Page 51 of Brain Damage

“Were you drunk?”

“What? No!” He seems offended then thinks better of it. “Actually, I guess that’s a reasonable question, since it was at a bar. But I wasn’t.”

“You should sue the bar then,” I suggest.

Jamie laughs. “Unfortunately, I can’t. It was my bar.”

I stare at him. “You own a bar?”

I’ve never known anyone who owned a bar before. It’s kind of cool, actually. I don’t say that though.

“Me and my brother, yeah,” he says with a shrug.

Angela plops back in her wheelchair just in time to hear the tail end of our conversation. She releases her left arm from the sling she’s wearing and leans towards Jamie. “You own a bar?” she asks him. She sounds impressed. “I had no idea you were that cool. I bet it was a total chick magnet.”

“Yeah,” Jamie says flatly. “It was a total chick magnet. That’s why I haven’t had a date in over a year.”

“You haven’t had a date in a year?” Angela snorts. “I don’t believe it. First, you’re adorable. Second, bartenders always have girls throwing themselves at them.”

“Yeah, well…” Jamie shrugs. “I’m not a cool bartender. I’m just a nerd with a degree in accounting and business. I take care of all of what my brother calls ‘the boring stuff.’ I only bartend when my son is in school, when the place is practically empty. The kind of women who drink at two in the afternoon are not the kind of women I want to date.”

Angela grins. “So when we get out of here, will we get drinks on the house? For me and Charly?”

“Angie,” Jamie says, “if I get out of here and get back to work, everyone in this whole freaking hospital can have drinks on the house.”

“I’d like a White Russian,” I say. I’m joking, obviously. I’m pretty sure there’s no way I can drink alcohol the way I am now.

“And I’d like a shot of bourbon,” Angela says.

“Also,” I say, “I’d like to meet your son.”

Jamie looks surprised by my comment then he suddenly gets all quiet and distant. I feel bad, because I overheard him say he’s taking pills because he’s sad, and I don’t want to make him more sad. But I really would like to meet his son. I bet he’s really cute, like Jamie is. I wish I had children, although I guess it’s better that I don’t considering what happened to me. Then I would miss my children as much as Jamie misses his son.

“Charly,” I hear Natalie saying. “It’s your turn to walk. Do you want to try the hemi-walker today?”

The hemi-walker is what Angela uses when she walks. She can’t use a regular walker because she can’t move her left arm at all and you need two arms to control a walker. The hemi-walker is a half-sized version of a regular walker that you just grip with one hand. It seems impossible to use. Maybe Angela can do it, but I don’t think I can.

Actually, scratch that. I know I can’t.

“I don’t think I can do it,” I tell Natalie.

“Steve and I will help you,” Natalie says in her chipper, cheerleader voice. I can almost see her turning cartwheels and waving her pom-poms in the air. “We won’t let you fall.”

I shake my head. “I can’t.”

“Come on, Charly!” Angela shakes her fist at me. “You can do this. You got this, girl.”

I look over at Jamie for support. I figure if anyone realizes I’m not capable of doing this, it’s him. But he’s just smiling at me.

“Hey,” he says, “look at what a mess I am. If I can walk with a walker, anyone can.”

I’m obviously being bullied into this.

Both Natalie and Steve join forces to help me. They help me to stand, and I immediately get the now familiar unstable feeling that I get every time I stand up. I don’t know where the left side of my body is, which makes it very difficult to balance. Impossible, really. And it’s noticeably harder to walk with the hemi-walker than it is to walk holding on to the ballet bars. The ballet bars provide a lot more support. The hemi-walker feels like it might slip right out from under me.

“I want to sit down,” I say to Natalie. I haven’t taken even one single step yet. “I’m going to fall.”

“You’re not going to fall,” Natalie insists. “I’m holding you up, and Steve has your left leg. There’s no way you could fall.”