Ripp is the only person in my life who knows what is happening to me.
Crawling to my desk, I rifle through the drawer for painkillers. Then I lay on the floor, resting against my backpack, digging deep for the strength to get dressed for today’s appointment.
No amount of reassuring words or self-delusion about my current situation is helping.
It’s all happening too fast.
My cellphone starts to ring across the room. I don’t even have the energy to slide over to it. It vibrates and lights up next to my bed.
The only thought in my head…does it matter? Any of it, anymore?
The third time it starts ringing, I force myself to scoot across the floor, holding my bruised knee. Still, I miss Ripp’s call.
Deciding to call him back later, I use that small bit of momentum to get moving through gritted teeth. I pull on clothes slowly, knowing if I’m late for my appointment, the front gatehouse will turn me away.
The entire ride to Rockefeller Amherst, I dread the walk to Dr. Fraine’s office. The painkillers have taken the edge off, but my legs are weaker than they’ve ever been.
Noticing my struggle getting out of the backseat, the rideshare driver takes my arm and helps me up the steps into the gatehouse.
“Thanks.”
The word comes out as more of a puff of air than anything understandable.
It’s become a routine. I give my information to the dour-faced security guard, wait, have a seat in the waiting room, wait. Then, when my name is called, I follow the guard to Dr. Fraine’s office.
The difference today is I’m operating at fifty percent, grouchy because of it, and not moving quickly enough for this guard.
“Ma’am?” He turns again to assess me. “Do you need a wheelchair?”
As he disappears into a tucked-away room to fetch one, my pale-faced, open-mouthed non-answer apparently enough to spur him into action, my attention drifts to the big-screen television on the far wall.
A red BREAKING NEWS ticker crawls across the bottom of the screen.
A worried news anchor’s eyes widen.
“...Reports tell us the death toll is climbing into the hundreds after an early morning earthquake in California. Coupled with Hurricane Jasper making landfall in the Gulf and storms intensifying in the southwestern Pacific near Japan, meteorologists are struggling to make sense of it.”
“We are well past hurricane season.”
“Back to you, Gene.”
The guard stands beside me, looking just as stumped.
“Doesn’t that beat all?” he asks, aghast, before nodding toward the chair. “We should get a move on.”
I stare down at it, imagining someone like Hart seeing me, and immediately think better of it.
“I can walk. Is that okay? I want to walk.”
Maybe the guard has an ounce of compassion, because his stride isn’t as hasty as before. I focus completely on each step along the uneven stone path, each breath as we climb the stairs into the building, barely noticing my beautiful surroundings.
I take a seat outside Dr. Fraine’s office, trying to be graceful as my legs give out. My limbs are shaky, and I’m short of breath. But I’m here. I made it.
Most of the staff and students pay no attention to me, as if my lack of the green blazer affords me a degree of invisibility. Today, I’m fine with that.
“Elizabeth?”
Dr. Fraine’s nurse escorts me into his office.
