Page 55 of Brain Damage

I don’t actually remember Jamie ever introducing his father to me, but he must have because somehow his dad knows my name and always says hello. It’s nice that he always talks to me. This way, it feels sort of like I have a visitor too.

“Is Kurt handling the tax return?” Jamie asks. “You know, if he brings it to me, I could…”

“Relax,” Jamie’s father says. “We hired someone to take care of it.”

Jamie’s eyes widen. “How much are they charging? Because my medical bills⁠—”

“Jamie, stop worrying about this,” his father says in a stern voice. “Just get better, and we’ll worry about it later.” He pulls up a free chair that’s in the hallway for visitors, and sits down next to Jamie. I heard him mention once that he has bad knees, so he doesn’t like to stand too long. “Your mother is here, by the way. She’s on her way up.”

Jamie frowns. “Who’s watching Sam?”

His father hesitates. “She brought Sam.”

Jamie’s eyes widen. “No,” he says, shaking his head. “No.”

“Jamie…”

Jamie looks about as upset as I’ve ever seen him. His face is really red, almost purple.

“Dad,” he says in a low voice. “I told you I don’t want him to see me right now.”

“You’re being ridiculous, Jamie,” his father says. “Sam asks about you every day, when he’s going to get to see you. It’s not right. You’re so much better now, and⁠—”

“I still can’t walk,” Jamie hisses at his father.

“Well, who knows when that’s going to happen,” his father says. “What if it never happens? I mean, how long do you expect to go without seeing him?”

Jamie just shakes his head. It’s obvious it’s much too late anyway, because there’s an elderly woman walking down the hallway, hand-in-hand with a little boy. The second the boy catches sight of us, he drops the woman’s hand, and starts running towards us. “Dad!” he screams so loudly that I jump.

The boy is about half the size of an adult, with brown hair and brown eyes like Jamie’s, but he’s got this adorably round face. Not that Jamie isn’t cute and all, but his son is much cuter, although obviously in a different way. When he gets closer, I can see that he has freckles streaming down the sides of his nose. He throws his arms around Jamie, who hugs him back with equal enthusiasm. The whole scene makes my chest ache.

“I missed you, Daddy,” he says. I think that’s what he says, at least. His voice is all muffled because his face is buried in Jamie’s shoulder.

“I missed you too, kiddo,” Jamie says. “A whole lot.”

Even though Jamie said he didn’t want to see his son right now, he looks really happy to see him. Sam starts talking to Jamie about what’s been going on with him, and he’s talking so rapidly that it’s a little bit hard for me to follow. I wonder if Jamie is going to introduce me to his son. I know he said that he would, but I can sort of understand why he wouldn’t want his son to meet a weird woman wearing a big helmet. I would forgive him if he didn’t introduce me.

“—And Grandma made chicken last night for dinner, but I didn’t like it, so we went to McDonald’s and I wanted chicken nuggets, but she said I couldn’t because I didn’t want to eat chicken,” Sam is saying. “But chicken and chicken nuggets are completely different. Chicken is white and doesn’t taste good, and chicken nuggets are brown and crunchy.”

“I completely agree,” Jamie says. He glances over at me and doesn’t even hesitate. “Hey, Sam. This here is my friend Charly. She really wanted to meet you.”

Sam breaks off his monologue about chicken and looks at me with really wide eyes. I’m absolutely certain he’s going to ask me about the helmet, but instead he says, “Your eyes are purple.”

“Violet,” I correct him.

“They look pretty,” he says. I smile at him. For a moment, I think I’m off the hook, but then he says, “Why are you wearing a helmet?”

I look over at Jamie, wondering if he wants to explain it himself. But Jamie just shrugs. So I guess it’s up to me.

Obviously, I don’t want to tell a little boy that I was shot in the head. That seems like it might traumatize him. So I say instead, “There’s an ice hockey rink out back and I was going to play some ice hockey soon.”

Sam’s eyes get even wider. “There’s ice hockey here?” He couldn’t have looked any more excited if I told him the North Pole was out back, and Santa was busy making Christmas presents with his elves in the parking lot. “I want to play! Can we go play, Dad?”

Jamie looks at me and rolls his eyes. “No, maybe another time.”

“I want to play now,” Sam insists. He grabs Jamie by the hand. The wheels on Jamie’s chair aren’t locked, so he rolls a few inches before he can grab the wheels to steady himself. Sam looks annoyed. “Get up, Dad!”

Jamie’s father puts his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Sam, what were we talking about on the way over? I told you that your dad is still sick and can’t play with you right now.”