Page 4 of The Sound of Him

“I like to start these off by asking a few questions, just to get a sense of how you're feeling physically. Then I'll take your vitals - your temperature, blood pressure, listen to your heart and lungs, that type of thing. After that, I have a list of questions. Then it's time for any testing that needs to be done, including drawing some blood if you'll allow me so we can see if there are any internal issues we need to address.”

I don't look at him, staring down at the file in my lap instead. This doesn’t really seem like it’ll be anything more than a regular doctor check-up, but it feels like way too much. It feels like a marathon with no preparation or training, no water, no support. It feels endless. Impossible.

I run my thumb along the edge of the file, trying to think of what words I would say to him if I could. They aren't there. It's like running fingers through smoke, trying to grab the puffs.

“That'susuallyhow I like to start,” he continues. “But sometimes circumstances call for something else. I think it's only fair that I tell you that your file has you listed as nonverbal.” I close my eyes, torn between relief and shame. His voice is softer when he continues. “I’d like to address that first, if that’s okay?”

I nod, even though it doesn’t feel okay at all.

“Can I ask you some yes or no questions? Or questions with only two choices for answers?”

Nois such a simple word. Yet, it’s possibly the most terrifying one in all of existence, freedom or not. Not that I could say it if it wasn’t.

Nolan nudges me. “Do you think you can do that? I can help, too.”

“If nodding or shaking your head is too much right now, that's okay, Matt,” Dr. Deacon adds. He’s trying to help, but he’s just adding to the mess. I’m trying to think, trying to decide, and hekeeps talking. “You can do 1 finger for yes and two for no. Or you can tap something once and twice for no. Snapping your fingers works too. Or I can get you a pen. I want you to think about those options. Take your time. I'm writing them down so you can point to what one you'd prefer.”

I start to pick at the tab on the folder, the little square that sticks up further than the rest of the edge. It hasMattwritten on it. I wonder if it has my real name inside, or if that's all they ever found out about me.If they have my real name, my real records from before, then they know about my allergy, right? Does that mean they finally understand what happened that night? Or did they understand all along? Did Benny - wait, no, Jake, his name is Jake, or he at leastsayshis name is Jake, he could be lying, but either way he wants to be called Jake and I don’t want to be punished so I have to remember to think of him as Jake, Jake, Jake, Jake, Jake, make a J sign, then an A, then a K - the one you always mess up, don’t mess this one up - and then the E, Jake, Jake - did Jake know Mica was lying that night, then? Did he just not care? Was my life not worth blowing his cover for?

It’s just a name. Iknowthat. I am fully aware of how stupid this is.Who cares if they have the wrong name? What does it matter?

It doesn’t. It doesn’t matter at all. My real name being written in the file won’t fix a single thing.

I tell myself to open the file. To justlook. To just get the answers, any answers I can, and go from there. My hands aren't moving any easier than my mind, though. All words andthoughts and actions - it’s all stilted and blurry and wrong. I’m not even frozen, not locked up with fear or anxiety. I’m just…wrong. Nothing is working right.I’mnot working right.

What if I can never figure out how to work right again?

“Matt?” Nolan asks. “Hey, Matty - you with me?”

How am I going to answer anything like this?

I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling useless.What am I, even? What life is this?I'm half a person. I'm a ghost. They killed me that night and I'm left haunting the world.

I open my eyes, the world around me as blurry as the things inside my head. I can't tell if it's because I'm going to cry or because the world is just continuing to separate itself from me. Maybe it’s realizing I’m a ghost. Maybe it knew all along, just waiting for me to catch up.

Dr. Deacon is suddenly sitting on his stool in front of me, making him 6 or so inches shorter. Now I can easily meet his eyes while still looking down. My folder is on the floor at his feet, papers scattered. I must have dropped it.

He gave it to me and I dropped it. He doesn't look mad, though. He just smiles when our eyes meet and says, “Your hands are being assholes, huh?”

It's out of the blue enough to startle a huffed breath out of me, nearly soundless. He nods like that’s an answer. “Yeah. That happens. Fucking rude of them. How about we blink? Can you do one for yes, two for no?”

I can do that. I can blink. I show him and he grins and I hear Nolan say, “Perfect, Matt. That's perfect.”

It's so small that I want to feel stupid for feeling proud, but Dr. Deacon pushes forward with the exam before I can get the chance. “Alright. One blink for yes, two for no. Or you can always switch to any of the other options if those suddenly feel better. Deal?”

I blink once.

“Now, I have a lot of questions for you. In this situation, I find it best to start with the most important stuff. It's not rare for survivors to not make it through their first appointment. A lot leave. That's okay, Matt. I want you to know that if you need to leave, it'sokay. You can always come back again. As often as you need, until we've got the full picture.”

Nolan wraps an arm around me, squeezing me to his side. It feels like answer enough. It's the only response the doctor is going to get, at least. It wasn't a question, so I've got nothing for him. I'm not sure I even believe him anyway.

“Unfortunately, the most important questions tend be the hardest questions. I'm sorry for that, okay?”

I square my shoulders and take a deep breath, bracing myself.

God, I'm already so tired.How much longer?

“Matt, have you spoken at all since the night you were nearly killed at the party?”