Page 64 of Brain Damage

Despite everything, it’s actually very gratifying to see how downright frightened he looks right now.

And that’s very good. Because he should be frightened.

45

AFTER

I have officially graduated from my Orientation Group. I can consistently tell you my name, where I am, what the date is, and what the name of the President of the United States is. (Although I still don’t know what he ate.)

My new group is called Thinking Skills Group. I’m not entirely sure what it is, but I have to agree that I definitely need help with my thinking skills. My thinking skills are not so great right now. Also, Angela is in the group too, and she told me that it’s a lot of fun. And it doesn’t involve my hand being electrocuted, so that’s a plus.

We meet in a cozy room that barely allows room for our wheelchairs around a small wooden table. There are four of us in the group: Angela, another female, and a man. The female looks to be around in her seventies or so, but the man is really old. He’s possibly the oldest man I’ve ever seen in my life. His wrinkles have wrinkles. He’s wearing a Yankees cap, but appears to be completely bald except for two or three scattered tufts of white hair protruding from his scalp.

Amy left the equipment for the group back upstairs, so she leaves the four of us alone to retrieve it. She’s probably forgotten that I’m not supposed to be alone, but I do have an alarming seatbelt on my lap. Although I’m pretty sure I could be out of my chair and flat on my face before any staff member could reach me. Fortunately, I have no desire to be flat on my face.

“This is Charly,” Angela tells the other two members of the group. “Charly, this is Helga and Dr. Vincent.”

Helga smiles at me. Her graying hair is in a bun and she has a wide gap between her front two teeth. “I know you,” she says in a thick German accent. “I always see you in the hallway talking to the cute one with the shaky hands.”

Angela laughs. “That’s Jamie. He has a massive crush on Charly. It’s adorable.”

I feel my cheeks grow warm. “No, he doesn’t.”

“And what’s even more adorable,” Angela says, “is that Charly doesn’t realize how crazy he is about her.”

“He isn’t,” I mumble.

“Well, I don’t blame him,” Helga says. “You are obviously a very beautiful woman. I love your eyes. Are they violet?”

“Just dark blue,” I mumble.

“She’s not that pretty,” Dr. Vincent speaks up in a crackly mutter. Even his voice sounds ancient. “She doesn’t even have any hair!”

“Du bist dumm!” Helga snaps at Dr. Vincent. “You don’t need hair to be beautiful. Anyway, I’m sure it will grow back.”

Angela nods in the direction of Dr. Vincent. “Up until he had a stroke, he’s been working as a psychiatrist,” she says. “Even though he’s ninety-three years old.”

“I’m a doctor too,” I tell him.

“Really?” Dr. Vincent raises his eyebrows. Despite how little hair there is on his head, his eyebrows are completely overgrown and threatening to protrude on his vision. “What sort of doctor?”

I bite my lip and look at Angela, who just shrugs. “I don’t really remember,” I start to say, but suddenly it comes to me: “I’m a skin doctor.”

“What happened to you anyway?” Dr. Vincent asks me.

“You don’t ask her a question like that!” Helga yells at Dr. Vincent.

Dr. Vincent spreads his hands apart. “Why not?”

“Because it’s not polite,” Helga insists. She gives me a confidential look. “Dr. Vincent and I both had schematic shocks.”

“What’s that?” I ask.

“She means we had ischemic strokes,” Dr. Vincent says. He rolls his eyes. “My thinking skills are working fine, thank you very much. Now you tell me why you’re here, Charly.”

Before Helga can defend me further, I say, “I was shot in the head.”

Helga clutches her hand against her chest. “Ach mein gott!” she cries out. “Who would do something like that to you?”