Page 28 of Crash
“I’m not gonna argue with you, ’cause I don’t have a leg to stand on.” She bursts out in hysterics, and as corny as that joke was, it’s a sign she’s feeling a little better. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist.”
I gently cup her face, softly stroking her bruised cheek. “I can’t resist you,” I mutter.
She tilts her chin, giving me access to her mouth, which I take, gently. Our tongues dance against each other, deepening our embrace.
“Ow,” she says, halting all activity.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“No. It’s fine. The stitches kinda pulled when my mouth opened wider. Trying to take all your sugar.”
I smile in response and in a sense, relax a little. The door comes open, and it’s the nurse with her discharge paperwork.
“Okay, Ms. Gordon, a copy of all your documentation is located here in this folder. If you or your family have any questions, you’ll find our contact details on the inside pocket. I just need to get your signature here and take your last set of vitals. Also, your meds have been called in to the pharmacy as you indicated.”
Tessa takes the pen and goes over the information before placing her signature on the identified lines. The nurse positions the mobile cart and measures her temp, blood pressure, pulse, and pulse oxygen, then wraps up.
“Okay. Everything’s normal, and you are good to go. I will go get a transport tech, and the medical equipment company will be by today with your wheelchair, crutches, and a shower chair. Remember to wrap that leg in a trash bag or something to protect it from the water. Do you have any other questions?”
“Um, nope. No questions. Thank you.”
“No problem. You make sure you get some rest.” The nurse exits.
Tessa maneuvers the bed to a full upright position. “Austin, can you help me put on my clothes? My bag is in that little closet over there.” She nods towards the location.
I walk to the temporary clothing storage to remove her duffle bag, sitting it on the edge of the bed. She rummages through her belongings, pulling out a fitted t-shirt and a pair of sweats.
Meanwhile, I search in the cupboard for her shoes and come across the hospital bag with her clothes from the accident. The blood has set and stained the blouse she was wearing. Small shards of glass have also permeated the material and fall when I hold up the plastic bag.
“Austin, what is it?” she calls to me, as my stance remains still.
“Uh, I was looking for your shoes and discovered this. But I’m just gonna toss it. You don’t need a memory like that.”
“No. Bring it here. It’s a part of me now, and I have to deal with it. Face it head-on.”
I hesitate to hand her the bag until she gives me an angry eye. Not one to cause drama, I give her what she is asking for. She carefully examines the materials by taking them one by one from the container. Tears roll, and I grow frustrated with myself for not standing up to her.
“Give it here, Tessa,” I calmly demand, holding out my hand.
“No, Austin. I need to come to terms with what happened.”
“Yes, and I agree. But not now. Take time to recover first.” I take the bag from her grip.
She cries into my chest. “It’s all over now,” she sobs. “Everything I worked for in the past year is gone. The summer jam showcasing the kids, and the traveling burlesque show for adults will never even get off the ground. Now my bigger studio is just a dream, and what’s worse is I may never dance again.”
“I’m sure you’ll dance again. I’m gonna make sure that you do. And all your goals, well, they’re just on pause. It will come back to you, just wait and see.”
“Tessa Marie, why are you crying?” her mom says, when they come back in.
“I was having a pity party for one, but Austin got me right. I’m free to go, just waiting on the transport tech to come wheel me out.”
“Oh, well, I’ll go pull the car around to the front. Let me get your bags,” her father says, and he gathers all of her belongings.
She puts on the sweats, and I cut them along the seam for an easier fit for the cast leg. Slipping on her house shoe that Courtney bought, completes her ensemble.
The patient tech enters with the wheelchair. “Ms. Gordon are you ready?” he asks.
She nods, and I scoop her into my arms, carrying her to the chair.
