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“He’s in the military?”
“Was,” she clarified. Her jaw clenched, but her voice stayed even as she said, “Army. He was injured on his last deployment. Medically discharged from the service three years ago.”
The pieces of her story locked into place, making so much sense. “So the person you know with a brain injury...”
She nodded, staring down at her hand for a moment longer before reaching for her book and putting it in her bag.
“I’m... sorry,” I said, but it sounded so flat. So inadequate compared to the truth she’d admitted.
Her dad had been injured in the service. She had needed a nurse’s kindness. She had been leaving ETC to pick him up. He couldn’t drive. I couldn’t go to her house.
I looked up to say something more, but she was already gone.
Twenty-One
April
Dad didn’t wantto go to the center on Monday. Dr. Sanders said to give him a day off since it’s a big adjustment, and I could see the way my mom deflated. Instead of going out and working and not having to worry about anyone but herself, for a few hours at least, she was back in our home.
The brochure I kept in my backpack felt like a weight growing heavier by the day.
On Tuesday, he refused to go to the center and broke all the picture frames in the living room, including the last family photo we took before his injury.
On Wednesday, Dr. Sanders sent a pickup for him. Two men escorted him to the van as Mom and I held each other and cried.
I stayed home from school that day.
The next day I went only because I’d already missed two days of school and we were just a few weeks in. By noon Friday, I felt like I’d had the longest week of my life, and I still had my CNA class to go to.
I walked into the classroom and took my usual seat, getting my materials ready along with everyone else. When it was time for class to start, Janice began speaking. “You all did great work on this last project, but one pair of students did exceptionally well. I’ll play their video for you all to see exactly what I’m looking for next week.”
She tapped on her computer, and her screen reflected on the whiteboard through the projector. She tapped a file, and Diego and I appeared larger than life.
We sat next to each other, all our differences on stark display. He was so fit, so strong, with his muscles straining against his T-shirt sleeves and his perfect bone structure on full display. I sat next to him, my shoulders sloping and my double chin visible. My hair drawn back in a ponytail looked messy and frizzy compared to his dark curls. His skin was a beautiful golden tan while mine was practically reflective.
We began speaking on the screen, his voice low and clear as he pretended to be a CNA. We had a few-minutes long conversation, falling into our roles, and then the video came to an end.
Janice clapped, leading everyone else in the class to do the same. “Very good job, you two. Don’t know what there was to worry about.”
I chanced a glance at Diego and found him looking right back at me. I quickly averted my gaze, but not before I saw him smile.
As the clapping died down, Janice said, “Everybody up.”
I looked around the room, confused. A college student up front asked, “Are we getting out early?”
Janice chuckled. “Wishful thinking, my dear. We have a project, and it’s hands-on.”
We all got up, leaving our bags in the classroom, and followed Janice down the hallway until we reached a big cafeteria, not too different from the one at Emerson Academy. Most of the round tables were empty, except for two loaded with trays of food.
“Gather ‘round,” Janice said to us. “We’re going to be practicing feeding today. One of the most important skills you’ll learn. Food is life, and making this an enjoyable experience for those you work with can enrich their lives greatly. Get two trays and sit at a table beside your homework partner.”
I immediately felt Diego’s eyes on me. It had been a long week, and sitting across from him for the rest of class was the last thing I wanted to do. But the only way out was through, so I got my tray and met him at a round table.
We had it to ourselves, and I looked anywhere other than at him. Eventually my eyes landed on the food. It actually looked good—mashed potatoes, corn, applesauce, and meatloaf with what looked like barbecue sauce.
One of the students passed out a print off from our textbook while Janice stood toward the front of the cafeteria, going over feeding and the process we would have to follow. It was more intricate than I ever thought, and in the back of my mind, I wondered if this was how it would be for Dad if he lived at the Rhodora. If his care would be this thoughtful.
“Ready?” Diego asked.
