She Said, She Said

"Valerie," a husky, droning voice called from somewhere to my right. "Valerie, darling, are you awake?"

I was flooded with pain: my eyes ached, my head burned, and my back was stiff and alert, as though waiting for a blow that wasn’t coming anytime soon. My eyelids were pushing down heavily on my eyeballs, enveloping me in an odd darkness, the kind that is suffocating and hard to breathe in. There seemed to be small insects buzzing in my head, making sounds that were only audible to my own aching ears.

As thoughts and images whirred behind my pupils, I began to remember what had happened the last time I'd been conscious. After I'd puked up my guts so graciously onto the tiled floor, Caleb had helped me find Clara, the nurse. The enthusiastic woman had cleaned me up and checked my temperature, then ordered that I'd better stay in the Clinic (a small room containing plush chairs, a bed, and a large window) overnight, in case my situation worsened—which, as I was now finding out the hard way, it had.

"I don't think she's awake," the voice said again, this time uncertainly and with an edge of worry. "Val... Valerie?"

"Hm?" I made a sound under my breath as I brought up my hand to rub at my hot, damp face. Somehow I managed to crack open my eyelids long enough to see Clara's make-up clad face hovering above me.

"Oh, you're awake!" she exclaimed. I could tell she was waiting for me to look at her. When I opened my eyes again with a groan, she motioned to someone at the back of the room, and then turned back to me. "It looks like you do have a fever after all."

I glanced behind her and saw Caleb looming in the back of the room, sitting quite comfortably in one of the large armchairs. He was staring down at his sneakers with a forced look of calmness on his face, as though he had absolutely no worries in the world. Ignoring him as best as I could, I turned back to Clara and gave her a smile—or somewhat of a smile, anyway. "I'm fine, Clara," I croaked, my voice sounding pathetic even to my own ears, "just a bit woozy." And as if on cue, I got a sudden fuzzy feeling behind my eyes.

"That's expected." She nodded. "With what you taking your medicine and the pain relievers, you'll be feeling a bit nauseous for a few hours more." She leaned over and plucked a glass full of water from the bedside table. "Drink this—perhaps you'll feel better."

I honestly doubted that, but I still cherished the cool drink as it slid down my sore throat. Blinking several times to regain my normal, clear vision, I leaned back on the plush pillows.

Clara seemed to get the message that it was alright to leave because she picked up her clipboard and gave me a reassuring smile. "Well, I'm sure Caleb here can keep you company." She glanced briefly at the motionless boy.

"No, it's fine," I said quickly, flashing an annoyed look in the corner where I knew the jerk was sitting. "I'm alright by myself.” After a thought, I added, “Anyway, doesn't he have to get back to the BRC soon?" The last time I'd been awake, it'd been Monday morning, so I figured I'd slept the whole day, judging by my extremely wrinkled clothes.

Clara looked confused. "BRC... now?" When I stared at her, she seemed to understand something and smiled warmly. "Oh, darling, it's not Monday anymore—it's Tuesday morning. I told you your fever was bad.” She shrugged nonchalantly, glancing down at her clipboard.

I slept for a whole day and a night? My eyes widened but all I could do was nod and say, quite dumbly, "Oh."

Clara gave a quiet chuckle and, waving a good-bye at the both of us, walked out of the room, humming some sort of cheery tune. I stared at the spot where she’d been standing for quite some time. When the click-clack of heels finally seemed to subside into thin air, I wondered briefly why Caleb and I always ended up together in awkward situations. It seemed as though fate quite liked mocking me.

“So,” Caleb said—wait, was he smiling?—with an odd look in his eyes. “That was quite a show yesterday morning.” Then he grinned wider, like it was actually funny.

It was odd to see him smiling, his muscles twisting in a way that I’d never seen before. His eyebrows were furrowed slightly, the corners of his lips pointing upwards. The shadows casting on his face made his cheekbones stand out sharply. I looked away before he could notice my staring, ignoring him altogether.

“Are you not talking to me?” Caleb asked again, almost teasingly.

I wanted to tell him to stop messing around with me, but I calmed myself before I could utter a single word. My eyes travelled around the room before landing on the window. The sunshine was reflecting off of the clear glass, spreading onto the floor like a vast, warm blanket. I wondered how it would feel to just step out into the world, on my own legs, and sing to the birds, the sun, and the moon. For a moment, it was as though it was just me and the world, the grass acting as my personal flying carpet as I flew far, far away.

“It’s hot outside,” Caleb grumbled. I looked at him briefly—and for a second, I saw the real Caleb, the one who talked only when he wanted to throw insults at someone, or when he needed to say something negative. But then his mask was replaced again, his odd smile stuck to his face in a concerning way. “Even the walk from the BRC to here gets you sweating.”

“No, it’s not,” I finally mumbled, caving in. It was hard to not talk back, to tell him that he was wrong.

“Like you would know,” he said hotly, his smile finally gone, replaced by the deep line between his eyebrows, the slight uncaring frown.

His words hurt more than I expected them to. I ducked my head, my hair moving forward to cover my reddening cheeks. “Just go away,” I murmured, my fists clenching and unclenching in rhythm.

“Can’t do,” he said, heaving a huge sigh. “My orders are to stay here with you. If I leave, I’ll have to clean the bathroom floor.” He made a face. “It’s not a fun job, trust me.”

I didn’t reply; instead, I wondered about Caleb’s behavior. Sometimes, he fooled me into thinking that he was actually a decent guy—like when he stood in line to get us breakfast, telling me instead to go join my friends, or when he sometimes watched me from the corner of his eye to see that I wouldn’t fall when I was in sessions. And—the most surprising of all, to be honest—when he let me choose the game we would play when we were excused from sessions early. He grimaced when I picked up puzzles, telling me that they were childish, instead pointing to the complicated board games. I’d come to know that his favorite was Scrabble.

Fingering the soft cloth of my shirt, I leaned back on the pillows and pondered if maybe Caleb and I would ever be like Sylvia and Samuel. Even if they joked about hating each other, I could tell that they had a strong friendship, the kind where you always look out for the other person, making sure they’re okay. Whenever Sylvia needed her wheelchair fixed, or help with her exercises (which were an important part of her sessions), the first person she went to was Samuel—and, surprisingly, he was always there, asking questions and nodding when she made suggestions. Sometimes, when Samuel came to our room in the evenings to say goodbye to Sylvia, I would watch as they exchanged quite conversations, their faces serious. Then Sylvia would say something that would make Samuel laugh like crazy. It was hard to be envious of them when they were so friendly and calm.

Did I want Caleb and me to be like that? I did, badly. I wanted to be able to depend on him, to talk to him easily without expecting insults and crude comments. I wanted him to be concerned about me. I wanted him to be there, as my friend, my partner.

“Are you awake?”

I opened my eyes to find him at the foot of my bed, his eyes glazed over with something I didn’t recognize. “Uh, yeah,” I mumbled, trying to sit up. “But listen, I’m kind of tired—”

“It’s okay,” he said abruptly, glancing away.

Suddenly, I felt bad. “No, wait—”

But he was already turning on his heel and walking out of the room, his sneakers swish-swishing across the tiled floor. I listened to the strangely comforting sound for a few moments. Then, when I realized what I was doing, I snapped out of it and tried to think of something else, anything else. But all I could see was Caleb’s face, falling, like he’d lost a race after trying so hard. It seemed that my mind couldn’t concentrate on anything but that expression. I couldn’t shake the vision away, the image having been imprinted on the back of my eyelids.

When I did manage to drift off, I dreamed of a room full of wheelchairs with Caleb standing in the middle, his arms spread wide and a smile on his face, as though he were waiting for me to run to him.

*

It seemed, to me, that after my odd conversation with Caleb, my fever only got worse. I didn’t know how much time passed—all I knew was that my body ached with a pain so severe, it felt as though it’d been slashed and cut up all over the place. The few times I managed to wake up, all I could see was blurry images and fading colors.

Around the fourth or fifth time, I woke up to see a blotchy figure, who I figured was Clara. She’d been trying to talk to me, throwing orders over her shoulders, frantically waving her arms. Before I could completely focus on her, I’d found myself falling into darkness yet again.

After the eighth time of waking up to absolute nothingness, I stopped counting and fell into a dreamless sleep.

When I did come around again, I felt a change, a different sort of feeling than before. There was certain lightness to the air, to my body. I felt like I could jump up and float away. Though I was still a bit groggy and extremely hot, it was a good sensation, one I wanted to embrace and never let go of.

I opened my eyes—and saw a strange woman’s face above me. She had pale eyes and light hair that flowed over her shoulders in waves, curling at the bottom. When she moved back, I could see that her exceptionally thin frame was supporting a large white coat, which seemed to be swallowing her up.

“Hello,” she said in a soft voice. Her pale eyebrows were curved upwards, giving her the look of a deer in headlights. “How are you, Valerie?”

I tried to say something, but my tongue only flopped around in my mouth in defeat.

She smiled, as though she were expecting this. Reaching out with her frail arm, she picked up the half-full glass of water beside my bed. I took it from her appreciatively and, after sitting up slightly, drank the liquid in large gulps.

“Thanks,” I said hoarsely, nodding. At least now I could talk.

She nodded in return, then looked down at her clipboard—the kind that Clara had—with a thoughtful expression. “So,” she asked, “how are you feeling?”

“Better than before, I guess.” I looked down at my hands and wondered what time it was. “Who are you?”

“Oh, right,” she mused quietly. “I’m a nurse here. I usually take care of the patients in the Clinic.” She swept her arm around the room, her colorful bracelets tinkling against each other. “You can just call me Eden, although I’m known by everyone as Nurse Dawn.”

I smiled at her uncertainly. “How long have I been here?”

“Before I answer that,” Nurse Dawn—Eden—started, “I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

What followed was a very boring confrontation about my health. She asked me if anything ached, if I had a headache, or if I was having some other pains that she was unaware of. I answered as truthfully I could, pausing and nodding at the right times. I wondered why she was making such a big deal out of everything, as it had only been a fever; a common condition to be in, really.

“Alright,” she said after about ten minutes. “I’m having one of the other nurses bring you some dinner. You won’t be eating anything too heavy tonight, in case you get sick again.” Eden glanced down at her clipboard again, checking something off.

“So…” I started, my voice hinting at my impatience.

“Right,” she mumbled under her breath. Glancing up, she gave me a warm smile, her pink lips curving. “Well, it might come as a shock, but it’s Friday.”

“Friday?” I asked in disbelief.

She confirmed my answer with a nod. “Do you remember waking up before now?”

“Well, yeah,” I said uncertainly. “But I couldn’t really hear or see anything, just felt really… nauseous.”

“That’s normal,” she mumbled, bobbing her head.

“Was Nurse Clara here after the first time, on Tuesday?”

“Clara? Oh yes, she was.” She looked up at me. “Why, did you want to tell her something?”

“No, no.” I shook my head quickly. “It’s just that… I remember seeing her.”

Eden’s brow furrowed slightly. “Right, well, I’ll be going now.”

I nodded and watched as she walked out of the door.

For the next few minutes, everything was quiet as I went over our conversation. So, it seemed that I’d just spent the whole week in the Clinic, barely conscious the whole time. How could I not have woken up? Well, technically, I had woken up, but only to find that I really couldn’t open my eyes. Still, the situation reminded me of the time in the hospital—the long, painful month in which I’d only woken up a few times, and only to find out that I couldn’t even move properly. It had been the scariest feeling, to realize that I wasn’t in control of my own body.

The nurse who brought me my dinner was a short, pudgy woman with large hair. She settled the tray on my lap and wandered over to shut the light. I was about to protest when she plugged in a small, blue nightlight in the back wall. The effect on the room was quite odd: the walls danced with shadows, my bed sheets were suddenly a sky blue, and my skin was deathly gray.

After the nurse left, I ate my food, which consisted of warm bread, soup, and a few slices of apple. I ate everything hungrily and quickly. When I was finished, I lay back down on the bed and closed my eyes.

This time, I dreamed of nothing.