Post by minianne on Oct 14, 2009 22:18:37 GMT -5
“A Long Way Up”
Chapter 5
“Hey bud,” Rick said, jovially, sliding off his seat at the kitchen counter and walking toward Jim. “We thought you were gonna sleep through dinner.” He slapped his brother on the shoulder and kept his hand there for a moment, trying to “read” his mood. The sunglasses masked his eyes, but Rick could tell there was something “different” about Jim. The tension appeared to have drained out of him.
“Something smells wonderful, Mom!” Jim called out. “I hope you gave Christy that recipe…”.
“I’m the one doing the cooking,” Christy said in mock exasperation, walking out of the kitchen with her hands on her hips. “Your mom is supervising!”
She went over to Jim and gave him a hug. He responded by drawing her close and giving her a lingering kiss. Delighted and a bit surprised, Christie put her arms around his waist and led him toward the kitchen counter.
“Why don’t you keep us company while we finish up?” she said, placing his hand on the back of one of the stools. “How about a cold drink?”
“God, I’d love a beer,” Jim said. “I haven’t had one since…well, it’s been too long…”
Christie frowned, wondering whether that would be a good idea considering the medication he was taking. But, she didn’t want to spoil the mood by bringing that up. She opened the refrigerator and looked inside.
“Sure,” she replied. “Want a glass?”
“Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “The bottle’s fine.”
Rick took the seat next to Jim. Christie handed them both a beer.
Jim twisted the cap off of his and turned to Rick. He gestured toward him with the bottle. Rick touched his bottle to Jim‘s.
“Thanks, Ricky…”
“Yeah,“ Rick replied, inwardly giving a sigh of relief. Maybe Jim would be okay after all.
By the time they sat down to dinner, Jim had tensed up again. He hated eating in front of people because it was so damned awkward. Half the time food fell off of the fork before he could get it into his mouth. It had been difficult enough in the hospital, with Chris insisting on cutting everything up into small pieces and practically feeding him. But, damn it, he was nearly forty years old, not an infant. It was embarrassing. But, hell…what could he do?
Christie brought a tossed salad to the table and started to portion it out. His mother laid Jim’s in front of him.
“Here’s your salad, sweetie,” she said, sitting down beside him. “You need any help?”
“No ma’am,” he assured her. “I’m good.”
He raised his hands to the edge of the table and moved them to both sides of the plate. There. “Cmon Dunbar,” he thought. “This ain’t rocket science.” His fork was on the right and his knife was on the left on top of his napkin. He slid the knife off of the napkin, unfolded it and placed it on his lap.
He could feel the eyes of his family upon him. Ah, well…that couldn’t be helped.
Picking up his fork, he gently probed the surface of his plate.
“What’s in the salad?” he asked.
“Bibb lettuce with sliced tomato, cucumber and a balsamic vinaigrette,“ Christie replied.
“Would you like a dinner roll?”
He nodded. “Yes, please.”
Rick passed the basket, touching it to the back of his hand. Jim took one and laid it on the side of his salad plate.
By the time the entrée was served his neck and shoulders were in knots and the pain behind his eyes began to intensify. Eating blind was a tiring business. Surely, it would get easier with practice. The table seemed fraught with booby traps. He skipped butter on his roll and putting pepper on his entrée, because it seemed like too much work. Plus, his pride kept him from asking for too much assistance.
That was the hard part.
Jim took a stab at what appeared to be a manageable sized piece of chicken. Success. He leaned toward the plate a bit and took a bite. Pleased with the taste and his accomplishment he pronounced it, “Delicious.” He could feel his mother’s smile.
Cautiously, he lay his fork down and turned to her.
“Mom, do I have a drink?” he asked.
She looked at him sadly, but kept her voice upbeat: “Yes, sweetie…iced tea. It’s slightly above and to the right of your plate.”
Jim cautiously reached out and found the glass. Success. Maybe he could get the hang of this after all. But, f*ck! He knocked it over trying to set it back down. It all happened so fast. His mother and Christie both jumped up, one mopping up the spill and the other getting him another glass.
Jim’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. But he apologized and thanked them for their help.
Thankfully, the rest of the meal was uneventful. When they finished, Rick asked if Jim would like to watch the Yankee’s game on t.v.
“Sounds great,” Jim said, standing.
“Jimmy,” Christie said. “We got your prescriptions filled and you need to take these now that you’ve eaten.” She walked over, placed two capsules in his hand and handed him a glass of water.
“How’s your head feel?”
“It’s been better,” he replied, truthfully.
“One of those pills is for pain,” she told him. “You can take two if you need it. Would you like another?”
He shook his head. “Yeah,” he said. “If you don’t mind.”
She got the bottle out of the kitchen and gave him another capsule which he promptly swallowed. Her eyes were filled with concern. Jim wasn’t one to take medicine lightly. He must be hurting pretty bad.
Rick helped Jim to the couch and turned on the television. The Yankees were winning in the top of the third inning, but Jim wasn’t paying much attention. He was trying to recall the layout of the apartment. If he was facing the television, that meant the kitchen was behind him, the window facing the Brooklyn Bridge was to the right… Something suddenly crossed his mind. He leaned forward and located the coffee table. Feeling around a bit, he found the drawer and opened it. Smiling to himself, he took out three rubber balls. The ones he’d been practicing juggling with.
“Hey Ricky,” he said, holding them up. “Think a blind guy can juggle?”
Rick grinned at him. Jim was trying to make a joke. That had to be a good sign.
“Yeah, with a little practice. Why not?”
Jim chuckled, then put the balls back.
“Couldn’t be any harder than getting through dinner,” he thought.