The Secretary Experience

I turned away from the refrigerator and walked into the family room. I plopped myself down on the couch, picked up the remote and turned on the tube.

I flipped through the channels, finding nothing that held my interest. The Oriels were playing the Braves and I didn't care. Penny was being scolded by Sheldon for some imaginary slight and I was more than disinterested. Some superhero was blowing up a building trying to save the world from Armageddon, and I found myself dropping the remote and rooting for the villain. That would at least match my mood.

The movie ended and another one began. Jennifer Lawrence was shooting a bow and arrow and I wondered what it would take for me to be her target. Before the movie ended, I found myself sitting in a slightly less stuffy room staring at a large television screen and not really seeing what was on. Outside the sun had set, coating the whole night sky with my mood.

My stomach growled and that sound soured my already black outlook. "Fuck it," I repeated, climbing to my feet.

Back in the kitchen I braved the refrigerator, opening the door. The light came on and I wish it hadn't. Some vile smell assaulted me worse than the one that had been attacking Steve Rodgers. It was bad. Worse than bad. It was a vile, putrid thing that had mass. I could almost hear the flies buzzing that should have been there. Roadkill probably didn't smell that horrible.

I shut the refrigerator, deciding that I'd have to buy a new one.

Fifty minutes later I was eating pizza on the patio listening to the sound of some frog croaking in the pond behind my house. Even that sound, one I normally enjoyed, seemed as somber as a sad country song, the kind of song where the love of your life dies after some long, lingering illness.

Something was wrong with how I was feeling. I knew that in a deep part of me, the part that hides your secrets from everyone including yourself. I didn't normally feel so morose but following the accident, I awoke from a coma hearing I'd lost a month of my life. That was both fresh and distant. As far as my mind knew I'd been fired just two days earlier and so that wound was new as well. The coma and coming home to an oppressive, smelly oven was just icing on an already shitty cake.

I finished my pizza and sat in the dark. The moon was barely a sliver and I didn't know if it was coming or going. I hadn't been around to watch its trek. That was another dark thought. I kept having those. Every little thing reminded me of what I missed.

I threw away my empty pizza box and went around the house, closing the windows I'd only just opened a few hours earlier. I locked the doors and went to bed hoping I'd wake to a new day feeling more like my old self, the me I was before I'd lost both my job and a month of my life. If I needed to find something to make me feel better than I would search forever if that's what it took. I couldn't go through life feeling like I did. If I did my life wouldn't last much longer. I'd end it just as surely as a drunk driver had taken the lives of both my mom and dad.

I would search for something positive.

I didn't have to search.

Bonnie found me.

*****

I awoke to the sound of someone ringing my doorbell and knocking at the exact same time. Knock, knock, knock; ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong. "Ugh," I grunted, sitting up. I glanced at the alarm clock. It was almost noon. Had I really slept that long? Why did large swatches of my life just up and disappear?

The chorus at my door repeated. "I'm coming!" I shouted but doubted whoever was at the door heard me over their incessant banging and ringing of the bell. I donned a pair of shorts that were now hanging from me. Another byproduct of being in a coma, I guess. I had lost nearly forty pounds. Where I had once been just a tad on the heavy side, I now looked to be far too thin. Maybe I was at a healthier weight, but my reflection hadn't look right. I hadn't look like me. That was something else that was stolen from me by my thankless coma. I thought I was too skinny, like that of some macabre scarecrow in some B-grade horror movie.

The doorbell rang out again followed by another trio of knocks.

I made it to the door, throwing it open as the doorbell rang again. Standing in the doorway was a lovely woman maybe a few years older than myself. She had hair that was both blonde and brown, the two intermixing like she didn't know what color she wanted. It seemed to fit her, gently framing her warm face. She was wearing a pair of blue jeans and a simple baby blue cardigan. Her purse, a simple brown Michael Kors bag was hung on her shoulder. "It's about time," she said, her smile lifting her cheeks and making her face shine. "I thought I'd be out here for...ev...er. Do you know how long forever is George? It's like," she brought one hand up and lifted one finger, then another, a third, counting out something in her head, "a really long time."

I had to smile. She had an air about her that was playful, and I found myself drawn to her. My smile faded as soon as I saw the ring on her hand. She was off the table. Not that it mattered much. I wasn't really in the right frame of mind to date anyway. Besides, what woman would have me with the things I had long wanted but had never truly pursued. "Can I help you?" I asked. She'd said my name, so she knew who I was, but I had no clue who was standing at my door.

She held out the hand that had rang the bell, "I'm Bonnie and I'm your home healthcare provider, your physical therapist, your shrink and, oh, anything else I need to be." She smiled again, even larger than the one she'd first given me. "Oh, don't look so scared. I don't hardly bite."

I tried to take in all she said but she was two steps ahead of me and I'd just woke up. My mind still seemed to be struggling to find neutral while Bonnie had already shifted into high. "Home what?"

"Oh, invite me in." She raised her eyebrows. They were brown not bicolored like the hair atop her head.

I stepped aside.

"It smells in here," she said. She had a slight accent that I couldn't place but it was lovely. She brought a hand up to pinch her nose. Then she laughed. It was high and light and full of merriment. She wasn't scolding me it seems. She was making a joke. "I'll have someone here tonight to clean the place."

"Why, I mean who, I mean, what's going on?"

Bonnie ignored me. She walked into the large family room, glancing at the tv and the remote that was sitting on the floor. She looked out the twin French doors that led to the back yard before turning right and walking into the kitchen. She placed her purse on the marble countertop. "You've got a nice place, George. A little stuffy but we'll take care of that shortly." She pointed at the refrigerator, "let me guess - don't open that."

I had followed her into the kitchen. "No. It's a lost cause. I'm going to buy a new one."

She made a noise, "I'll have it taken care of, too."

"Who hired you?"

She laughed again; it was a lovely sound. "You did, silly." The look I gave her caused her to frown. "You don't remember?"

"No. I'm sorry."

She pursed her lips, looking at me quizzically. "Come here," she reached out and took my hand. She pulled me to the living room. She picked up my TV remote and set it on my marbled coffee table. "Sit down, please."

I sat, feeling apprehensive and confused. Bonnie had been overly playful but now she had an air of concern and an equally stern look on her attractive face.

She sat on the coffee table across from me. She had me follow her finger with my eyes, moving it from one side of my head to the other, from my chin to about six inches above my head. While moving her fingers she said, "Remember the following: fire truck; ice cream; chihuahua; nineteen." She chatted with me, her hands on my knees, watching me. I felt like I'd been stuck between two pieces of glass and placed under a microscope. She was studying me, taking in my responses to her questions.

"What did I ask you to remember?"

"Fire truck," I began. "Um, ice cream. And nineteen." Nailed it.

"Great," she said but the look on her face showed that it hadn't been great. I'd gotten it wrong though I couldn't see how.

"I missed something, didn't I?"

"Chihuahua," she admitted. "How are you feeling?"

I told her I was feeling fine but a little confused, "I didn't remember you saying chihuahua. Is there something wrong with me?"

"Not at all. These short-term memory lapses are common after head injuries. Don't worry about it." She squeezed my hands and gave me a warm smile. "Now, why don't you give me a tour so we can see what needs to be done."

I wasn't ready for that. "Did I really hire you?"

Bonnie took my hands again, having released them in preparations of the tour she'd requested. "Right before you were released from the hospital we met. Doctor Raine would not sign off on your release without it. It was a lovely introduction; we hit it off right away." She regarded the look on my face, "okay, then. Hi," she dropped my hands to hold one aloft. She waited until I took it, "my name is Bonnie McPherson and I'm going to be your home healthcare provider."

She was so casual and didn't appear worried, but I was more than worried. I was almost in a panic. She said we'd met but I couldn't recall her or the conversations we'd had prior to my being released from the hospital. I chewed my lower lip, contemplating everything Bonnie had told me since she came storming into my house like a happy little leprechaun about to grant some wishes. She knew me and there was a warm camaraderie between us like we'd met and gotten along just fine. But why couldn't I remember her? I had asked that question as I shook her hand. Manners dictated that and my parents taught me manners long before they died.

"The brain is an amazing thing," she said. "It can recover from so many things. Right now, you're what, a little befuddled? That's nothing. Give it time, George. You were in a coma for weeks. Give yourself time to heal. Your memory will recover. Trust me, okay?"

I didn't know her well enough to trust her, but I knew me and if I thought she was okay then she had to be okay. She did know where I lived, she knew my name, and she was pretty, so having her around wouldn't be horrible. Far from it. "Okay, I guess."

"Great!" She hopped up, no longer sitting on my coffee table. "Now, how about that tour so I can see what we need to do."

I led her to the left side of my house. A short hallway off the family room revealed two bedrooms and a tidy bathroom decorated with a trio of shells hanging on the wall. A light blue towel hung neatly on a silver hook opposite the toilet. A matching rug rested in front of the tub. Opposite the bathroom was a linen closet full of towels and sheets, washcloths and blankets. To the right of the bathroom was my office. A small laptop computer sat on my desk with a single lamp resting on the desk.

A pair of bedrooms sat at the opposite end of the hall. Each room was decorated the same. A single queen-sized bed covered in a soft yellow bedspread, a nightstand and a dresser at the foot of the bed sporting a large-screen television set. "I'm prepared for guests," I admitted.

There were paintings on the wall of orchids and roses, cherry trees and one covered bridge with missing shingles spanning a small, bubbling stream.

"Very nice," Bonnie said. She opened the closets and checked under the beds. "Very tidy."

I basked in the praise. "Thanks."

We crossed to the opposite side of the house, passing the kitchen that overlooked the family room. She peered into the cabinets and the drawers as she went bye, taking in everything. Opposite the kitchen was the dining room where I had a large white hutch holding the China I'd inherited from my great-grandmother the year she died. Six tables encircled the oblong table and a simple, empty vase sat in the middle of the table.

We continued, passing the door that led to the laundry room and moved into the master bedroom. A king-sized bed dominated the room with a pair of nightstands straddling the bed. Opposite the bed another large screen television sat on an equally long dresser. My bed was unmade; I'd been sleeping until Bonnie had banged on my door and rang my doorbell. Another door led into the master bathroom. I kept telling Bonnie what each room was as if she couldn't trust her own eyes. She kept quiet, only a soft smile told me how amused she was.

She peeked into the walk-in closet off the master bath. "Oh," she said, her eyes getting big.

I let out an odd little sound, a cross between a squeak and a groan, "Shit," I said, racing to shut the closet door.

"Too late, George."

"Coffee?" I asked, trying to entice her from the bathroom and the now closed closet door.

She could sense my discomfort. I'd be unable to hide it if I wanted to. 'Too late, George,' she'd said. She had seen my closet, the one place I never let anyone see. Was my brain so scrambled that I'd forgotten what I had both hanging in the closet and sitting on the floor or had I been so, what was the word Bonnie used, befuddled, that I hadn't expected the tour to include every room in the house. Hadn't she just opened the closet doors in my two spare bedrooms? Why had I not expected her to look in my closet as well. "Coffee," I repeated.

She smiled, "sounds great."

I let out a little sigh, thankful that we were heading back into the kitchen. She sat in the breakfast nook, at a small wooden table with matching chairs while I set my coffee maker to brew. Soon the smell of coffee filled the room. Through it all Bonnie was watching me. She kept her eyes on me, watching my movements. "What are you doing?" I asked, feeling like I was an animal in an exhibit. I knew she'd seen my closet and what I had hanging within. How long until she asked about it and what would I say?

"I'm watching you make coffee. You're not hesitating at all; your movements are as sure and as concise as they can be considering your casts. You've not forgotten how, and you are coping very well, so I don't think you're a danger to yourself." She gave me a smile. "That's a very good thing."

She sounded so reasonable but what was she thinking? She had seen what I had not wanted her to see. Should I mention it? Pretend it didn't happen? Would she say something? My body went through the motions of making coffee, muscle memory guiding my actions. My mind was firmly latched on Bonnie and when she would ask about all that she had obviously seen. 'Too late, George'. Would those words now haunt me? Suddenly I was feeling as helpless as I had the night before after coming home to my stagnant home. A simple lapse caused by what, a scrambled brain or the remnants of an unwanted coma, had led me to reveal what I should have kept hidden?

I finished making the coffee and took a seat opposite Bonnie. I sat there, sipping my coffee, waiting for the inevitable and dreading what I'd say.

"Thanks," Bonnie said. She asked about my family, focusing on my words. She seemed satisfied by what she heard. I got the impression that the questions were part of a test and that I was passing. After finishing our coffee, she asked if I could have a friend spend the night for a few night nights. "If not, I can stay. I'd just have to let my husband know."

"He wouldn't mind?"

"He knows it's part of my job. I have a bag in the car."

I asked, "why do I need someone here? I did okay last night." But had I? Hadn't I thought of ending my own life, even if that thought had been fleeting? Maybe Bonnie was right. Maybe I did need to be watched. At least for a bit.

"You don't. Not exactly." She explained her reasons and I understood them even if I didn't fully agree. Or maybe I didn't want to. Still, she was the one trained in people recovering from comas and severe brain trauma. If she thought I needed a live-in babysitter than I guess I did. It dawned on me that we'd probably had this conversation already.

"It's just a precaution, right?"

"Right," Bonnie agreed. "It's not mandatory but I think it'll be beneficial. Have you taken a shower yet? Have you gone to the bathroom yet? You may need help, and someone should be here for you. At least for a few days."

I admitted I had not done either, at least not in the capacity that she meant.

"Why don't you, then," she said, taking a sip of her coffee that was more sugar and creamer than anything else. The only milk I had was sitting thick and rotten inside the fridge. "You can call out for me if you need any help."

I looked at my arms. My right arm was in a cast halfway to my shoulder while my left arm was encased in plaster up to my elbow. I could move my fingers in my right hand, but my left hand was mostly immobilized courtesy of my broken wrist. Making coffee had been challenging but not impossible. Bonnie was right; things were going to be tougher until I had my casts off. "Okay," I agreed. "I need a shower anyway."

The corners of her mouth lifted in a smile. "Good. While you do that, I'll have someone come clean the house and the refrigerator."

"It's a lost cause," I mumbled.

Bonnie tilted her head, "nothing is ever a lost cause, George."

Somehow, I thought she wasn't talking about the refrigerator. What was she commenting on? Me? It felt like she was speaking to a deeper part of me, far beneath the mostly superficial way we'd been conversing. It seemed her words held an underlying meaning, or was I just looking at them that way? Was there even a difference if her words had me wondering?

She took a sip of her coffee, her lovely brown eyes watching me over the rim of the cup. She put the cup on the table, "shoo," she said, rising to her feet to grab her purse. "I've got a call to make and you have to bathe. It'll be a good test."

And it was. I had no trouble stripping off my shorts and T-shirt. Starting the water was simple as well. My right arm was mostly useless, locked at the elbow and my left hand could only do so much when I only had my fingers free. It took me far longer to take a shower than I had anticipated and when it was over my casts were soaked even though I had tried to keep them out of the fine, heated spray. Still, I thought the shower was a success.

I dressed again in the same shorts and a different T-shirt, blue instead of green. I made my way back into the kitchen. Bonnie had washed our coffee cups and had set them to dry next to the sink. "How did it go?" She was talking before I even turned the corner.

"Fine, I guess."

"Good." She was sitting at the breakfast nook table again. "I'll have a cleaning crew here in less than an hour. Now, would you like me to stay?"

I considered it but somehow it felt wrong inviting a married woman to stay over. I doubt I'd let her stay even if I thought I truly needed it. "No, thank you. I'll be fine."

She was quiet for a few moments, regarding me silently. I had no way to know what she was thinking but I felt uncomfortable under her silent gaze. Finally, "okay. Good." Apparently, I had passed another test. "I'll stop by to see you tonight." With that, Bonnie stood, gave me a little hug and then grabbed her purse. "I'll bring dinner and then we'll go grocery shopping, get you some food in the house." She smiled again, a soft chuckle escaping her lips, "and you're right, the fridge is nasty."

"Told you."

"Oh, you told me a lot of things."

I did. I told her too much. I showed her far too much.

"And I think in time, you'll be okay."

True to her word, Bonnie had a cleaning crew show up to my house not twenty minutes after she left. Three women appeared, two were older than I and one was a teenager barely out of high school. They appeared carrying brooms and mops and one industrial strength vacuum cleaner. I did my best to stay out of their way as the swept and mopped the floors, dusted my furniture, my few knick-knacks and all my ceiling fans. They cleaned the bathroom and made the mirrors sparkle. The vacuum was every bit as ferocious as it looked, sucking up the scented powder that they'd put down.