Page 4 of Sparrow

2012

IED. EXPLOSION. NEAR total loss. One survivor.

I hear those words in my sleep. I hear them in music. I hear them in silence. That day, over a year ago, will be forever a part of me; as scars on my body and scars on my soul. The putrid smell of gasoline and burning flesh is seared into my nose. The memory of it makes me sick to my stomach.

“Grayson?” a sweet voice pulls me from my thoughts. I look up from my seat in the waiting room. “We’re ready for you.”

I stand and walk toward the angelic looking brunette in scrubs who is holding my chart in her hands. I’ve seen her here before. We’ve made eyes at each other over the past few months, even pausing for brief, basic conversations, but she’s never been the one to see me before.

“Casey out today?” I ask her, as we make our way down the hall toward the exam room. Casey is my usual nurse.

“Casey actually moved to a different office. You have me now.” She motions to a small room. “Have a seat and I’ll take your vitals.”

I’ve been back in Savannah for nearly a year, after spending time recovering in a VA hospital in South Carolina, and this is the first time I’ve felt a sense of...intrigue.

I take a seat on the chair, offering my arm to her for the blood pressure cuff. She carefully straps it on, pressing the button on the machine to make it tighten.

“I glanced at your chart briefly. I like to familiarize myself with the patients here. It says you had a penetrating injury to the kidney area, so you are seen regularly here to monitor the function of your right kidney.”

“Yes.” That’s the only word I can manage. I don’t talk about this shit. I did that enough in therapy afterward. “Ma’am, to be honest, I’d rather not discuss it.”

“Unfortunately, Mr. Aldrich, I do have to ask these questions, so I can have a better idea of how to move forward with your care. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Really.” I laugh a little, trying to lessen the tension that crept into my shoulders at the thought of it. “You don’t have to apologize. I just don’t relish in reliving it is all.”

“I understand.” She jots down my blood pressure and removes the cuff.

“Seeing as how you read my personal medical chart and know all of my deep, dark secrets, I think it’s only fair you tell me one of yours,” I say with a smirk. Talking to her feels good, so I chase it.

“A dark secret, huh?” She laughs. “I hate chocolate.”

“Excuse me? That’s downright blasphemous.”

“I think it’s gross. Really gross, actually.”

“I need to speak with your boss. I can’t have a nurse who doesn’t like chocolate. You’re clearly unhinged and not trustworthy,” I say, feigning seriousness.

“Hey! What if I say the same about you? What if I can’t trust someone who likes sugar-flavored beans, which is exactly what chocolate is?” She places her hands on her hips. God, she really is pretty.

“You just haven’t had the right chocolate. One bite of the chocolate cake at Simmer would have you singing a different tune.” I match her stance.

“Is that an offer?” she asks with a tilt of her head

I haven’t wanted to date since I was medically discharged after the accident. I’ve focused on recovery and keeping my best friend, Case, off my ass about NOT dating. My head hasn’t been in the right place, and no woman deserves that; but now, with this woman? Something just feels right.

“As a matter of fact, Laura, it absolutely is.”

***

(Amelia)

It’s shockingly cold for an April afternoon in Southern California. Somewhere downtown there’s an auditorium full of my classmates and they are cheering and smiling. They are walking across that stage to receive their diplomas. They are finishing culinary school with happiness and joy. I’m not there, of course. I’ll receive my diploma in the mail in four to six weeks.

Burying my father on the day of my college graduation seems like a sick, cosmic joke; but here I am, dressed in all black, standing at his graveside, with my hand resting on the casket.

I hardly hear those around me. I’m sure they are offering their condolences and telling me if I need anything, just give them a call. I know they only half mean it. Most of them are only here because my father made them rich. I know that. My father was the best investment broker on the West Coast.

Was.

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