Blink Once (8 page)

“West,” Olivia was whispering so hard she was practically hissing. “West, can I come in?” She didn’t wait for an answer, not that I could give her one, just slid the divider open and walked in. I noticed she didn’t have her IV stand. “So that Kim girl wore you out, huh?” she whispered. “Remember, she was the one pushing you, not the other way around.” She pulled a chair close to the bed and curled up on the seat. “Oh, I saw you, cruising by my room, poppin’ wheelies. A word of advice: no one likes a show-off.” She smiled but I felt like something was wrong. Were we just kissing? Was I touching her? Was she touching me? It was so dark in my room. I looked to the clock and saw that it was close to three in the morning.

“I thought you wouldn’t want to miss this opportunity,” she said, looking at me more closely. “Come on, get with the program; rise and shine if you want to take a midnight stroll. Isn’t this what we’ve been waiting for?”

And then I remembered, all in a rush. The physical therapist. The walk down the hall. Going by Olivia’s room, and hoping she would come out and say hi, at least stand in the doorway to see me roll by. She didn’t. Kim took me to the end of the hallway, by rows of rooms, most with their
doors closed, a TV room with a daytime talk show playing at low volume to empty chairs. The glass doors at the end of the hall led to a sidewalk outside. “We’ll tackle that tomorrow,” Kim had said.

Now it was dark and Olivia was in my room. She pushed a button on the side of the bed and raised up the back slowly until I was sitting. “Do you want to do this?” I blinked yes, but I wasn’t sure I knew what she was talking about, or if she knew what she was doing.

“I was watching everything,” she whispered, as if reading my thoughts. “I know exactly what to do.” She moved quietly over to the wheelchair sitting in the corner of the room and positioned it exactly where it needed to be, then hit the pedal to drop the bed under my feet. “Here’s the tricky part—you need to lean over me, okay?” She moved in as if she was going to hug me, and a dream came back to me, Olivia touching my face… . She was touching me, moving my arm over her head, wrapping her right arm around my body, grabbing me under the arm. “Okay, lean in,” she ordered, pulling me forward so the weight of my torso was on her back. She tipped back, and I thought she would fall headfirst onto the linoleum floor, but she was able to hold me, half hugging me, long enough to flop me back over and put me into the chair.

“You’re fat,” she joked, catching her breath. “No, seriously,
that was easier than I thought. I’m stronger than I look, huh?” She moved the IV bag over the pole on the wheelchair. “I told you I was a dancer,” she said, taking a quick pirouette. Then she got serious, looking at the tube in my throat. “Okay, now what do we do about this?” That’s when it hit me. I was sitting in a wheelchair for only the second time since my accident.

In the middle of the night.

With Olivia, a girl I only half knew and half trusted.

And she was about to take out my respirator. I blinked no, hoping she would see. I was awake now.

This wasn’t a dream. This was a really bad idea.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got this … I think.” She smiled and moved to the side of the bed. “First, you have to turn off the alarm that will sound in the nurse’s station when you’re disconnected—I learned this one a long time ago.” Her hand went to the side of the machine where she pressed a small button. “Override,” she said in a singsong voice. She looked at the front of the respirator for a moment, studying the panel. “Now this part, I haven’t done before. Here goes nothing.” She turned the respirator off, then unhooked the tube quickly, bringing it around to the back of the chair. I could hear it click into place. “See? That was easy.” She came back around to look at me. “You feel okay?” I blinked no, then no again. “What’s wrong? I know it’s in right.” She looked over my shoulder at the machine under the chair. “Uh, why
aren’t you breathing?” Olivia looked frantic, checking the tube at my throat. Time seemed to slow down as I felt the last of my air escape my lungs, traveling down the tube, with nothing to replace it. I looked at Olivia but her face was like a mask, blank, unblinking. A crazy thought suddenly crossed my mind—Olivia was trying to hurt me. She wasn’t happy for me, she didn’t want me to get better. She wanted to keep me here, like her. Forever.

“West, West!” She looked into my face and opened my mouth with her fingers, bringing me back. “Oh shit!” She ran around the back of the chair. “Maybe there’s something … ,” she said, and turned on the portable respirator. I felt my lungs fill with air.

“Oh God.” She came around the front of the chair and slumped onto the bed. “I forgot to turn it on! I almost killed you!” She started laughing hysterically, then caught herself and quieted down. “I thought this would be fun, a joyride, they made it look easy today when they took you out.” She flopped back on the bed, looking exhausted, and let out a long sigh. Then she sat up quickly. “You are okay now, right? You feel okay?” I blinked yes. She seemed sincere. She just forgot to turn on the machine. She wasn’t trying to hurt me. I didn’t know why that thought crossed my mind. She wouldn’t do that.

Olivia flopped down on the bed again and muttered, “Oh man, remind me never to get a job as a nurse.”

It was weird to see her lying down while I was sitting up, her legs, long and white, hanging off the bed. Her thin hospital robe had fallen open and I could see that she was wearing a little pair of gym shorts and a tank top beneath it. Looking at her legs, something in my mind said “touch her,” and I told my hand to move. I could almost feel her thigh under my hand, smooth and warm. But it didn’t happen. My hand didn’t move. For once I was happy not to be in control of my body. It kept me from doing something stupid with this beautiful girl.

She pulled herself up on her elbows on my bed and looked at me. “Well, I guess since I almost killed you, we should make the most of it, right?” I blinked yes, putting my thoughts about her body out of my mind, and she stood up, moving behind the chair. “Let’s get this party started,” she said, and pushed the chair out the doorway and quietly to the left—away from the nurses’ station and toward the TV room. We had only gone by two or three rooms before we both heard something: footsteps. Moving quickly down the other hallway.

“Shhhhhh,” Olivia whispered to me, and turned the wheelchair into the nearest open doorway. She backed the chair into the corner, just out of the view of the hallway light. At first, I thought the room was empty, but then as my eyes got used to the dark, I noticed that there was a ventilator running, lights blinking by the bed. There was
someone there, quietly sleeping, a small thin person—maybe a woman or a kid. Olivia pushed the chair forward and peeked around the corner, watching until the nurse went by, on her way down the hall. “The coast is now clear,” she said quietly, moving us out the doorway again. I wanted to know what was wrong with the person on the bed, why they were here, but there was no time to ask.

Olivia pushed me down the hallway, more quickly now, and took a sharp left into the TV room. I hadn’t actually been in the room before, just wheeled by it. Now the TV was off, the room was dark and quiet. There was a table with some old boxed puzzles and board games piled on, some tattered magazines. It didn’t look like many of the patients used this room. On the other wall, by the windows, was a computer—it was big and clunky. Olivia rolled me over in front of it, then went back and closed the door behind us.

“We probably shouldn’t turn on the lights, but I don’t think anyone will notice the door being closed. I’ve been in here at night before and the nurses didn’t notice. They’re always sitting at the desk, eating junk from the machine and reading magazines. No wonder they’re all so chubby.”

She reached behind the screen and turned it on. It had been a while since I’d seen my laptop; I missed it—I missed that connection to the world, to all my friends. I couldn’t
believe I’d gone so long without writing an e-mail or a text to anyone.

“The Internet in here sucks,” Olivia said, typing in a few things. “Do you want to check your e-mail, or … ?” She shrugged. I did want to, but then I didn’t. Who would have sent me an e-mail? Everyone had to know I was in the hospital. Like this. Even if anyone had sent me something, did I really want Olivia reading it over my shoulder? I blinked no.

“Okay.” She pulled over a chair and sat next to me, taking a second to look at my face. “You’re doing all right, though, the air is working and all that?” I blinked yes and she started typing on the keyboard. “Good. I have something to show you. Now, I’m only doing this because I owe you. You’ll have something on me forever once you see this.”

A website that hosted videos popped up on the screen and Olivia typed a few words into the search bar. After a moment, an image of a dance studio filled the screen, with five girls against a bar. “Oh yeah, jackpot.” She pressed play and the girls started to move, dancing around the room. They each wore identical outfits: pale-pink leotards and tutus, pink tights and shoes. But one of them stood out. The palest girl, with black hair woven into a bun on top of her head. Her neck was long and straight, and even though I didn’t know anything about ballet, I could tell she
was the best in the group—her movements were effortless, exact.

“Yeah, that’s me. Laugh it up.” She looked at my face and could tell I wasn’t laughing. That I was in awe of her. “Seems like another life.” She pressed pause before I had seen enough and typed something else into the search bar. “You know what, I haven’t even seen this one myself.” An image of a large stage appeared on the screen and as the video started, you could hear clapping in the audience. Olivia turned down the volume, but I could still hear classical music begin as the curtain opened. Two rows of girls walked delicately down the stage and started to dance, spinning all in time, moving as one. I tried to pick Olivia out, but the camera was too far away; I couldn’t tell one ballerina from another. Searching their faces and hair, I didn’t see her. But then a lone dancer entered the stage from behind, all in white, a long flowing dress. Her hair was down, long and black, and it followed her as she twirled into place, right in the middle of the anonymous dancing girls.

She was stunning.

I glanced over at Olivia. Her face in the glow of the computer looked almost angry, like she hated that girl on screen, that gorgeous, talented girl. She caught my eye for a second and looked down. “I know what you’re thinking, West, that’s the beauty of this relationship. I can always tell what you’re thinking, you don’t even have to say it.”

Her words were so familiar. Had she said this to me before?

“You’re looking at her.” She motioned to the screen, where the other Olivia was now joined by a guy dancer who was lifting her, gracefully, high over his head. “You’re thinking, what happened to that girl? Where is she?” Olivia paused the screen on a shot of herself and the male dancer holding hands, looking into each other’s eyes. “You know what, sometimes I wonder the same thing.” Olivia stared at the screen for a moment, then her hand moved quickly to turn off the computer.

“That’s the past; it’s over.” Her voice had no emotion. She turned her chair to face me. “This is now; this is where we’re at. And if I weren’t in here, I never would have met you. And you never would have met me. And I think we were supposed to meet. I don’t know why, but we were.” She looked so intense, she was scaring me a little. “Do you ever think about stuff like that?”

Her eyes locked on mine, so dark I couldn’t decide if they were amazing or scary, but I blinked yes. “We were meant to know each other. I don’t know why yet, but …” She took my hands in hers. “But we were.” We sat like that for a few minutes, my hands in hers. She looked out the window at the almost full moon beyond, her dark hair down around her face. I could feel her hands in mine, just a little, just enough to tell they were small and delicate, but still
strong. Like Olivia. She still was as beautiful as the girl on the screen, at least on the outside. But something had happened to Olivia on the inside, something terrible, to change her, to put her here. I could see that now. And I wondered if she would ever be able to tell me what it was.

The room is dark, but Norris has left the curtains open for some reason, letting the cold moonlight pour in, making a rectangle on the floor. I see water, big drops, then a puddle. I trace it with my eyes until I see feet. A girl is standing in my room dripping on the floor. She’s standing a few feet from my bed, staring at me.

“Olivia?”

“I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Why are you all wet?”

“I’ve been swimming.” She’s wearing her white nightgown, now soaked to transparent and sticking to her skin. I can see every curve of her body; her breasts are dark circles under the fabric.

“At the lake. I wanted you there, but I didn’t want to wake you.” She moves to the bed and takes my hand.

“You’re ice,” I tell her. “Get in.” I move over and pull back the sheet. I know she’ll be wet but I’m still startled at just how cold she is. Why did she go in a lake in the winter, at night, alone?