Gail Sattler - Head Over Heels

The nurse nodded. “You’re right, I remember now. But it’s okay, because you have a visitor. Keep it under twenty minutes, please.”

A woman now stood in the doorway. “Hello? Russ? Can I come in?” Without waiting for a reply, she walked in as the nurse walked out.

Russ’s head swam. He didn’t recognize her.

He knew he’d received quite a blow to the head, not to mention the rest of his body. But now, rather than simply being annoyed with his current condition, he experienced a touch of panic. Was he in worse condition than the nursing staff had led him to believe?

The last thing he could remember was sitting at his desk, working, fighting with the new program he was trying to install on his computer. The next thing he remembered was waking up in the hospital and a doctor rushing over to him. They had told him it was within normal parameters that he couldn’t remember the details of the fall or the trauma leading up to it, but if he’d sustained a permanent brain injury, he didn’t know if he could deal with that.

The woman pulled a chair to the side of the bed and lowered herself into it without taking her eyes off him. “How are you feeling?”

He stared into her face, struggling for recall. She appeared to be a couple of years younger than him, in her late twenties. Her hair was in a blunt cut, medium brown and sporting a streak of bright red on one side—something he definitely should have remembered. Her green eyes bordered on gray, and they were bright and alert, and curious, fixed on his face—compelling him to maintain that eye contact rather than check her out.

When she’d walked into the room he’d seen that she had a slender build, yet when studying her face, he thought she had rather round cheeks. She was pretty, despite the strange hair color. She wore a little makeup, just enough to highlight full lips, along with a bit of mascara that added length to the longest eyelashes he’d ever seen.

She appeared to know him, but he didn’t remember her.

“I—I’m sorry,” he stammered. “Do I know you?”

“Technically, we’ve met before, but I can’t blame you for not remembering me.” She dug through her purse and placed his wallet on the small table beside the bed. “I found this stuck in the slot where the windshield wipers are when I got home last night. I guess it got stuck there when you fell. I hope you don’t mind that I looked inside. I had to know your name so they would let me in. My name is Marielle McGee, and that was my car you landed on.”

His vision lost focus as he struggled to remember details. All he knew was what the nurses had told him—that he’d fallen out a window and, instead of landing on the hard cement, he’d landed on a car, which had made the landing less serious than it might have been. While short-term memory loss was common for the injury he’d sustained, it still worried him.

“I don’t know what to say. You probably saved my life.”

“Oh… Well… Speaking of that, do you want to talk about it? I’m a good listener.”

“It’s okay,” he said as he brushed his index finger over the bandage that covered his nose. “I’ve been told that no permanent damage was done.”

Her tone softened. “Don’t worry. I’m a volunteer counselor at my church. Sometimes it’s easier to talk to a stranger about things like this.”

“About things like…what?”

“Problems. Depression. Despondency. Things that would drive a person to acts of desperation.”

“Desperation?” The pain in his head worsened as he realized what she meant. “Please don’t worry. I don’t remember what happened, but I’m not suicidal. My life is good. I have a good job, a nice home, and I can assure you that I didn’t do anything that drastic because of a broken heart. I’ve been much too busy to get involved in a relationship—”

His voice caught. Thinking of work, a shadow of a memory flashed through his mind. For some reason, he’d gotten up and walked to the window. He couldn’t remember why. But all jokes aside, he knew that he wouldn’t kill himself out of frustration with his computer. Besides, statistically, jumping out of a window wasn’t usually fatal unless it was the seventh story or higher.

“Do you believe in God, Russ?”

“Yes, of course I do.”

“I mean as more than just the Creator of the universe. Do you believe in God, who loves all the children He’s created, including you?”

“Yeah.” He just hadn’t been to church lately. Actually, he hadn’t been to church for a long time. On a few occasions, he’d weakened and gone back, but he didn’t know why. Going to church or not going to church didn’t make any difference. Nothing got better, nothing changed. He’d struggled and worked hard, and he had been faithful, but God hadn’t given him any breaks in his youth, and God didn’t give him any breaks now. God made him work, and work hard for everything he had. It seemed God never considered his debt repaid.

He cleared his throat. “Please don’t worry. I’m fine. In fact, I’m anxious to get back to work. I’m a Web designer, and I’m in the middle of designing a big interactive Web site for an important client.”

“Oh.” She paused, then shuffled something in her hand. “It’s just that, well, the newspaper…” Her voice trailed off.

“The newspaper?”

“The newspaper is saying something very different than what you’re telling me right now.”

Russ gulped. “You mean there was a reporter there?”

Marielle nodded. “Yes. And it appears they’ve done quite a bit of research, first on the history and infrastructure of the old building, and also…on you.”

She held the newspaper out to him, and Russ’s hand trembled as he accepted it. Was it possible the newspaper knew more about what had happened than he did?

Marielle watched Russ’s eyes widen, then squeeze shut after he read the front-page headline: Near Death at Downtown Office.

“I don’t believe this….” He opened his eyes and continued reading. “I’m not nearly dead. It was only the third floor! And they’re being really vague about whether I jumped or fell. I don’t remember what happened, but I certainly didn’t jump.” He reached up to touch the bridge of his nose, but stopped when his fingers brushed the bandage. “They even quoted a few people I work with as saying they didn’t know what happened.” He lowered the paper to his lap. “In one sentence the reporter insinuated that I jumped, and then in the next says it’s unconfirmed. How can they print this?”

Marielle looked into his face. All the training and courses she’d taken for her position as volunteer counselor at her church told her that he was sincere. He really hadn’t jumped, and she’d been worried about him for nothing. It was simply an accident.

“Because sensationalism sells, I guess.”

“I suppose. The truth is often boring.”

A silence hung between them for a few minutes.

“I guess you’re here to make arrangements for your car. I probably left a pretty big dent. May I see your estimate?”

Marielle felt her cheeks heat up. “I haven’t got an estimate yet. I was busy last night, and I’m on my way to work right now. I actually came just to see how you were, and to return your wallet. I had better get going or I’m going to be late.”

“Let me give you my phone number, then, and call me as soon as you know. Would you give me your phone number, too?”

“Sure.”

“I want you to know that if you hadn’t been there, I would have been seriously injured, maybe even permanently disabled. I know your car was damaged. I don’t want to be more of an inconvenience to you than I’ve already been. If you go to your insurance agent and this raises your rates for the next few years, I want to know, and I’d like to pay the difference.”