Alternative

April 9, 2009 at 11:11AM

This morning is a headache. Literally. Pressure on my temples, a thickness and weight attached to my every thought and word. I'm definitely screwed up—that bump to the head at the restaurant must have been a concussion of some magnitude. And probably the very last one my brain could take.

I need help. I need someone to talk to.

I know it's reckless and crazy, but I call Beth.

It starts ringing and I can feel my hands get tingly; that shock of lightning feeling I had when I saw her for the first time. Take me back there. I wish I could go back. Just enjoy what we had. Not freak out or get distant. Just be normal. I had everything and threw it away.

She picks up the phone.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"Is everything okay?"

"I think my head is screwed up."

"Tim..."

"No, I mean it—"

"I don't know if I can talk..."

"I'm sorry. I just. There's something wrong with me. Can we just meet up?"

She pauses.

"I told you I wasn't ready..."

"I know, and I want to respect that. I just—you're like my best friend. I don't have anyone else to talk to, and I just..."

She clears her throat.

"Okay," she says, "do you want to come to that coffee shop near my dad's place?"

My heart rate quickens.

"I'll be there in half an hour."

"Okay. Do you still have Brief History of Time by the way?"

I'd forgotten to read it.

"Yes, I'll bring it."

The rain had continued overnight. It was wet and gloomy outside. Beth is wearing a seaweed coloured jacket that is slightly too big for her, maybe her dad's. Her hair is thrown up and wet strands stick to her forehead.

She looks so beautiful. I'm hit with a sharp pain when I see her.

I order for both of us, but she says she wants to get her own drink.

The music in the café is too loud. I think about asking them to turn it down but then consider what that conversation would require from me, the choice of words and politeness, and give up the idea. I have to stay focused on Beth, on making a good impression, making sure that she sees the good that drew her to me originally. I'm still that person somewhere inside. I have to be. She can help me find him again. Even if it requires wading through the catastrophic brain injury I just endured.

I hand her Brief History of Time.

"I'm sorry, I never got a chance to read it. I could still give it a shot and return it later—"

She interrupts me, "Probably easier if..."

"Yeah... okay," I say, handing her back the book.

"Um... Happy belated birthday?" she says.

"Thanks." Good sign that she remembered. "I am sorry about everything, Beth."

"Tim—"

"No, I mean it."

She pauses and then asks, "How is your head?"

"I don't know. Maybe messed up."

"You should talk to someone about it. Like a doctor. Or a therapist maybe. You worry about your head a lot."