ANALIE
Do you ever get a dragging feeling in your chest for no reason and sit still, wondering what is happening in the world that might account for it?
Some people call it a sixth sense. A sensitivity maybe. A deeper connection.
I think we all have it, but some of us are better at feeling those strings than others.
I’m in my den, sipping my coffee and watching TV when I feel it. A tug at my heart. A feeling that something isn’t right.
All afternoon that feeling stays with me. I wonder if I’m getting sick. I had a virus a few years ago that had started with a funny ache in my chest and turned into a horrendous infection that left me with a hacking cough for weeks.
I call my mom and chat to her about what we’re going to do for Thanksgiving. I clean out my fridge and vacuum my bedroom. I even sort some correspondence to try and take my mind off the strange feeling. Getting sick, if that is what it is, is going to be a terrible inconvenience. I have a full schedule to get through and I hate letting my patients down.
I don’t sleep well that night. I’m still tender between my legs and in my heart. I still have the memory of Robert’s sad expression behind my eyes and the fear that my dreams will take me somewhere I don’t want to go again.
In the morning, it’s hard to get up. The ache in my chest is still there and I feel angry with myself, rationalizing that maybe it’s because I’m upset about what had happened with Robert and I’m letting it manifest as something physical.
As a psychologist, I don’t like it when worries become real in that way. It would show that I’m not processing my emotions properly. Maybe I should confide in a friend about what happened. It’s not that I need advice. I’m pretty confident that I know my own mind. It was more that I need a way to exorcise these feelings.
I don’t have an appointment with my own therapist until the end of the following week, but I vow I will talk it all through with Benjamin.
It’s a freezing day and my cheeks feel chapped as I walk from the parking garage to the staff entrance at the hospital. I pass the entrance to the main ward and smile at Hannah, one of the nurses on duty. As I’m about to turn down the corridor to my office, I spot the back of someone familiar, pacing with his hands in his pockets. It looks like Robert’s friend and he seems to be wearing the same clothes he had on the day before.
I stop and wait to see if the figure will turn around. When he does, his eyes scan over me, reaching my face and flashing with recognition. We both stand still for seconds that feel as though they are stretching far longer than they should. Then he starts walking towards me.
“Analie?”
I nod. “Is everything okay?”
Before he says anything, I know. Something terrible has happened. I can see it in his tired eyes and grey coloring. I can feel it in my bones. “Robert was in an accident yesterday afternoon,” he says.
My heart seemed to drop within my chest. “What kind of accident?”
“Car…he was speeding and it rolled.”
My hands go to my mouth. I feel like I might fall. “Oh god. Where is he? How is he?” I don’t know how to get my words out properly. Everything sounds so garbled.
“He’s in a bad way,” he sighs. “But he’s alive. He hasn’t come around yet, though.”
“You mean he’s still unconscious?” I glance over his shoulder to where Robert might be in one of the private rooms.
“Yes. To be honest, he’s lucky to be alive. His car…the cops said it’s not even recognizable.”
“What’s the prognosis?” I’m fearful to hear the response but I need to know.
“The doctors aren’t sure. They’ve told me comas are difficult. His brain is swollen, but it seems to be improving. They hope he’ll come around, but there’s always a chance that…” He trails off and looks back down the corridor as if he can’t bring himself to contemplate the worst.
“Can I see him?” I’m scared, but I know I need to face whatever is happening. I need to see patients today and I won’t be able to with so many uncertainties running around in my mind.
“Yeah. Come on. I’m Aaron, by the way. Robert's brother.” He leads me down the corridor and I close my eyes just for a moment as Aaron opens the door. I know what critical patients look like, but this isn’t just anyone.
This is Robert.
This is someone I care about.
My heart aches. I know we haven’t known each other long, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Robert is someone who, despite all the friction between us, has affected me in a way that is unique in my life.
When I open my eyes, what greets me is a sight I shall never forget. The man in the bed is strapped with bandages and hooked up to so many machines it’s hard to see his limbs. His face is bruised and barely visible for all the equipment that surrounds him. He almost doesn’t look like Robert and my heart hurts, so badly that I press my hand to the center of my chest and push hard.
“Oh god,” I say and Aaron puts his arm around me.
“I know.” His voice is gravelly with emotion.
“Why was he speeding? How could he do this to himself?”
“We had a bit of a discussion…a disagreement.”
“And?”
“And he was upset.”
“Upset enough to try and kill himself?” I turn and look at Aaron who, at that moment, looks so similar to the uninjured Robert that it take’s my breath away.
“No,” he says with certainty. “At least, not purposefully.”
“How can you be so sure?” I ask, looking back at Robert, the beeping of the machines and sound of the respirator so distracting.
“Because if he was going to do that, he would have done it a long time ago.”
“I need to sit down,” I say, glancing at the chairs in the corner of the room.
“Of course.” Aaron lets his arm slip from my shoulders and we both take a seat. I lean forward, resting my forearms on my thighs and stare at the floor. Aaron stretches his long legs out in front of him, his smart brown boots in my line of sight.
“Will you tell me what happened to him?” I ask. “I want to know.”
“He didn’t tell you himself?”
“No. He told me that talking wouldn’t change anything and that sometimes people are just rotten inside and there is nothing that can be done.” Aaron sighs as though he’s dismayed at how Robert has described himself to me. “I’ve seen therapy work for people. Not everyone, admittedly, but most people find benefit in talking through their feelings. I know I have.”
“He won’t like it if I tell you.”
“I know. I get that he’s a private person, but I really want to understand him better. He…” I trail off, not really feeling comfortable bearing my soul to a stranger, but these are strange circumstances and I feel that I owe Aaron something more if I’m expecting him to betray his brother’s confidence. “…we seem to have a connection. A really strong connection.”
Aaron shifts in his chair, and so do I, so that we’re angled towards each other. His face is dark with worry and his piercing green eyes keep flicking to where Robert is lying as if he’s worried his brother is listening.
“Back in college, Robert was driving with his girlfriend one night and the car overturned. He survived, but Bethany died in the accident.”
“And he blames himself?”
“Well, the police couldn’t confirm exactly what had happened. Robert was thrown from the vehicle and it caught fire. There wasn’t a lot left of it by the time they arrived.”
“And Bethany?”
“They don’t know if she died in the impact or the fire. Robert watched the fire…he couldn’t do anything to get her out.”
As Aaron’s words settle on me, I realized that there are times in life when you hear things that are so horrific, you can almost imagine yourself there, in those terrible circumstances. I know what it feels like for skin to burn. My own experience had been terrible enough, but to be trapped inside a burning car. To burn alive. I can’t imagine.
I can’t imagine what it would be like to see someone you love perish that way and not be able to do anything about it.
My patients who have survived house fires talk of the overwhelming smells and sheer noise of the fire as it consumes everything in its path. I know the fear I feel within my own dreams.
Robert lay injured at the side of the road and had to watch as his girlfriend died in the worst possible circumstances.
No wonder he didn’t want to talk to me about it.
No wonder he’s been hiding.
No wonder he reacted as he did when he saw my burns for the first time.
It’s as though all the missing pieces that had made Robert’s reactions seem so strange and infuriating, finally fell into place.
“Oh god,” I say quietly, breathing out a long sigh.
“I don’t think God was anywhere close to Robert that day. He suffered one of the worst things I can imagine. He lost his future…and he’s never recovered.”
“How long ago did this happen?”
“Sixteen years.”
“That’s so long.”
“I know. In the beginning, our parents tried to get him help. They found the best therapists in the US for him. We all tried so hard to get him to forgive himself, but he didn’t. He says he can’t. It might have been Bethany that died that day, but Robert might as well have too. The only things that seem to bring him to life are his charity work and his writing. But the rest of his life has been put on hold. Before the accident, he wanted to teach. He was studying English literature and language. He was a great student.”
“And he never completed his studies?”
“No. And he’s never worked since. It’s like he won’t let himself move on. He froze himself as he was when Bethany died. I know he still writes but he’s never tried to get anything published. He has short-term flings but hasn’t had a real relationship since her.”
“He feels responsible,” I say, my brain starting to process Robert and his turmoil. “He blames himself for her death and doesn’t feel as though he deserves to move forward because she can’t. She’s trapped at the age she was when she died and for him to have a career, to get married, to have a family, would be him leaving her behind. While he stays like this, he keeps himself closer to her.”
“I know. When he stopped seeing his therapist, I tried to get him to go back, but he told me there wasn’t any point, that he would never be able to forgive himself for what happened. He still feels that way.”
I stand and walk towards Robert’s bed, suddenly feeling like I want to be close to him. He’s suffered for so long.
The machines whir loudly and Robert’s hand is bandaged, but I slip my fingers beneath his and hold onto him gently. I want to see him open his beautiful eyes. I want him to flash me that smile that knocked the sense out of me that first time I saw him. I want to see him walk in that way he has that makes him seem too powerful and so in control. I need a chance to make him see all the things he’s been hiding from for so long.
“Robert,” I say quietly. “Robert.” I make my voice louder, wanting him to know, if he can hear me, that I’m with him. “You have to wake up now, Robert. Enough sleeping. I’ve got things I need to say to you. Things I need to tell you.” I hear Aaron rise from his chair and make his way towards me. “Your brother is here, Robert. He’s worried about you. You need to wake up so we know that you’re okay.”
I wait with hope, wanting to feel his fingers twitch or see his eyelids flicker. I pray for any sign that he might be responsive, but there’s nothing.
I haven’t prayed in a long time.
I look to Aaron who meets my eyes with his serious green ones.
“He’ll come around soon,” I say, hoping I sound more certain that I really am. “He’s strong. We just need to give him time and we’ll deal with all the other stuff later. I look back at Robert. His lips are dry so I go to my purse, find my lip balm and smooth some over them. He feels warm and alive and I feel a glimmer of hope at that.
My phone begins to vibrate in my bag and I know it’ll be my office, trying to locate me. I must have a patient waiting. I don’t want to leave Robert’s side. I want to be here when he wakes, but it could be days before that happens. I have people to help and I can’t let them down so I turn to Aaron. “I need to go to my office now. I have patients. Will you stay here with him?”
“Yes. I’ve called our parents and they're on their way.”
I reach out to squeeze Robert’s hand again. “Okay. I’ll come by later. Can you call me if anything changes?” I find a business card in a side pocket and hand it to Aaron.
“Sure.”
I lean over Robert and smooth my finger over his eyebrow and the small patch of his cheek that isn’t covered by bandages or breathing apparatus. “Come back to us, Robert,” I whisper as tears burn in my eyes and my throat.
Walking away is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. Each step that takes me further from Robert seems so wrong and I have a bad feeling in my gut. The same as I had yesterday.
A sense of impending darkness.