Pain level?
Feeling dizzy?
Ready to try again?
At home, I had learned to reassure people.
I’m managing.
Beth is helping me.
It’s getting better.
Now Samson was sitting on the other side of the glass, not asking me anything that required an answer.
I cried until I could breathe normally.
He stayed.
This is what happened.
Not all the meaning I wanted to give it. Not all the promises my heart was trying to draw from it.
He came to the window.
He sat down next to me.
He stayed.
After a while, I looked at the bag that Lily had placed near my chair.
« My notebook is in there. »
She retrieved it and handed me a pen.
I had taken both out of habit, then I felt ridiculous for having taken them. No service was waiting for me. No report I had to hand in.
I opened to a blank page.
The date is at the top.
Below, I wrote:
First morning back.
My handwriting felt foreign. The crutches had stiffened my fingers.
I unfolded them, waited, then added:
Samson approached the side window and rested nearby.
Lily glanced at the page.
Then it’s my turn.
« That’s just like you. »
For the first time that morning, I laughed.
A hoarse laugh.
« I was trying to be precise. »
« You are. »
I looked through the window.
« There are many things I leave out. »
» I know. «
Samson moved, stretched out one leg before settling back down.
A familiar movement. An ordinary movement.
I hadn’t realized how much I needed something ordinary.
Before the accident, I would have spent that moment thinking about the next task. Whether the food preparation was finished. Who was in charge of the afternoon shift. Why the radio batteries hadn’t been recharged.
Now I watched the sunlight slide down the edge of the shelter.
I noticed a strand of straw caught in Samson’s fur.
I heard Lily bring another chair closer to mine.
For a while, we said nothing.
Then I asked the question I had been avoiding since she had found me at the entrance.
« Were you afraid I wouldn’t come back? »
She clasped her hands together.
« Afraid of this visit? »
« Afraid of all of this. »
Lily took her time.
« I was afraid you’d think you had to come back exactly the same way you left. »
I looked at my crutches.
« I can no longer transport equipment through these passages. »
« Not like before. »
« I can’t stand for a full morning. »
« Not for the moment. »
I swallowed my saliva.
« You’re doing just fine without me. »
« Yes, » she said.
The answer hit me hard.
Then she continued.
« You’re the one who taught me. That doesn’t mean there’s nothing left for you here. »
I fixed the notebook.
For months, I had imagined two possible futures.
In one of them, I recovered enough to resume every part of my old position.
In the other, I stayed home while people politely stopped asking when I would return.
I hadn’t given much thought to what lay between the two.
Lily pointed to my page.
« You noticed Samson’s weight shifting before he stood up. You checked where the young gorilla was before moving your chair. You’ve been watching his breathing since we arrived. »
« I’ve been observing him for twelve years. »
» Exactly. «
I rubbed the edge of the notebook with my thumb.
It wasn’t a job offer. She didn’t claim that my boundaries would disappear because we had shared a moving morning.
There would be meetings. Decisions about tasks. Conversations with my rehabilitation team. Some tasks that I might never be able to do again.
But she had seen something useful in me while I was busy counting what had disappeared.
On the other side of the glass, Samson turned his head towards a noise in the house.
I followed his gaze automatically.
Lily smiled, barely.
« You see? »
We stayed for almost forty minutes.
Then my back started to hurt, and the muscles in my right leg tensed up.
I tried to hide it.
Lily noticed it.
« It’s time to go. »
« One more minute. »
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