Page 62 of Sparking Sara

She looks at it and then tries to take the tight lid off but can’t.

“Here, let me help. These things are a pain.”

I remove the lid and hand it back to her. She carefully puts it under her nose and smells it. Then she turns her head away, making a face.

Donovan and I laugh.

“My thoughts exactly,” I say, taking it from her and dropping the cup in the trash.

“Your tastes may have changed, Sara,” Donovan says. “It’s not all that uncommon after injuries like yours.” He looks through the contents of the box. “This is fabulous. Just what we need to focus on her manual dexterity. In fact, we were about to get started. Can you help me get everything set up, Denver?”

“I’d be happy to.”

Sara watches in wonder as we get the paints and brushes out. I’m not really sure how all this works, but I’ve seen movies. I squeeze a little color from a few tubes onto the palette while Donovan finds something to cover Sara’s clothes.

I notice she’s in regular clothing and not a hospital gown or robe. I also notice that she’s swimming in them. The doctor said she lost fifteen pounds while she was in the hospital. It makes me want to pump her full of cheeseburgers and fries.

I pull the tray table over to her bed and she stares at the palette. Donovan hands her a brush and smiles. “Let’s see what you can do, shall we?”

Sara smiles when she takes the brush. It’s a beautiful smile, one that tells me I did the right thing by bringing her paints. I sit on the side of her bed and hold up a blank canvas.

“Can you paint a red circle?” Donovan asks.

She dips her brush in the red paint and in the lower corner of the canvas, paints the most perfect circle I’ve ever seen anyone freehand.

“That’s fucking amazing,” I say without thinking.

Sara’s smile gets even bigger.

Donovan laughs.

“Uh, pardon my French. But wow, Sara.” I knock a hand on my hard skull. “My brain is fully intact, and I still can’t draw a circle that well.”

She raises her eyebrows at me.

“Oh, damn. Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know,” she says softly. “Joke.”

“Draw another one,” I say. “Yellow this time.” I look at Donovan. “Oops, I guess I got a little excited. You’re the boss.”

“It’s fine,” he says. “I’m glad you’re here to participate in her therapy. It helps when loved ones are involved.”

Loved ones.

I almost correct him. I’m not a loved one. I’m barely even a friend, and only by circumstance. But I don’t correct him. And neither does Sara.

“Go ahead,” he urges. “Do what the man said and draw a yellow circle.”

She draws one right next to the red one. Another amazing circle of the same size.

“And how about a square,” he says. “Can you draw one of those?”

She does. Over the next few minutes, she fills the entire lower six inches of the canvas.

“Now draw one up here,” Donovan says, motioning to the top.

Sara lifts her arm and tries to paint where he pointed, but her arm goes limp and a jagged line of paint trails down the canvas all the way to her lap. Sara closes her eyes.

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