Muscle Memory

🎄🕺CHAPTER SIX💃🎄

He was a stranger. Everyone was a stranger, Angela, the kids, Grace’s friends over the phone, the personnel attending to her. But, watching Doctor Dave run into the room mindlessly draining coffee from his cup—his face still telling how much sleep he needed— unashamedly worried for her, taking her side. She felt like he was her stranger.

He had left late last night, and promised to check on Angela and the kids. Grace didn’t know where Angela lived, but Dave promised he could contact the girl if he took a deep dive on Facebook armed with a surname the girl had provided the last time she was at the nursing station asking if she could see Grace. And he did found her after thirty minutes, there she was in a profile picture with the little boy she came with earlier that day...

He walked in, looked at the screen of the monitor and nodded. “hey stranger.” He said smiling.

“good morning to you too.” She replied, tired, but in a better mood.

“I’d get one for you, but I’m guessing you’d like to sleep soon enough.” He said, gesturing at the coffee container that had ‘Dave’ printed on, “but while the orderly is getting your order for breakfast, I brought some chips, and granola bars, French fries.” He said, lifting the polybag containing the stuffs he listed to her face. “had to pull string to get this one.” He placed the bag on top of the cabinet and brought two granola bars, he unwrapped one and handed the second to her, “I brought you Pepsi instead.” He brought the can out and gave it to her. She relished the rich blend, the fruity sweetness that filled her mouth. “it’s the good stuff right?” Dave asked, watching her face, lips tugged to a corner in unsure amusement. She rolled her eyes.

“it’s okay.” She shrugged. After swallowing. It was glorious. But she made it sound like it was passable.

“how are you feeling?” he asked after an uncomfortable silence when he distracted himself with the monitor screen again, mindlessly munching. For a guy who seemed quite fond of junk food, he seemed in good shape. She decided not to mention it. He is a stranger, who gives off a flirtatious vibe. She wouldn’t want to poke the bear.

“better.” The pain had lessened, maybe because of the pain meds or the titanium bar lodged in her thigh bone, but she felt better. And having Dave’s company made it a whole more so. Interrupting the gossips that echoed from the nursing station when it all goes quiet.

Her friends had called, most insistent of them was a man called Raymond who sounds nothing but worried sick, and chirpy Susan who couldn’t wait to hop on a plane and make it to the country, she would arrive today being the day after her surgery. They were more than she could handle, and though they meant well, they made her head ache, all dotting, and worrying and asking questions, adjusting their schedules just to hop on a plane and make it back.

Grace refused to see anyone, the day before, when the neurosurgeon told her that it was an option. Besides, it was the day of her surgery. It afforded her some silence to think into the yawning emptiness of her memory, and wonder what her life had been like while she shirks in trepidation of what remained to be revealed.

“how are the kids?” she had asked Angela. The girl only reply was that they are fine, she wanted to ask if they were hers after a long silence but the girl decided to go into details about how Jesse is worried sick that he was responsible for the accident—apparently she had pushed him out of the road to save him at her own detriment—and how Victor is surprisingly not making such a fuss. “I keep telling them aunty Grace will be alright, she’d be home soon. My parents wanted me to bring the kids to our house, makes it easier.” She said, “if you’ll allow?”

She felt like the wrong person to make decisions as to the whereabouts of the kids, “I’m sure it would be fine,” her reply was more out of consideration for the girl and the kids, than a certainty that it was the better choice. Beside what choice was there? accommodate them with her broken leg, a throbbing headache, pretending to recognise them? She couldn’t remember Angela’s parent, but the parent of the girl that had been the only one taking care of the children—which as she gleaned, were not hers, thank God! —couldn’t be a wrong choice. “tell them I’m grateful.” She said.