his thoracic spinal nerves at T1 through T8. He has a urine bag. He is in diapers.” She cries. “The doctors want to test a nerve rejuvenation approach that involves stem cells. You wouldn’t object, would you?”
“Of course not, Betty! Is it covered by insurance?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Oooooh! What can we do?”
“We’ll have to pull all our resources together.”
“How much?”
“I did not ask. We’d go ahead no matter what the cost, right?”
“You’re right!”
“Oooooh! Betty! That’s not the life he envisioned!”
“It’s not.”
Pause.
“Justine, there’s more.”
“What else?”
“His eyesight has not come back.”
“Oooooh!”
“It’s because of his head injuries. They were hoping it was not permanent.”
“It is?”
“They’re afraid so.”
“What else Betty, is there anything else?”
“His sexual function; he’s numb from the waist down.”
“We’ll do what we have to. When can we go visit him?”
“They ask to wait until they know if he is responding to the stem cell therapy.”
“OK then. Thanks for the call. I need to leave shortly. I have an overnight with a client. I’ll call you back tomorrow.”
“Good night!”
“Good night.”
~ ~ ~
When Justine returns home after her visit to her old client, Katharine, she remembers what she said about grabbing what she wants from life before it’s too late. She stops to pick up flowers, vegetables and fruit. She opens the door to Chase’s home, her new home.
“Chase, sweetie?”
“I’m here,” Chase says from the living room. Sitting still in his wheelchair, Chase’s head moves in rhythm to Thelonious Monk’s version of Lulu’s Back in Town playing from the old turn table. Justine is moved and has chills in her spine watching Chase enjoy life as he always did.
When the piece comes to the end, Justine brings a flower to Chase’s nostrils.
“Lavender,” he says.
“I love it, Chase, your senses are as sharp as ever!”
“Don’t give up on me, Justine. Keep testing me.”
“You bet.”
She kisses him on the lips.
“Lemony kiss,” he says, approvingly.
They laugh and kiss some more.
“Help me with my rehab exercises, would you? I will get my legs back.”
Justine gets the elastic strap and puts it around Chase’s knees. He has to pull his knees apart a few times against the pull of the strap. He grunts and sweats. He tries the same with his ankles. He tries to wiggle his toes. There is little motion, but every tiny new motion gets excitement out of Justine and brings a smile to Chase’s face.
“It does not matter how long it takes. I’ll get there. I know it.”
“I know you will,” Justine says, “I know you will.”
In that moment, Justine thinks about Chase’s will to live and to heal. Chase is her sunshine, even though he lives between four walls.
~ ~ ~
Betty calls Justine when she is not home.
“I have been concerned about you. Is it depressing having another patient to care for?”
“Oh! Betty! He is not a patient to me. You know, we all have walls. His are his disability and his blindness. Our walls are our outside circumstances. We all crave to break through them, right? Just like Chase, I am seeking to see beyond my own blindness to the wonders of life. He does not let his walls imprison him. That’s what I love about him. We share the same quest.”
“I am so glad you can love him as he is." Pause. "I don’t want to probe, but I know at your age sex was important to me … it still is sometimes. How do you handle that?”
“It is tough sometimes. I can’t pretend otherwise. But when Chase tells me what he senses, when he tells me he can feel the sun rays warm his skin, when his toes wiggle more than the previous time, when we laugh, I don’t want another man in my life, I forget about sex. We touch on something infinite and beautiful. You know like when we were kids and we played without other purpose than playing? It’s like that, like innocence in the midst of drama. We think of a different kind of fulfillment, the kind that quenches forever.