Paullina Simons - Red Leaves

‘What happened to you?’ Jill repeated. ‘Did you get hurt at a game or something?’

‘Yeah, that’s it,’ said Kristina. ‘That Cornell, they’ll do anything to win.’

Jill smiled thinly, helped Kristina dry her back, and then went and got her a bucket of ice and carried it to Kristina’s door.

* * *

When Kristina opened the door to her room, Aristotle greeted her. Albert was sitting on her bed, looking at her accusingly. Is that really accusingly? she thought, trying to get a better look at his expression. What did I do now?

‘God, what the hell happened to you?’ he said, getting up and walking over to her.

Kristina pondered his question as she put down the ice bucket and threw the towel off her body. Albert was in a bad mood. His tone was inflammatory, not distressed.

She didn’t reply. He’s mad at me. He doesn’t realize I almost died. Kristina decided to tell him.

Albert’s tone softened. ‘What happened, Rock?’ he said, standing up and coming close to her. His fierce-tender way of looking at her usually made her crazy. This time it nearly made her cry.

‘What are you upset about, Albert?’ Kristina asked quietly, putting three ice cubes on her shoulder.

‘Everybody’s been waiting for you for two hours. You said you were coming back at six.’

‘I don’t know if you noticed,’ she said slowly, rubbing the ice over her arm, ‘but I’ve been hurt. My car was totaled.’

‘I didn’t know your car was totaled.’

‘No, how could you?’ said Kristina tearfully.

Kristina sat nude in front of him. He looked at her breasts and then at the big black bruise on her side. The expression in his eyes made her feel better.

‘Look at you,’ he said in a throaty voice, coming closer to her. ‘You look so - what is that?’

She rubbed her side with the ice. That’s nothing, she thought, and said so.

‘God, what happened to your face? And your shoulder? It’s bleeding.’

She shook her head. ‘It’s nothing. It’s not bleeding,’ she said, not even wanting to look at it. ‘It’s just… discolored.’ Then, ‘It could be worse, you know.’

‘I don’t see how. How?’

‘I could be dead.’ Should be dead, she thought, and stood up.

‘You’ve been drinking.’

‘Not then.’ Kristina thought he meant she was drinking and driving, but then he didn’t even know what had happened to her.

‘Not then, when?’

‘Just now. I drank a little now. To take the edge off.’

‘The edge off what?’

‘The edge off the pain.’

‘What happened to you?’

‘My car turned over.’

‘God, how?’

‘An oncoming car hit me.’

‘Hit you? Where?’

‘On the side of the Mustang.’

Albert stared at her perplexed. ‘No. I mean, where?’

‘Route Ten.’

‘It swerved into your lane?’

She vaguely remembered the other car’s headlights, being caught in them, trying to avoid them.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I swerved into his.’

‘Why?’

‘Why? I don’t know,’ Kristina said slowly. ‘It seemed like a good idea?’

‘Kristina!’

‘He seemed really close.’

‘I see. So you drove into his lane to get farther away from him?’

She wanted to answer him, but turning her head away from him, she caught their reflection in her full-length mirror. She was standing naked in front of him. He was dressed in black jeans and a black sweater, black-headed, pony-tailed, black-eyed. They stood a foot apart, arguing about semantics. Is this what my life has become? Kristina thought. A bad Marx Brothers movie. Grotesque, ridiculous. Aristotelian theater where the absurd is the norm and the norm does not exist.

Kristina shook her head and moved toward the closet. ‘I gotta get dressed,’ she muttered.

‘You have to get that shoulder checked out. Can’t you move your arm?’

‘I can move it okay,’ she said. ‘I just choose not to.’

He stood solicitously next to her. ‘Maybe it’s fractured.’

She shook her head again. ‘The sockets would be popping out of the skin. It’s swollen. I think it’s just a sprain.’ She was trying her best to minimize it.

‘You don’t know anything. You should get it looked at. Go to the infirmary.’

‘No!’ she said. ‘No doctors. You know how I hate them.’ Kristina didn’t want to tell him how scared she was. Basketball meant nothing to him, but to her it was her whole life. That, and Red Leaves. And him.

Kristina walked over to the bookshelf and sifted through the pile of books until she found a soiled paperback copy of the Family Medical Encyclopedia.

She handed the book to Albert and said, ‘Look up “shoulder.” ‘

He scanned a page. ‘Doesn’t say anything useful.’

‘Now look up “joints."’

After reading for a few moments, Albert said, ‘"Sprain… painfully twisted or wrenched joint… following some kind of violence… “ ‘

‘Perfect,’ said Kristina.

Albert continued, ‘"Violence may dislocate or fracture the ends of the bones that make up a joint."’ He looked up at her. ‘What did I tell you?’

‘Thank you, Dr Maplethorpe,’ she said. ‘Read on.’

‘"X-ray pictures from several angles should be taken to make sure the bones have not been fractured or dislocated."’ He stopped reading. ‘See?’

‘Go on, go on,’ she said impatiently.

‘"Blood may seep out and discolor the skin,"’ he read aloud. ‘"… The synovial membranes are inflamed and reacting by pouring out fluid."’

‘Gee, that all sounds so nice,’ said Kristina, bending down to take more ice. She groaned. Bending down hurt her ribs.

Glancing at her, Albert went on, ‘"The immediate treatment for a sprain is application of cold wet bandages or ice bags to keep down the swelling…” ‘ And louder, he finished, ‘"Medical attention and x-rays should be obtained to make sure a sprain is just a sprain."’

‘Well, I’m not going,’ Kristina said stubbornly. ‘It’s fine. It’ll be much better tomorrow. Tomorrow, we’ll go and get some kind of infrared massager for heat treatment.’

‘Tomorrow you’ve got to go to the police.’

‘I’m not going to the police,’ Kristina said. ‘If the police want me, they’ll come to me.’

‘When they come to you,’ Albert pointed out, ‘they’ll bring handcuffs. Why are you being so stubborn about this?’

‘Who’s being stubborn? I don’t remember you going to the doctor when you broke your toe.’

He stared at her, perplexed. ‘When?’

‘Two years ago.’

A look of recognition passed over his face. ‘There is nothing they can do for toes. Besides, I had no money.’

‘So? I had money.’

‘I didn’t want your money!’ Albert yelled. ‘Do you understand?’

‘Perfectly!’ said Kristina. ‘Better than you think.’

‘Look, I don’t care what you do.’

‘I’m sure of that, Albert,’ Kristina retorted.

He ignored her comment, ‘don’t go to the doctor. Don’t go to the police. See if I care.’

‘I see already.’

Falling silent, Albert sat down in the lounge chair. Aristotle sidled up to him, dragging his tongue over his hand. It was a loving gesture, and Kristina, looking at them both, thought, Aristotle loves Albert. He’d gladly spend all his days with him if I weren’t around.

Bending down, Albert patted the dog on the head, and Aristotle, encouraged, licked his other hand. Albert sat next to the window and stared at Kristina with his impenetrable eyes.

Kristina hated fighting with him. Nowadays making up was harder and harder, and nothing felt worse to her than knowing they had argued and then weren’t kind to each other.