Outside my hospital room window the vague noises of civilization waned. Specks of headlights on the highway were fewer, the thump-thumps of teenagers and their stereos lessened. The world was nodding off without me. There was little wonder why I was so awake; I’d been sleeping off and on for three days. But I still longed for rest, though I suspected it was the sort of rest sleep couldn’t provide.
Elizabeth smiled and said, “So do you think that’s true, Andy?”
“What’s true?” I asked.
Elizabeth’s chin was in her hand, which was propped up by an elbow that rested on the top of my box. For a moment I almost asked her not to do that, to stop touching what was mine and give it a little respect (though I didn’t know how much respect a box of junk deserved). Then I decided against it.
“Helping others pick up their pieces. Do you think that’s your job?”
I shrugged and said, “I guess. I think that’s everyone’s job, don’t you?”
She ignored my question and asked another: “Do you agree with the Old Man that everyone’s basically bad?”
“Speaking from personal experience, yes. Like I told you, we’re all children. Every single one of us.”
“And does that make it easier to forgive someone?”
“I guess it should, though that’s harder to do than believe. The Old Man said we’re all fighting our own darkness and waging our own war. Not to say there shouldn’t be judgment or consequences, because there should. But there should also come a forgiveness and a moving on.”
“Is that so?” she asked. Her chin was out of her hand then, her head cocked a bit to the side.
“Yes.”
Elizabeth’s eyes moved from mine to the bandages on my face and head.
“In all cases?”
I didn’t know if I had fallen into a cleverly disguised trap or an inevitable turn in our conversation, but I was leaning toward the former. I had forgotten Elizabeth was there for more than mere listening. She was supposed to be making me feel better, too. That was her job. Her…focus. That meant asking a few questions that were bound to hurt. Even though I knew all of that to be true, I don’t mind saying that in that moment my heart cracked. Not because of what Elizabeth had said, but because it was all business.
“Nice try, counselor,” I said.
“Just thought I’d throw that out there,” she said. “Do you think Mary came to realize the choice to disobey was really hers?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know if a lot of people ever realize that. They’ll blame God or the Devil or genes or parents for their screwups before they ever blame themselves.”
“Because it’s not their fault,” she said.
“Exactly.”
“But it is their fault, at least in your opinion.”
“You can’t hit all the curveballs life throws at you,” I told her, “but that doesn’t mean you can’t at least foul a few off. There are a lot of things out there beyond our control. Lot of things that aren’t, too. See? I know a little about the human condition myself.”
“You are quite the nice surprise, Andy Sommerville,” Elizabeth said.
Despite myself, I said, “I gotta say you are too, Elizabeth.”
The two of us allowed that mutual admission to sink in. I almost said more and didn’t but hoped she would. At the time I thought it was the freedom of openness that had captured me, that it wouldn’t have mattered who had been sitting there beside me listening, I would have felt that same feeling of release and trust, that same euphoric sense of sharing. Maybe that’s true. But looking back I think that was because it was Elizabeth rather than anyone else.
“And how’s Mary now?” she asked.
“I’ll see her in the gas station from time to time,” I said. “She’s sixteen now. Still a kid.”
“I’m guessing she’s allowed to play in the front yard now,” Elizabeth said.
“She is,” I said with a smile. “But she’s still Mary. She’ll learn like we all do. She’ll grow and experience and fail and hurt. She’ll gather regrets that will haunt her and joys that will sustain her. And when the time comes, she’ll vow too that her children won’t suffer through the same mistakes she’s made. But I can see her one day telling her own child not to play in the road. And I can see a few minutes later another small shoe tiptoeing the edge of should and should not and then stepping into the world of the forbidden.”
“Because we can’t help it?” she asked.
“Because we can’t help it.”
Elizabeth’s head cocked to the other side and allowed her ponytail to swish. “That worldview doesn’t really sound like a recipe for happiness.”
“Happiness?” I asked. “Please.”
“Come on, Andy. You want to be happy, don’t you? That’s what everyone wants out of life. A lot of people would say it is the definition of true success—not your measure of wealth, but your measure of gladness. So let me ask you this: are you happy?”
“Not at the moment,” I said, then regretted saying it. “You know, with my condition and all.”
“How about before your condition?”
“I wasn’t doing cartwheels or anything, but I was okay.”
Elizabeth wasn’t looking at me but through me—into me—trying to find what I wasn’t ready to show her. I was familiar with that look. It was the Old Man’s and my grandmother’s look. A look that said I know the truth, even if you don’t want to tell me.
“Stop it,” I said.
“Stop what?”
“Stop analyzing me. Do you have any idea how tough it is being able to see things no one else can? Or thinking you see things no one else can? Whatever. It’s like a wall between me and everyone else. It doesn’t matter how much education you have or how many people you’ve talked to, you can’t possibly understand how that feels. So no, I’m not Mr. Sunshine. But I guess you could say I’m as happy as I can be.”
I’m not sure if that comment took her aback or not, but I was pretty sure it stung. I hadn’t meant to do that. But the old adage of the truth hurting was an old adage because it was exactly right.
“That sounds awful, Andy.”
“Awful?” I asked her. “No. It is what it is, Elizabeth. I’ve had a good life up to this point. Don’t you sit there and pity me.”
Elizabeth looked at me confused. I couldn’t blame her. A man needs to feel a certain way around a woman. Pitied is not that way. And that was something a woman could never really understand.
“Sorry,” she said. “What do you mean by ‘up until this point’? You don’t think you have a good life now?”
I held up my bandaged right hand and used my left to point at my head. “Oh, I have a great life right now,” I said. “Who wouldn’t want my life? Why, I’m sitting here in a hospital with burns all over me and my brains scrambled. My gas station’s a mess, but nowhere near the mess my life is. I’ve lost”—I almost said Eric’s name, but didn’t—“a lot. Everything, really. So yeah, I can say I’ve had a good life up until this point, but I’m just not a whole heck of a lot sure from here on out, Elizabeth. Besides, I think you need peace to have a good life, and it’s hard to have peace when you’re angry.”
“The world’s a hard place, Andy,” she said. “People deserve as much real happiness in it as they can find.”
“Be happy,” I said, and loud enough to catch Kim’s attention outside the door. She looked up at me and then down again, then shook her head. “Happy, happy, happy,” I continued, “Sheesh, you sound like her.”
“Her who?” Elizabeth asked.
I motioned for the box, and Elizabeth switched it from her lap to mine. I opened it and rifled through the contents until I found the worn and folded card. The words were still bright and bold—BE HAPPY!! GOD LOVES YOU!! I held it up to Elizabeth.
“Her,” I said.