Page 74 of Brain Damage

It’s so familiar. If only I could see the person on the left. Stupid brain.

“It was a man,” I say. “I know that much. If he’d only move to my right side, I could see him.”

“Maybe in the dream, you could ask him to move?” Helga suggests.

“And while you’re at it,” Angela says, “You can ask him not to shoot you.”

“All right,” Amy says, placing the box of cards resolutely in front of Dr. Vincent. “We need to get back to the game.”

I close my eyes again, trying so hard to remember. I’m worried that part of my brain is simply gone and I’ll never remember.

52

BEFORE

I leave a puddle behind in the elevator.

I don’t think I’ve ever been this wet in my life. My light jacket is completely saturated, my shoes are waterlogged, and I think even my bra is soaked. I don’t know how the water got through all those layers, but somehow, it did.

Yet, while I stand there dripping in the elevator, the only thing I keep thinking about is Stan Leroy.

On the other occasions that I’ve seen him, I was annoyed by his presence, but it did not seem threatening to me in anyway. But today was different. He showed up at my home, declaring his love for me.

The more I think about it, the more I think I should call the police.

I don’t want to get him in trouble, but he has crossed a line. And if, God forbid, something were to happen, it’s better if I reported what he did. Also, if the police show up at his door, maybe he won’t be so cavalier about dropping by my apartment building to tell me he loves me.

As the elevator doors open, I make a decision. The second I get inside and dry off a little bit, I’m calling the police.

My shoes make a squishing noise as I walk down the hallway from the elevator to my apartment, leaving a trail of damp spots on the carpet. I hadn’t been sure about the right thing to do, but now that I’ve decided to call the police, it feels right. I don’t want to do this, but I also don’t want to be murdered by my patient. Calling the police is the least that I can do.

I unlock my front door, and just before it swings shut behind me, I flick on the lights. As I turn around to face my living room, I suddenly realize I’m not alone in the apartment. There’s someone else here.

It’s a man. A man who I have seen before.

He’s sitting casually at my desk in the living room, staring at me—waiting for me. I wonder how long he’s been sitting there, waiting for me to come home. Then I see the gun gripped in his right hand, pointed at my face.

“Hello, Dr. McKenna,” he says. “Remember me?”

53

AFTER

One of the buttons on my shirt has inexplicably come undone in the process of getting cleaned up from lunch. It’s possible that my mother snagged her finger on it as she was brushing food from my shirt. It’s also entirely possible that the button was never done in the first place. I can’t say I’d notice for sure if I’ve had my shirt hanging open the entire day. It seems very obvious now though, but at least my mother and I are alone in my room.

Buttons are a challenge for me, especially the small kind that’s on my shirt. Have you ever tried doing up a very small button with only one hand? It’s not easy. I can do it, but it could take me fifteen or twenty minutes.

Unfortunately, my mother isn’t that much better at it. She has arthritis in her fingers, so helping me with my buttons is challenging and sometimes painful for her.

We both look down at my open button, both trying to decide if it’s worth it. Finally, my mother sighs, and starts trying to do the button for me. It takes her a few minutes, but she gets it closed.

“Mom,” I say. “I need to use the bathroom.”

“Now?” she asks me.

I shouldn’t have to dignify that with a response. She knows when I say I need the bathroom, it always means now. Like, immediately. This is something I have struggled with the entire time I’ve been here. They offer me the bathroom every two hours, but a lot of the time I don’t need to go. But when I get the urge, I’ve got five minutes to get to the bathroom. Maybe ten.

That’s why I still have to wear plastic briefs. Because unless I’m getting therapy at the moment, it’s pretty challenging for a nurse to make it inside and help me to the bathroom before I lose control.