The Future and The Past

Dr. Versha played back the tape from her last and final session with Kristina Hawkins, which had occurred at ten-thirty that same morning.

Kris: Hey Doc

Dr. Versha: Hi, Kristina, how’re you today?

I’m fine, but it’s been a really bad day.

Want to tell me about it?

Naturally. [she kicks off her shoes and curls up on the chair] I saw Gary yesterday, right, like I told you I would do and we had a great time.

Great so where’s the bad bit?

Well, see after he dropped me off- we’d gone mini golfing- I had dinner with Reese and Carrie, went to bed and nearly choked to death.

What do you mean?

I just stopped breathing! You see I was dreaming I was at the party again and as usual Gary was the only person I remember seeing before I’m thrown in the pool and start drowning. [pause] You’re frowning, Dr. Versha. You only frown when something is puzzling you. What is it?

No, go on… You’re using a very accusatory tone when you mention Gary. Do you still have doubts about what he told you last month?

[Kris sighs]

Do you remember what we concluded about the dreams, Kristina? They’re only-

Thoughts, not memories, I remember.

Good. Nightmares sometimes expose your emotional state, your subconscious feelings and worries. It would make sense if you could recall the incident and then dreamt about it. Or if it were the other way around.

The other way around?

I mean if you had woken up after having these dreams, convinced that they were the real thing and then were able to piece it together with existing evidence and what you have been told… then we would be able to get somewhere.. [pause] all you see is his face and then you feel shock and fear. Now, you tell me he is your friend. According to your own definition, friends are people you can trust and yet to this day, you have not displayed any real trust toward Gary. At every turn you look a gift horse in the mouth.

Gary’s a gift horse?

In a manner of speaking. He presents himself as openly as he can, you agree to be his friend- this was a few weeks ago… Now, you still see him in your dreams and each time you shatter the bond you say you’re building by questioning what he’s already told you.

No one will tell me anything else!

There must be a reason for that- it most likely is because he’s telling you the truth. Do you think they’d let a dangerous person travel with you so often?

Everyone says that!

Then there must be good cause to believe them. Kris, don’t let a dream deter you from living your life.

[Kris sighs] I’m going to try but these dreams are so real! You have no idea.

No, I don’t have any idea but I’ve been reading the dream journal so you have given me a couple insights. I want you to read them again- maybe then you’ll notice that you never isolate how you feel except when you are in the water. Is there fear when you see Gary?

[Sounds of Kristina shifting in her seat, getting ready to go to class]

Today’s my last session.

Yes, I know that. If you ever want to talk, you know where to find me. The compulsory sessions are over.

Yeah, that I do. Know how to find you, that is. Thank you Dr. Versha.

You’re welcome Kristina.

Dr. Versha smiled as the recording ended. Kris had hugged her and left her office quietly. The doctor just hoped that Kris would be able to overcome her dreams and learn to accept whatever was the truth for herself.

Gary was lying on the couch in the den, watching television. He switched it off, disgusted when Grey’s Anatomy began. He hated hospitals with a passion, God only knew. Ergo, he even hated shows that featured hospitals and the lives lived therein.

He hated the clothes, the smell, the food, the nurses, the remorseful-matter-of-fact manner of the doctors. He particularly hated private hospitals because until staff members are shouted out of the room they tried to make you feel as if you had earned it and should feel privileged to be injured and in their care.

He hated everything about medical facilities. He’d spent enough time in recovery to never want to set foot in a hospital again. Gary remembered it all as though it were yesterday. The memory was just as loathsome and as painful as reality.

****

Gary looked at his coach with stormy, pain filled eyes.

Coach Lashley managed to return the gaze for only a moment. He broke the eye contact and said, “The doctor will be in with the results shortly. Are you alright, son?”

Gary almost nodded until he remembered what happened in his head each time he moved it. “Sir, please ask the nurse to come in. My head is about to explode from all of this.”

He couldn’t even gesture but Coach knew what ‘all this’ was, so walked quickly to the door and gestured to someone outside.

She bustled in a moment later. “Hello, handsome. What can I do for you?”

“My hand hurts- the pain is shooting up my arm and I can’t breathe very well.”

“I’ll fix you right up, then.” She took out a needle from the nearby drug cabinet, filled it with pain killers and plunged it into his arm soon after.

The doctor walked in, nodded at the nurse in dismissal and turned, gravely contemplating the young patient and the task before him.

“It says here,” the doctor began, “that you slept for a good day after the incident. You’re very strong to travel after such trauma.”

“I have to get better very fast. Lots of people are counting on me.”

“You mean the football team” the doctor smiled grimly.

Gary didn’t smile back. “They’re included.”

“Right. Well, we’ve analyzed what the Rosemead Clinic sent us, but we want to take a few more x-rays and tests. That way we can set you on the road to recovery.”

The tests were taken and an hour after they were all over the doctor was back in his room. “You’ve taken a hell of a beating son!” came the declaration. “I’ll start with your head. You are concussed- judging from the bruises I have pictures of, it was a steel toe or something.”

The coach winced. He obviously was unaware of all his player had gone through. When his parents had left Gary in his care, they had been on a war path to search for the men who had put their son in this condition. Mrs. Bodley’s eyes had been red from hours of crying and no sleep and her husband had hardly been able to conceal his pain and rage. Gary had assured them that he would be fine, but his parents had practically ordered Lashley to stay and make sure the doctors did all they could to repair the damage.

Lashley might have had ulterior motives but he did care for his player and the next few minutes seemed to change the way the older man looked at his quarterback.

“So,” the doctor continued heartily, “no ball for the next two to three weeks because of the concussion. You must be in bed resting! As still as possible.”

He glanced down at the folder more for inspiration than to refer to the contents. “Your chest, as well, cannot withstand any football for at least three weeks- then maybe you can start watching it on TV. Too much excitement, too much laughter, too much movement will delay the healing in your bones and nerves. You’d be slightly disfigured, in pain, you could do internal damage, et cetera...”

Gary felt the latest shot from the nurse kick in. The dosage had been stronger than his previous one, but he still experienced a certain bleakness upon hearing the season would start without him.

“So when can I play football?” he asked, slightly groggy.

The doctor wasn’t through with his injuries. “Your hand is actually a mess.” Pause. “We’ve scheduled you for an op tomorrow morning, when one of our best orthopedic surgeons is back in the country, so she will work with another top surgeon to repair the damage done there. The bones have been badly broken. The guys at Rosemead did their best but it won’t be enough if you want to play ball.”

Gary reared up, feeling a dull burning in his chest as he began to ache all over, “I do! I have to play again.”

The doctor put a restraining arm out. “Relax, please, you’re going to hurt yourself, son. That’s why the surgeon’s coming. But you must understand that there’s no guarantee… we can only do our best and hope that it’s enough…over ten pieces out of place. Literally shattered your...”

Gary was falling into a deep sleep but he tried to reject the doctor’s news. Never play football again? Ridiculous. Never hold Kris’s hand? Crazy.

For months after the last operation, he’d been bitter. He had kept his body fit and continued exercising his left hand- his weapon. At first it hadn’t been as urgent because his chest and head were bound, his knee was also recovering and he had been drugged constantly. After two weeks he had begun his vigil by Kris’s bed, talking to her, watching her sleep.

After she relapsed, training and recovery had become his primary focus. It had been a painful process, strengthening his hand and knee again. If he were to look at the bright side, now he could use them both without agony or even the slightest discomfort.

But he still couldn’t play first team football. Doctors were afraid that the nerves would never be able to handle the speed and bone crushing impact of an intense game. He would have spent the most part of the season on the bench anyway, what with his ribs all messed up. All the medical reviews and therapy left time for school and sleep only. No time for practice and thankfully, no time for Kristina.