I'll Be Seeing You (2 page)

Carley didn’t know why she nudged open his door. She saw in the dim light that Kyle lay in the bed, still turned toward the wall. Carley wondered if he’d even moved since his check-in. Was he paralyzed? she wondered. The night-light, mounted on the wall at the head of his bed, was on.

She edged closer, the rubber tips of her crutches squeaking. She realized she had absolutely no right to be in his room, but she stopped beside his bed and leaned over, hoping to catch sight of his face. Unexpectedly
he flipped to his back and cried out, “Who’s there? Who is it? What do you want?”

Carley was so startled, she dropped one crutch and attempted to hide her face with her open hand. She needn’t have bothered. In the soft light she saw that large gauze pads covered Kyle’s eyes. The pads were taped snugly to his temples and cheeks, and strips of gauze were wound around his forehead.

Kyle Westin couldn’t see her. He was blind.

“W
ho’s there? What do you want?” Kyle repeated.

“Don’t panic,” Carley whispered hastily. “I—It’s just me. I’m your neighbor. In the room next door. You know, a patient like you.”

“What are you doing in my room?”

She didn’t want to confess that she’d been acting nosy. “I thought I heard you make a noise as I was walking by toward the nurses’ station. I was checking to see if you were all right.”

He turned back toward the wall. “I’m not all right.”

Nervously she chewed her bottom lip.
Leave
, she told herself, but for some reason she couldn’t. “Do you want a nurse? I could push your call button. I mean in case you couldn’t find it since your eyes are bandaged.” She felt stupid mentioning the very thing he was surely most sensitive about. She hated it when small children pointed at her and asked, “Hey! What’s wrong with your face?”

“I don’t want a nurse,” Kyle said. “A nurse can’t help me.”

“Well, I’m sorry if I scared you.” She bent down to pick up the crutch that had fallen, then repositioned it under her arm. “So, I’ll just excuse myself—”

“What time is it?” He acted as if she hadn’t spoken.

“Um—it’s three o’clock.”

“Is it afternoon already?”

“Three in the morning.”

He rolled over to face her. “And you’re out roaming around?”

Although his eyes were bandaged, Carley saw that light brown hair spilled over the tops of the gauze strips wound around his forehead to help hold the eye pads in place.
His cheeks were broad and high, his jaw square, his complexion smooth. He was as good-looking as Reba had hoped he’d be. “Couldn’t sleep,” Carley answered. “I had a bad dream.”

“I can’t sleep either.”

Silence filled the room, yet Carley still couldn’t make herself leave. He seemed so helpless, bewildered and lonely. She remembered when she was twelve, how terrified she’d been alone in the hospital. With doctors poking and prodding and machines and medicines that frightened her or made her sick. With pain in her face so intense, it had made her scream. “The nurse can give you something to help you sleep,” Carley told Kyle kindly.

“I don’t want to sleep.”

She understood that part too. She, too, had once been afraid to fall asleep. Afraid that if she did, she wouldn’t wake up. “Sometimes, it’s best just to give in and take extra pain medication,” Carley said. “It helps you stay mellow.”

“Who said I needed pain pills?”

“Just a guess.”

“I don’t want any pain pills. I hate the way they make me feel.”

“I know—like you’re in ‘la-la’ land. Sort of dopey and spaced out. But sometimes that’s not so bad because it helps make the time pass faster.”

He kept turning his head, as if fixing on her voice. She stepped closer so that he wouldn’t have to work so hard. “What’s your name?”

Carley hesitated, then realized that to her he had form and substance, but to him she was only a disembodied voice floating in a dark void. He was blind. He couldn’t see anything. She was safe. “Carley Mattea,” she said.

“I’m Kyle Westin.” Awkwardly he held out his hand. Too high, but she managed to reach and clasp his palm. He didn’t let go. “You’re right, Carley. I hurt a lot, but I don’t want any pills.”

“It’s okay to take them when the pain’s really bad.”

“But I want to hurt.”

“You do? Why?”

“Because the pain reminds me that I still have eyes.”

Goose bumps appeared along her arms. The image of his strong male face without eyes unnerved her. “That’s an odd thing to say. I figured you did. I mean, why wouldn’t you? If you want to tell me,” she added hastily. She hated to be asked about her scarred, lopsided face.

“Some friends and I decided to make our own rocket fuel. You know, just to see if we could. It exploded in my face. Burned my corneas and my chest.” He pulled back his hospital shirt and she saw large bandages across his upper body.

She smelled ointments and cotton padding and winced, knowing how badly even a sunburn hurt. “Will the burns be all right?”

“They don’t think I’ll need skin grafts.”

“That’s good.”

He paused. “But they’re not sure if I’ll ever see again.”

She heard his voice catch and felt waves of pity for him. When she’d been younger,
she’d suffered with headaches so severe that she’d passed out from the pain. And when the doctors had discovered a tumor in her left nasal cavity pressing against her brain, she’d had to have immediate surgery.

At the time, she’d overheard her parents talking in soft, frantic whispers to her doctor. They’d asked, “What’s the worst that could happen?”

And he’d answered, “It could be malignant and she could lose the left side of her face.”

She asked Kyle, “When will they know about your sight?”

“The eye specialist said that the corneas have to heal, and that can take two to three months.”

“So you have hope. That’s good.”

He sank back against his pillow. “I don’t feel real hopeful. I—I hate being blind.”

By now Carley had settled herself on the edge of his bed in order to take the weight off her leg, which was throbbing. She knew what hopelessness felt like too. It was waking up from surgery knowing that she’d been cut across the top of her head from one ear
to the other and down the front of her face. It was knowing that in order for the tumor to be removed, she’d had to lose parts of facial bones, which could never be replaced. It was learning that although her left eye and her mouth had been left intact, her face was permanently disfigured and scarred.

Feeling grateful that she wasn’t blind, Carley said, “But you may still get your eyesight back. Don’t give up.”

Kyle took a deep, shuddering breath. “Yeah. Sure.”

“So,” she asked, “should I get lost now and let you try to get some sleep?”

His hand tightened on her wrist. “Don’t leave. Please. I—It helps to talk.”

“No problem.” His hair looked soft and she wanted to touch it.

“Why are you in the hospital?” he asked.

“I got Rollerblades for Christmas and managed to fall and break my leg really bad. The doctor set it, but it wasn’t healing just right, so they decided to operate and put the bones back together with pins and screws. That was two days ago, but when they got in there, I had an infection, so I have to stay in
the hospital awhile. They dump antibiotics into me through an IV four times a day, but whenever I’m unhooked, I grab my crutches and wander around.”

“Will your leg be all right?”

“Eventually, but I have to begin physical therapy soon, then come back for more once I check out and go home. I’ll be glad to lose these crutches. I mean, I can’t sneak up on
anybody.”

For the first time she saw him smile. “I think that’s what I heard. The tips of your crutches squeaking. I guess it’s true what they say about a person’s other senses getting sharper when one of them is missing.”

“Don’t tell me that. I have a teacher who’s deaf as a post and I sure don’t want his eyesight any sharper. He may catch me reading the novel I prop behind the text for his class.”

Kyle smiled again. “You’re funny.”

She wanted to tell him that her sense of humor was a by-product of living with her facial deformity, but then realized that there was no reason to divulge what he couldn’t
see. “A sense of humor helps,” she said. “Laughing makes hurting less painful.”

“So when I start hurting, I should find something to laugh about?”

“Well, there are degrees of pain. The very worst requires pain pills—a topic we’ve already covered. But the not-too-bad pain can be helped with a good laugh.” She didn’t add that
emotional
pain was a whole separate matter from the physical kind. Or that laughing and making jokes about her face over the years was her way of putting others at ease, no matter how much it hurt her.

She continued. “Think about it. Before your accident, you knew nothing about making rocket fuel. Now I’ll bet you could write a term paper on how not to make the stuff.”

She saw his expression work through the tragedy to the black comedy of his situation and was rewarded by his wry smile. “I see your point.”

“And that’s another thing. Do you know how many times we use the words
see
and
look
when we’re trying to tell somebody something? Now you have the perfect excuse to say, ‘No, dumbo, I don’t see, and I can’t look.’ ” She held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t take offense, and was rewarded by another smile.

“What are you, a philosopher?”

“No way. I prefer art to philosophy.”

“I used to prefer chemistry,” he said.

She applauded. “Great, you’re catching on already. ‘Used to prefer chemistry’—get it? That’s black comedy if ever I heard it.”

“I won’t let one feeble joke go to my head.” He shifted in the bed, but hung on to her arm. “You like art. Do you draw?”

“Some. Mostly I like to design. You know, like clothes and fashion stuff. And I’d like to start with these stupid hospital gowns.”

“So where do you go to school?”

She hesitated, not wanting to tell him. If they did attend the same school, it meant that he’d expect he might run into her in the halls if he ever got his sight back. And she knew she didn’t want him to see her as she really looked.

Just then his room door opened and a nurse entered. She stopped stock-still and blinked at the two of them. “Good grief, Carley, what are you doing in this room at three o’clock in the morning?”

C
arley scrambled off the bed and grabbed her crutches. “I couldn’t sleep and came looking for company.”

“Maybe other patients would like to sleep,” the nurse chided.

“It’s okay,” Kyle interjected. “I asked her to stay and talk to me. I couldn’t sleep either.”

The nurse pursed her lips. “I don’t think your doctors would approve of your late hours. It’s time for vitals. Go back to your room, Carley, before we all get into trouble.”

Vitals
meant the process of taking blood pressures and temperatures, which the nursing staff did routinely round the clock. “I figured
I’d save you the trouble of waking me up,” Carley said, starting toward the door.

“Carley?” Kyle called out to her.

She turned. “Yes?”

“You were right about pain being easier to take if you laugh some. You’ve helped me feel better. Thanks for that. Will you come back and visit me in the morning?”

She felt her heart do a flip. No boy had ever expressed an interest in her. But then Kyle couldn’t see how ugly she was. “If you want me to.”

“Anytime,” he said.

“Shoo,” hissed the nurse at Carley good-naturedly.

Carley angled her way out the door, looking back to see Kyle raised up on his elbow. His white bandaged eyes were turned in her direction, as if she were the center of the universe and her return the most anticipated event in recorded time.

“You met Kyle in the middle of the night? That’s just so cool! Tell me, what’s he like?”

Carley wasn’t prepared for Reba’s visit. After she’d left Kyle’s room, she had returned
to her own and promptly fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep, which had ended at eight
A.M
. with the clanking arrival of breakfast trays. She was eating when Reba rolled into the room, but Carley was groggy and in no mood to play Twenty Questions. “He’s had a chemistry accident and burned his eyes and he’s not sure he’ll get his sight back again. So he’s not having a very good time,” she mumbled between bites of soggy cereal.