Tears streamed down my face, and one hand wasn’t enough to wipe them all away before the next stream flowed onto my cheeks. I had taken my music away from myself. I can’t dance or sing or play my bass. I’m useless. My gaze drifts to my arm, where I used to dig my fingernails as a teenager. I’d tattooed over the site with a flaming blue bass, my way of conquering the control she’d once had before my emancipation. I wanted to touch the tattoo, but my right arm remained frozen at my side. It was the first thing that I’d inked onto my body, and it remained one of the few times that I’d successfully taken control of anything in my life. My tears slowed, and I could finally keep up with them. I returned to my list, adding my latest wishes.

To touch my tattoo To wipe away my tears

Digitalis returned to the room, holding her head in her hands as she sat on the couch again. She set her phone on the coffee table where my cocoa had been and hugged herself.

“Asya…” She didn’t look at me, staring instead at her phone. “I know what it’s like now. I want to take pills again. I thought that would go away after the detox, but… It’s tempting… I want to escape.”

I tilted my head, and she met my eyes. Nervously, she laughed.

“You’re the only one that understands me, you know. Can I talk to you about something?” Her voice shook, and she didn’t wait for me to nod before she continued. “When you… When you almost died, I… I knew that I had to change. That night showed me how dangerous it was to live the way we did. That night, I almost lost you.”

I held my breath. She took my hand, the warmth of it waking the nerves that felt like static most of the time. This wouldn’t be enough to make it move again, but it was nice anyway. I waited while she collected her thoughts, an anxious flutter in my chest as I imagined what she might tell me.

“I…” She squeezed my hand, the anticipation building inside of me. “I can’t describe what it was like, to walk into what I did that night.”

I perked up, my left hand gripping the arm of my wheelchair. Describe it. I urged, wishing that she could read my mind.

“It haunts me, Asya. When I saw that cup, that color… It was like I was in that bathroom again. I wonder if you feel the same, but you probably don’t remember it so well. You were unconscious for a lot.” She looked at our joined hands. “When I remember… I wish that I wasn’t sober. I would think, ‘this must be how Asya felt when he was in rehab. This must be what he was going through when he came back.’”

I sighed. She wasn’t going to recount that night for me. Her eyes were glassy and pained, staring at our hands like she could see the past through them. I gazed at them, too, wishing that I could have some footing in the conversation. I bit my lip, knowing that she wouldn’t think to give me voice through her cell phone keyboard like Gael would. Should I just reach for her phone myself? I should at least comfort her, somehow...

“I blame myself for your relapse. I’ve been dragging you down from the beginning, but when you returned from rehab, you were more vulnerable than ever. I’m a terrible person, aren’t I? When you wanted to be sober, I dangled liquor in front of you until you drank it. When you were down, I told you to bury it down with my pills. I’m a monster. I wish I’d known that it was so hard to resist those temptations. I wish I’d known that it wasn’t all just a choice to you.”

She raised my hand and clasped it with both of hers. I brushed a tear away with my good hand, offering her a comforting smile. She didn’t open her eyes to see it.

“I’m so sorry.” She sobbed.

It was as if I wasn’t even sitting in front of her. My words were gone and my actions didn’t change anything. I was hearing the words someone said to a grave, absorbing regrets I couldn’t respond to. I needed to give her words. Digitalis was the person who understood me more than anyone, but it didn’t matter. She held my hand and spoke to me, but it didn’t change the fact that I was all alone. I may as well be dead in this chair, for all it would change. A sensation of familiar loneliness washed over me, deepened by helplessness.

“I’m so sorry.” She repeated, pressing my hand against her face like a stuffed toy. With my good hand, I brushed her hair from where it stuck to the streaks of tears on her cheeks. Only then did she open her eyes to look at me. Again, I gave her my comforting smile. Warmth filled her eyes, and she returned it with one of her own.

“You’re my best friend.” She got up to hug me, and I wished I could embrace her the same way. One arm wasn’t enough to bring myself close to anyone. For a moment, she rested her face on my shoulder. Her leftover tears left my shirt damp and her breathing tickled my neck. Her cheekbones dug into me too much, but I endured the discomfort for her sake. When she finished, she looked at me again with a gratitude in her eyes. The connection between us was becoming too long, and I was grateful when she snapped up, her attention shifting suddenly to the kitchen.

“Oh! I forgot about your cocoa!” She darted into the kitchen, grimacing when she touched the red cup that she’d poured it into. She popped it back into the microwave. “Sorry! It got cold.”

I nodded, pulling my list back into my lap.

To hug someone with both arms. To make my own cocoa.

I wished that I could write ‘To pour myself a drink,’ but Francine and everyone knew about my old alcoholism, and they’d know that I meant whiskey. I thought about Digitalis’ words. I yearned for pills again, too, but now I was scared to even think about giving in.

To open jars and bottles.

The wording was innocent enough, disguising the desire to pop open a pill bottle that brought the wish to mind. I thought of a few more obvious ones, starting with the wish that I didn’t have to use my only working hand to move around. It maddened me that I had to stop everything to get from point A to point B unless someone pushed me around.

To multitask- Doing something with my hands while I moved from one place to the next. To stand and reach high places To get into bed myself. To type with both hands again.

The last one seemed bitter to scrawl onto the page. Typing would make this list a far easier project, but Francine insisted that I train my left hand to write. Besides that, my old typing skills amounted to little now that only one hand can move with dexterity. I was thrown almost all the way back to using the elementary ‘hunt and peck’ method of typing. Trying to write anything was like banging my head into a wall.

Digitalis delivered the cocoa to me, curiously glancing at my list.

“Wow. That puts a lot of things into perspective, Asya. I never thought of all the things I’ve taken for granted.” She sat down and I bit my lip.

I knew that she didn’t mean to be rude, but her statement still grated on my nerves a bit.

“I know that you want to be independent again, but I honestly kind of like how close we’ve gotten lately. Tucking you into bed at night leaves me all warm and tingly.”

I laughed, and I imagined the sarcastic remarks I could give if my mouth could make words as it was supposed to. I picked up the cocoa and took an indulgent sip. The cup was always kind of heavy to start, and my hands shook. When I first began physical therapy, the weight was too much and I would drop the cup without help. The ability to drink something hot from a glass mug like this was a mark of achievement, the reason I’d selected it for my reward. The cocoa warmed me too much, and I set it down to throw my lap blanket onto the chair beside me.

“Man. It must suck to be so sensitive.” Digitalis leaned into the chair, observing me.

Another fun side effect of brain damage was that my body had a hard time regulating my body temperature. It was like a running joke to Digitalis, who got to watch me throw my blanket on and off all day. Funny, until I need more than just the addition or removal of a lap blanket.

“Do you need your fan on?” She asked, putting it on top of the table from where she stored it on the shelf beneath the tabletop.

I shook my head. I’d rather put the cup down for a minute so I wouldn’t have to put my list away. The fan would make it go cold too quickly, if I let her switch it on.

To turn on my fan.

“Maybe we can work on teaching you how to talk again?” She offered, wiggling her hips giddily in her seat like an excited puppy.

I cringed. Digitalis was the last person I wanted to practice with. Even when she held back her teasing, her words begged to slip out from behind her tightened lips. It was a struggle for her not to laugh while I struggled to say something coherent. It was even worse when her patience wore away, and she became short-tempered and spiteful.

I looked down at my list, a rough row of near-illegible scrawling.

To sing and talk.

I sighed and nodded. She squirmed excitedly, and I rolled my eyes. If the experience was always hilarious and then frustrating for her, why was she always so thrilled to do it?

“Alright, Asya.” She made a mischievous smirk. My hope for a serious session died before I could give it life. “Start by telling me I’m amazing.”

I opened my mouth, prepared to tell her to fuck off. It made no difference. The words were too jumbled to understand, either way.

***

Weeks ago, I was confined to the hospital while the doctors and my friends came up with plans for me. Digitalis was the one that stayed in my room by my side. Somehow, I hadn’t expected her to be the most thoughtful of my emotions. Here she was, worried that I would be lonely while everyone else was outside making my future for me.

“I don’t know why Gael and Absinthe would pass up an opportunity to sit in this chair.” She had her hand on my bedrail, her eyes focused on the dying morning glory. It had revived a little since she passed the duty of watering to my nurses. She continued, “I visit you every week, but it’s so much better to talk to you when I know you can hear me.”

Her gaze moved to me, and I realized that this was the first truly intimate moment we’d shared as friends. Digitalis had changed. She was more caring to start, but she looked different, too. Her skin had a healthy glow. Her hair was shiny. The circles beneath her eyes had disappeared. She’d looked this way on the cover of albums and magazines, but I’d never seen her so vibrant without the help of a makeup crew.

I touched her wrist, where I saw a flash of vibrant blue. Her eyes moved to my fingertips where they touched her. She raised her hand to show me a tattoo of a morning glory, much like the one that wilted on my bedside table.

“After everything that happened… I had to change. Seeing you in that hotel room, I knew that I’d taken you and everything else in my life for granted. So I got this tattoo. Everyone else in the band got one, too, but it was my idea. It’s blue, like your hair… I thought this flower fit you the best.” She stared at it, a weariness in her eyes contrasted with the rested appearance of her face. “Do you like it?”

I stared at it a moment longer, studying the bright blue petals. Should I be honored that she got a tattoo for me? I only have guilt. I don’t think I expected to leave any sadness if I had taken my life.

I nodded, mostly to reassure her. It was a beautiful tattoo, but Digitalis was never the sort of person who would have picked out a plain flower like this for herself. She’d chosen it for me, for whatever reasons she had. If I hadn’t hurt her, she would have put something else on her wrist. Maybe a bright red rose would have replaced the blue morning glory? That would have fit her better.

“I started going to a therapist. I’m… I’m messed up, Asya. I always have been.” She squeezed her eyes, looking at my dying plant again. “I got a detox for the pills. That was… Rough.” A darkness filled her eyes. “It was worth it. I feel… Healthy.”

Healthy. I remember what that was like. For me, it was like I was wiped clean. The experience reminded me of the painful perfection of my childhood home. I couldn't stand to be that way. I wondered if Digitalis had a different perspective. She never seemed the type to desire order over chaos.

“None of it was as good as this, though.” She looked up at me, “I can talk to you again.” Tears budded in her eyes, “I thought you’d never open your eyes.”

She pulled me into a tight hug. I was a rag doll, only able to throw my working arm around her as she clung to me.

***

My cocoa was cold, and Digitalis had gone to make dinner. I drank the thick chocolate anyway, watching her out of the corner of my eye as she fumbled with a kitchen knife. She swore at the raw meat that she tried to cut, using a plate instead of a cutting board. Dinner has become my evening entertainment. I’ve never been much of a chef myself, but Digitalis’ inexperience was comically lacking. As she’d disturbed me with her laughter when I failed to speak, I returned the favor as the plate flipped upside down under the pressure of the knife.

Digitalis glared at me, waving the blade in my direction. “Why don’t you get up and lend a hand?”

I raised an eyebrow, pointing at the motionless limb at my side.

“I know.” She retorted. “You can’t.”

I squinted at her, pursing my lips while she put the meat back on top of the plate. I lifted my list, glaring at the knife in her hands as I added my new idea.

To cook for myself.

I held back the urge to add “edible food,” knowing that Digitalis would read my list later and see it as a personal attack. Although, she might take it that way even as it’s written…

I look at my right hand. Francine warned me about overexerting myself, but I wanted to move it so badly. I twitched a finger, the most I was capable of at the moment. I squeezed the arm of my wheelchair with my left hand, willing my right to rise from where it lay in my lap. Nothing changed. One finger, I promised myself. If I can curl one finger, I can relax for the rest of the night. My finger trembled again as I focused on it, but it was more stubborn than I was. It refused to bend, to move at all aside from the pathetic shaking.

Glass shattered in the kitchen, and my eyes snapped away from my useless hand.

“God-Fuck-Dammit.” Digitalis disappeared behind the counter, the sound of scraping glass accompanying the motion. The plate with the meat on the counter had vanished. She stood back up, her eyes darting around the kitchen. “Asya, do you remember where the broom is?”

I pointed at the crack between the fridge and the wall where the red handle poked out of the shadows. She thanked me and started sweeping the glass, cussing beneath her breath.

To use a broom

It was safe to assume that she ate out often before I moved in.

“Asya, can you go to that pizza joint’s website and order something? I ruined dinner again. Don’t tell Francine I gave you junk food.”

I shook my head, smiling. This was the third pizza order of the week. By now, I had a favorite order saved to the website and everything. Digitalis cussed as she swept the glass away, and I closed my eyes for a brief nap.