Looking For The Light Chapter 20 - Elijah

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            Eli had not been in front of a mirror for weeks.  He’d been many other places. Surgery, physical therapy, speech therapy, Russian lessons, vlast’ therapy, vlast’ lessons, meetings, check-ups, support groups, group meals, movie nights, but not in front of a mirror.  The hospital he was at had none.  At least, none where he could see them.  Judging by how some of the other patients looked, he understood why.

On one of his first visits, Vikenti told Eli some hard news.  His nose had been broken and zygomatic process had been shattered.  The Prizrak Rytsarya doctor assigned to Eli’s case suggested cosmetic surgery to fix the damage his father had caused.  The doctor also recommended laser correction surgery for his eyes.  Vikenti wouldn’t make the decision for Eli, so he waited until he woke up from his coma, and asked Eli to decide.  His choice was to fix his face, but not his eyes.  He’d grown used to his glasses.  He wanted to be the Eli Viktoriya remembered.  But he didn’t yet know how he looked.  There was still swelling to go down and bruising to clear.

Viktoriya, whom hadn’t called or visited him yet.  He was worried about her.  Was she okay?  Was she alive?  Maybe she didn’t want to be engaged to the kind of monster that would kill his own father.  Eli got mail every so often at the hospital, and he always expected it to be the ring.  So far it hadn’t been.  Just get well soon cards from Vikenti and a few from Vikenti’s friend Miro.  He hadn’t met Miro in person yet, but from everything Vikenti said, and his memories, Miro seemed nice.  Miro had even sent him a Christmas gift.  It wasn’t much, a book of short stories, in Russian.  The pages were yellowed and the binding was worn.  Vikenti said it was their copy from back home.

“Mr. Coates?” A quiet voice came from the door way.  It was his nurse. “Major Kozlov called, he’ll be here soon.  Do you need any help packing up your things?”

Nyet, Sasha.  I’m almost done.” He broke from his thoughts, and shoved the last of his things into his bag.  Eli was going home today.  Though, he did know where home was yet.  Vikenti was picking up.  Things were so uncertain.  He didn’t like uncertainty.

“We’ll get you when Major Kozlov arrives.”  Sasha was gone as quietly as she arrived.

Surprised as he was to think it, Eli had relatively enjoyed his time in the PR hospital.  They were nice to him, they treated him like a man instead of a child.  They were interested in treating his mind as much as treating his body.  They didn’t put a catheter in him.  And they a lovely garden, and despite the cold, Sasha would let him take short walks outside.  As long he made his appointments, they let him do nearly anything he wanted, run on their track, swim in their pool, visit the library, he even tried his hand at art therapy.  Anything that didn’t involve his reflection. 

Eli slipped his coat on over his sweater and nice slacks, and threw his bag over his shoulder.  As he started down the hall, he felt and dull ache in his thigh.  It was raining out.  Over the past months, his body, at least from the neck down, had returned to its former function, but he still got the occasional pain when it rained.  He waited in the lobby for Vikenti, wishing the doors were gleaming glass or polished metal.  A few other patients walked past, saying good bye to Eli, congratulating him on being discharged, or telling them how much they’d miss him.  Eli would miss them too.  There was Spetsgruppa lieutenant he played chess with, a soldier that was doing water therapy and occasionally swam laps with, the PR field nurse that was injured when her camp was bombed.  She lost her arm at the shoulder and her leg at the knee, but was the most optimistic person at the hospital. 

There were other soldiers – all with different gifts, ranks, roles and backgrounds.  They all had stories of their injuries, all during service.  At first Eli was embarrassed to share his story.  He would sit quietly during support groups insisting that he didn’t want to speak.  Finally after hearing everyone else’s stories, he felt obligated to share.  His Russian was rough, but they were patient.

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