Changing Lives by Mabel Marsters

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Chapter 11

James had barely slept despite the medication he hurt just about everywhere. Every shift of position he made brought protest from one injury or another. The doctor had told him not to try to force the memories to return, that they would return in their own time. He had to try, he couldn’t help it, but despite his efforts, everything up to the moment that he had opened his eyes in the hospital was a blank.

He closed his eyes, well his right eye, his left still being swollen shut. The stitches in his face started to itch and he raised his right hand to scratch them.

“Don’t do that,” said a voice softly.

He opened his eye and looked up, a nurse was at his bedside.

“You’re healing well if they’re itching already,” she smiled at him.

He didn’t say anything, just dropped his hand back to the bed. Talking was still difficult and painful due to the injury to his jaw.

“How are you feeling? Pretty sore I bet,” she said.

He nodded at her.

“The night staff said you’d been restless in the night so I’m going to change your medication and we’ll see if that helps, ok?”

He watched as she inserted the syringe into the catheter in the vein on the back of his hand. She depressed the plunger and the contents went directly into his bloodstream, the meds he had been given through the night had been administered via the drip he was attached to and so had a slower effect.

James sighed as he felt the drugs take hold, seemingly smoothing out all the aches and pains.

“Thank you,” he managed to say, sounding a lot like a bad ventriloquist. Everything started to get slightly fuzzy to him, but fuzzy and no pain was good as far as James was concerned.

When he awoke several hours later, Rupert was sitting in the chair next to his bed.

“Morning, James,” said Rupert, “How are you?”

“How do you think I am?” thought James sourly, “I’m bleedin’ great, smashed up but great.” Aloud he just said “Okay.”

Then it struck him, why hadn’t his parents been to see him? He must have parents, right? Or at least some one he lived with, Rupert obviously wasn’t his usual guardian.

“Where are my parents?” he asked.

“Um.” Rupert hesitated, not knowing how to say it.

The hesitation told James all he needed to know.

“They’re dead, aren’t they? Was I with them in the car?” he asked. It was hard to make the words form so that they could be understood.

“Yes, James, I’m sorry, they did die. So you remember them?”

James shook his head, “Just wondered why only an uncle had visited me.”

He tried to visualise them but couldn’t, tried to feel their loss but couldn’t; how could you mourn for someone you couldn’t remember?

“Why did I survive and they die?” asked James, the question almost impossible to answer.

“Just fate I guess, James,” said Rupert sadly, “You were thrown clear of the car. The police say you must not have been wearing a seatbelt. The others were killed instantly when a truck hit the car crushing it against another. Your mum and dad and your aunt and cousin all died.” Rupert’s voice broke and he blinked back tears.

James felt wretched as he watched the older man try to control his emotions, hating the fact that he’d lost his family yet could feel nothing for them. He didn’t know what to say so he didn’t say anything. Dr. Clarkson walked over to them at that point.

“Good morning, James,” he said as he picked up his notes and read them. “Everything caught up with you a little during the night I see.”

James nodded.

“You should have told us if your meds weren’t controlling the pain, James, we could have changed them before this morning. Are you more comfortable now?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, just let me take a look at your face,” said the doctor, examining his lacerations he pressed James’ jaw, making him wince. “Still a lot of pain there, a dislocation can cause as much discomfort as a break but fortunately it will heal quicker. The ligaments just took a bit of a bashing, you’ll find it will lessen in the next day or so making it easier for you to talk, and you’ll be able to sample the delights of our food rather than just having the drip.”

James didn’t say anything.

“I take it you haven’t remembered anything as yet?”

“No.” said James, “What if I can’t, ever?” voicing his fears.

“You will, James, I’m certain of it, you probably won’t remember the accident itself or maybe anything that day but your memory will return.”

“You’re sure?”

The doctor looked at the young boy in the bed, he could see his fear as clearly as if was written on his forehead. The poor boy had lost his family in one cruel blow and was seriously injured. There was no wonder that parts of his brain were taking a bit of a break- his life had changed forever.

“Yes, James, I’m sure,” reassured Dr. Clarkson, “We just don’t know exactly when.”

James muttered, “Thank God.” He didn’t meet either Dr. Clarkson’s or Rupert’s eyes, the relief making him want to cry.

Rupert followed Dr. Clarkson out of the ward as he left.

“It’s the funerals tomorrow. Will James be able to attend?” he asked.

“It’s out of the question, I’m afraid. I really don’t want him moved just yet, the head injury was serious as you know and it would be too great a risk,” advised the doctor.

“Oh, yes, I understand. I don’t like the thought of him there alone when I’m at the funerals,” said Rupert.

“Get one of his friends to come to see him. He’s well enough for that and you never know - it might help his memory. He’ll be all right, Mr. Giles, it’s just going to take time. One word of caution, though, a head injury like he’s had can cause mood swings, sometimes even quite unreasonable behaviour over the next few weeks. So don’t be surprised if he vents his frustration, he won’t be able to help it.”

“Okay,” said Rupert weakly, thinking how hard all this was to bear.

Rupert returned to James, “James how do you feel if I got one of your friends to come to see you tomorrow? Richard’s phoned every evening to see how you are, he really wants to see you.”

“I dunno,” said James, not sure if he could cope with seeing someone he had no recollection of.

Rupert, accurately guessing his fears, managed to persuade him otherwise. He also told him about the funerals.

“I’m sorry,” said James.

“For what?”

“Not remembering them. I mean I don’t even know what colour hair I have, I can’t remember what colour my eyes are.” He started to weep silently, tears just falling down his cheeks.

“Hey,” said Rupert, taking hold of his hand, “It’s not your fault, James, don’t be upset. We’ll hold a memorial service when you do remember them. As for not knowing what you look like, I’m sure I can do something about that.” He gently wiped away James’ tears. “It is going to be okay, James, I promise.”

Rupert went to ask one of the nurses if she knew where a mirror could be found, explaining the situation. She rummaged about in a desk drawer and pulled out a small mirror about six inches square.

“I’ll come back with you. It’s almost time for his meds and he may get upset when he’s sees his facial injuries.”

“Thank you,” said Rupert gratefully.

“Hi, James,” said the nurse brightly, “I hear you’re a bit curious to have a look at your war wounds.” She knew the real reason but glossed over it.

He took the mirror in his right hand and it trembled as he brought it up to his face. He looked at his reflection for a while.

“Wow,” he said softly and he touched his left eye, not taking in what he looked like at all, just his facial injuries. His left eye was pretty impressive; the swelling reducing enough to allow it to open a little, the white of his eye was infused with red, and the tiny black sutures made a crescent around the eye.

“All the swelling and bruising will disappear. You will have a scar where the sutures are, James, but I’m sure it won’t detract too much from your good looks.” She winked at him.

James blushed. He looked at the relatively unscathed right-hand side of his face; his eye colour was a vivid blue, his hair short and sandy brown.

“How weird not to recognise yourself.”

He passed the mirror back, shyly avoiding meeting the nurse’s eye.

“Thanks.”

“It’s time for your next dose of meds, they may make you a little sleepy.”

James welcomed the drowsiness; it was better than thinking too much.

Ooooooo

The next morning Rupert called in to see James before attending the funerals.

“I’ll be back to see you later, okay?” said Rupert.

“Yeah, okay,” said James, feeling awkward. He wished he could at least go to the funerals for Rupert’s sake as much as anything. He could see his uncle was torn apart by what had happened, but he just didn’t know what to do or say.

“Richard will be here to see you soon,” said Rupert as he left.

James fidgeted with the bed sheets as he was waiting for Richard to arrive. His uncle had left a few books for him to read but his eyes got tired very quickly and the writing got blurry. He supposed it was because of the way the drugs made things seem fuzzy. He’d had a more comfortable night thanks to the drugs and the fact his bed had been raised so that he was sitting up rather than laying flat which eased the pressure on the broken shoulder blade.

He saw a stocky dark haired boy walk into the ward; he was about five foot seven and dressed in the universal attire of a teenager – jeans and a t-shirt. He glanced round until he saw James, his face registering shock as he walked over.

“’Ello mate,” said Richard, “Christ, it’s good to see yer.”

“Hi,” said James weakly, “Did….um…do…er…I don’t remember…”

“I know, Mr. Giles told me all about it. Must be bleedin’ weird.”

“Yeah.”

“Look, James, I’m, well, I’m sorry about yer folks,” said Richard, “I know yer don’t remember ‘em yet but I do and they were nice people, yer know. God, I couldn’t believe it when I ‘eard it, then they wouldn’t let me come to see yer ‘til today.”

“’S okay,” said James, not knowing what else to add. Richard was right, it was bleedin’ weird.

“’Ere, I’ve brought yer something.” Richard dug in his pocket and pulled out an iPod. “Thought yer might be bored and this’d ‘elp. I made sure I put most of yer favourite tracks on there.” He handed it to James.

“Um, thanks, Richard.”

“Rich.”

“What? asked James.

“Rich, yer never call me Richard, just Rich,” he said matter of factly.

“Oh right, sorry.”

“I ‘ad thought of ‘aving a bit of fun wiv the music, was gonna put on stuff yer ‘ate an’ tell yer it was yer favourites but figured yer’d pummel me big time when you’re back on yer feet so I thought better of it.”

Rich grinned at his friend. He was so glad he was alive, not like the adults and poor William, killed on his birthday. Rich would never be able to listen to “Born In the USA” again without remembering the fun they’d had that night.

“Thanks fer that,” said James, smiling a tad lopsidedly back at Rich. His jaw was less painful today but the swelling around his eye and cheekbone still made it feel stiff.

“So wot ‘ave yer been doin’ then?” asked James, unconsciously picking up the slang words from his best friend. “I don’t remember anything ‘cept these four walls, so wot ‘ave I been missing out on?”

“Yer missed Neil’s party that was on Sunday. Barbecue was good but the rest of it was as borin’ as bloody Neil is,” joked Rich and he started to recount the full details of it.

James enjoyed listening to his friend’s voice animatedly telling him all the stories. Rupert was just so quiet and the sadness in him so apparent, it almost made James feel guilty for surviving whereas Rich just seemed to be acting normally.

“Does it ‘urt?” asked Rich at one point, indicating James’ injuries.

“Yeah, does quite a bit,” replied James, “What do yer think, yer idiot.”

“Soddin’ ‘ell, James, yer were bleedin’ lucky,” said Rich, sobering at the thought of the injuries.

“I know, but I ‘onestly don’t feel it. I mean I can’t remember anything. I’m smashed up and stuck in ‘ere,” said James in frustration.

“It’ll be ‘ard, mate, I know, but it’s better than being bloody dead so stop whinging,” said Rich, as only a true friend could get away with saying.

“I’m not whinging; okay, so I am, sorry, Rich, just wish everything was back to normal.” Knowing it never would be again and not even knowing what ‘normal’ was anyway.

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