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James woke in a hospital room. It was his first time
in an American hospital and it was as luxurious as he
would have imagined. He felt a strong sense of wellbeing,
which surprised him. Warm orange sunlight was streaming
in through a window. He tried to sit up to look around.
The sense of wellbeing left him instantly and nausea
replaced it. His head swam, very briefly he noticed
the blonde girl watching him with concern from a chair
in the corner of the room, and then he passed out.
For reasons he could not fathom he dreamed of his kitchen.
He dreamed that it was a cold night in winter and from
his bed, the one at home in the dream, not the one in
the hospital, he could hear strange new noises. The
heating had just turned itself on so there were familiar
gurgles and creaks from the pipes as they expanded.
This was reassuring. It told him to rest easy, it told
him that there was no need to worry about frozen pipes,
nor to worry about being cold when the alarm went off
at 6 o'clock and he padded barefoot into the kitchen
to make coffee.
He glanced at the clock. It was 4am. He tried to tell
himself that the sounds were natural, that they were,
in fact, just caused by the heating system after all
and he shouldn't be so silly.
It didn't work. Every time he drifted towards sleep
the sounds started up again and his brain headed back
in the direction of anxious wakefulness. After 15 minutes
he rose and went slowly to the kitchen. He stood silently
in the darkness, listening. Nothing. He waited. Still
nothing. His heart was pounding, just a little bit.
In Britain you're unlikely to find anything fiercer
than a bumble bee. In, say. Arizona, just to pick a
state as a contrast, you find scorpions and rattle snakes.
He imagined Connecticut to be much more like Britain
than Arizona.
In some ways it was and in some ways it wasn't. There
were no rattlesnakes or scorpions, as far as he knew,
but there were raccoons and skunks and all manner of
insects he could not identify. This was not like England.
A skunk is a pretty formidable adversary. It can spoil
your whole day if it wants to. He wondered just what
was in the house right now, and he wondered what sort
of mood it might be in.
He waited more, and the silence waited with him. Ten
minutes later, the room still thankfully silent, he
gave up and went back to bed.
In his dream, James fell asleep and woke, two hours
later. He walked out into the kitchen and paused to
check for sounds. As he stood there a small black mouse
ran across the counter top right in front of him, darted
skillfully around a box section that covered some piping
by the sink, and disappeared behind the microwave in
the mistaken belief that this was a bathroom. Had James
been awake he might have wondered how he knew this last
fact, but logic works differently in dreams.
James came suddenly to consciousness. He was breathing
hard and a nurse was wiping his brow.
"You just lie still there," she told him.
She had a soft Irish accent that James found comforting.
"You'll feel better soon. You've broken your left
arm but that'll mend. You've taken a bump on the head.
You have some cuts and bruises. Apart from the arm you're
fine but you need to rest for a while."
James felt relieved. The girl approached the nurse.
"Can I talk to him?"
"Well, you shouldn't," she warned, but it
was clear that she was not serious. "Maybe five
minutes won't hurt. If you get him excited you'll have
me to answer to," she warned.
"I promise." She gave one last warning look,
first at James and then at the girl. Then, with a swish
of uniform she left. The girl waited until she was out
of earshot before she spoke again. "Hey."
"Hey," said James.
"I'm sorry you got hurt. Really sorry. How do
you feel?"
"What the hell happened?" he asked. Anger
was pumping some adrenalin into his system, washing
out the medication.
"That kid stole a woman's purse. I wanted to stop
him." He could tell that she was struggling to
find the right words. "I meant to knock him over,
not you."
"Your aim was off." He studied her. The girl
was shorter than average, and slender. Her wrists were
thin. Her arms were hidden by her coat but he doubted
they were much more substantial. "What did you
think you were doing? That kid must weight almost twice
as much as you do."
"You're right. It's my fault. I'm sorry. I brought
you to the hospital, though. I didn't just leave you
there on the sidewalk."
James stared at her and then a question occurred to
him. He wasn't entirely sure how hospitals worked in
the US but he knew that money was a key factor. "How
did you know I'm insured?"
She grinned. "Oh, you kind of look like you're
insured." She hoped he might smile back but he
didn't. "And we found an insurance card in your
wallet."
"We!?"
"Me and the cop."
"There was a cop?"
"Of course! I wouldn't have gone through your
wallet otherwise."
James felt the shadow of a memory begin to creep back.
"It almost looked like you appeared out of nowhere
and then vanished again."
She laughed nervously.
"What?"
"You did. I saw you disappear."
She shook her head and smiled kindly. "You're
confused. Your head was bleeding real bad, you know.
I was worried about you for a while there."
"It really looked like you disappeared."
"Honey," she said sternly. "People don't
disappear. You keep talking like that and I'll get the
nurse back in here," but she made no move, and
the two of them stared in silence for a few moments.
"Can we start again? I'm Susan." She offered
her hand. James took it, cautiously at first, squeezing
her flesh to make sure she was real. "See,"
she said. "Solid. Just like you."
She sat down by the bed. "James I really am sorry
about all this. Really."
"How do you know my name?"
She rolled her eyes and then pointed to the foot of
the bed. "It's on your chart. I peeked."
This time he returned her smile, and it made her bold.
"Please don't be mad with me. I was trying to
do a nice thing. I wanted to help a woman get her purse,
and then I wanted to help you to get to a doctor. And
I..." She broke off and James saw that tears were
welling up in her eyes. She sobbed two or three times,
then dried her eyes with a sleeve and looked up uncertainly
at him. The anger had faded. In its place she could
read signs of kindness and concern.
"I'm OK." She dabbed an eye again. "It's
been a tough day and I didn't really need this. I should
be in class but I stayed here to make sure you're OK.
And I'm trying to get a job. They said they'd call me
yesterday to let me know. I guess they..." She
broke off again and cleared her throat. "I didn't
mean to hurt you," she said, almost in a whisper.
She looked dejected and forlorn and beaten, and James
felt guilty beyond words. He reached out and took her
hand in his own. "What class?"
"I'm a grad student. At NYU."
"Susan," he said. "Thank you for helping
me. I know it was just an accident. I'm sorry you've
spent time here when you had other things to do. Maybe
you should get going. Have you missed much?"
"It doesn't matter," she said. "I don't
really feel like classes now. I don't think I could
concentrate."
"What are you studying?"
"I'm working on my PhD," she said, a little
more brightly.
"Wow. What's your subject?" He wondered why
her smile disappeared as he spoke.
"Philosophy," she admitted.
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