Page 57 of Backslide
“That’s good. You should try those CBD gummies Cara got you.”
“Maybe.” She nods. “Or some actual narcotics.”
“That would probably work better.” We both chuckle.
“I can’t believe you’re a doctor,” she says, unfiltered in a way she hasn’t been, I guess thanks to the pot. “I mean, Icanbelieve it. I actually totally can.”
And it feels like the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. “Thanks.”
“What made you do it? Like, how did you get from when I last saw you… to surgeon?”
I consider how to answer that giant question, loaded as it feels with minefields. I decide to keep my response literal. “Well, after I hurt my knee, I had to have surgery, as you know. During my recovery, I was really depressed and things were… well, I wasn’t in a good headspace.”
I watch her bite her lip, no doubt considering her own role in that reality. She nods in recognition.
“Anyway, it wasn’t great. But then I got really lucky with my physical therapist. He was a young guy, really got me. And it was the first time I started to let some hope creep in again. By the end of working with him, I’d decided to become a physical therapist. And Henny had started dating the guy.”
“No way,” Nell laughs—and I love the sound. “Did it work out?”
“Yup. He’s my brother-in-law now.”
“Amazing.”
I nod. “Amazing.”
“So…?”
“So, I applied to do my undergraduate and physical therapy degrees at Pitt—they have a strong program. But, once I was there, Istarted wondering about becoming a surgeon instead. I did a premed track, went to medical school at Johns Hopkins…”
“So you mentioned.”
“I like to mention it as often as possible.”
“Naturally.”
I feel the corner of my mouth quirk up.
“I did my residency in Cleveland…” I watch recognition come over her face, like that helped fit some puzzle pieces together for her. “And now… here I am.”
“Incredible,” she says, and she’s beaming like she means it. “I would never have guessed, but, somehow, it really makes sense, honestly.”
“I mean, I guess I was looking for a way to work in sports without playing,” I say, examining my hands. “But also… I don’t know. I think I wanted to prove that I could do it.”
I don’t say that I wanted to show the world, showher, that I was more than what they saw. But that’s the truth.
The light is starting to dim, the hour growing later. The sun is no longer at full mast, scorching the earth from above.
Nell looks down at her hands too, her ringless fingers.
“You said ‘layout,’?” she says, which, out of context, I don’t understand.
“I did?”
“When you were talking about possible carpal tunnel. You said if I was working on ‘design and layout’ too much—like you know what I do for a living. That I’m an art director.”
“Of course I do, Eleanor,” I say, turning toward her. “You think I haven’t wondered and googled you? Asked Cara and Ben about what you’re doing? You’re really talented. Always have been.”
She seems pleased. “Thank you.”
