Marion felt a stabbing pain in the muscles around her neck. This was often the
case. The doctor said it was probably due to the unbalance of walking
around with a cane. He prescribed muscle relaxers. Usually, she took
them only when the pain was severe. Tonight was one of those times.
She hobbled into the bathroom, opened up the medicine cabinet, and took
out the bottle of pills. After she swallowed two with a swig of
water, she put the bottle back, and closed the cabinet door. She looked
at herself in the mirror. Her neck was swollen and red. She
twisted it slowly from side to side, but the pain was so sharp that she had to
stop.
The Cat Scans and X-Rays showed that there had been improvements, but it sure didn't feel that way. The doctor told her the recovery would be difficult and long, and that she must be patient. What he didn't say was that she might not be the same; that what she suffered in the accident would permanently diminish her ability to move about freely. She felt this in all the little things she did. Climbing stairs, rolling out of bed, driving a car - things she'd once taken for granted had become exercises in endurance and pain management. Even sweeping the kitchen floor sent her back into spasms. Sometimes, it got to the point of where all she wanted to do was lay down, and not get up again.
She turned off the light, and walked across the hall to the front t.v.
room. She sat down in a chair next to the window. Tonight, her friend, Cornell, was picking her up to see a movie. She stared out the window into the darkness, and waited for the arrival
of the Powder Blue Dodge Dart.
Two cars passed illuminating the street with their headlights.
Lately,
she'd begun to debate the validity of her friendship with Cornell. He
was seriously starting to annoy her. Where she was conversant, he was
reticent. Where she gave him extended feedback, his answers were simply
yeses or nos, or just silence. Initially, she thought the silences were
signs of depth and wisdom, but as she got to know him, it became clear
that there was nothing but silence in the silences, and, most likely,
that would not change.
Another car zoomed past.
Was she being a bit paranoid, or had she noticed that certain people had stopped calling her? When she called them, they often had convenient excuses for not getting together. In some ways, she couldn't blame them. Being with her meant being more patient. They had to move more slowly - even help her to step over a curb or take her arm while climbing stairs. She was limited in the distance she could travel or the time she could spend doing activities. She tired easily, and had to rest often. Being with her was a start and stop proposition. She could see what a drag it could be for others.
She saw headlights gradually flood the front yard by the curb and sidewalk. Then she saw the car. It slowed down, and came to a halt. It was Cornell in his 1979 Dodge Dart.
He cut the headlights, but kept the car running. From the dull light of a street lamp close by, she could see his partially lit silhouette. He stared ahead, and waited for her to come out as was his custom. Marion considered what she could make out of his features. He wore a t-shirt that bulged into a small hill at his mid-section. Covering his stringy blonde hair was a baseball cap. Though hard to see in the darkness, but knowing him well, his skin was pale and smooth, making him look almost a decade younger than his forty-five years.
Once, when they went for a walk, he shared the story of how as a sixteen year old, he came face to face with a doe in the woods. At first, they stared at each other from about forty yards, then every few minutes, they inched closer, until, finally, they stood within seven feet of each other. For how long they stood there, he couldn't tell. In the end, in a sudden motion, the doe ran back into the woods never to be seen again. She asked him if he attached any particular meaning to the experience. He thought about it for a moment. Then he said, no, he was just lucky to be at the right place at the right time. It was simply a gift of Nature.
Marion hungered for more insights, but they didn't come. One time, she asked him what it was like growing up. He responded by saying it was very ordinary, and that there was nothing to write home about. She pressed him - did he stay in touch with friends from that time? No, was his answer, the past was the past. He smiled at her, then walked ahead, staring up at the clouds as if she wasn't there.
She looked at her cell phone on the table next to where she sat. Should she cancel out? That would be rude. She didn't like it when people canceled out on her at the last minute. Besides, it would be a relief to get out of the house.
She strained her eyes, and contemplated him once again. He was still staring off into the distance. She wondered what he was thinking. What did he really want to say? Should she ask him? Then again, why should she? She probably knew the answer already.
She heaved herself out of her seat, and ambled downstairs. Just before opening the front door, she peered out the peep hole. What could possibly compel him to stare in the same direction for so long? You'd think he was contemplating the mysteries of the universe, but, in reality, he was probably just debating whether to have his popcorn with or without butter.
Marion walked out the door. She closed it, locked it, and headed down the walkway. Despite being in the grip of agony, she moved like she was on a mission. As Cornell came closer and closer into view, she tried to push back the annoying thoughts about him. She cast her stare down, but her mind flooded with the incident at Dairy Queen. She gave him a twenty dollar bill, and asked him to pick out something for the both of them. He came back with with a large hot fudge sundae for himself, and a small vanilla cone for her. Often, when they went to restaurants or shops, he'd rush ahead, open a door, walk inside, and let it close on her. And yet, he was not evil. There was nothing truly malicious about him. He never said anything bad about other people, or gossiped. It was just that he didn't say anything about anything. He was quiet, and kept to himself - not like many of the other people she knew. Did she really have a right to judge him so harshly?
As she neared the car, she slowed down. She felt the pain stab her back. She closed her eyes and winced. It was so horrible, she felt like crying. Then she heard a car door creak open, and feet rush across pavement. When she opened her eyes, Cornell was standing in front of her.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Honestly - no, but why complain?" she replied. He turned, and opened the door. Reaching out, he took her hand, and guided her to the door. Grasping her upper arms, he helped her angle herself onto the seat. Before he closed the door, Marion looked up at him. "Thank you, Cornell, that was awfully nice of you." He smiled, and shut her door. He went around to his side, and got into the car. As he was turning the key in the ignition, Marion turned to him.
"Do I talk too much?" she asked. He turned to her, and paused for a moment. "No," he replied.
"You could tell me - I won't be offended," she said.
He looked off with a grin. "You're fine the way you are," he said. She smiled. They drove away. She wouldn't tell him now, but when they got to the theater, and it came time to buy tickets, she'd step ahead, and pay for his, too.
