With the memory of the stinging pain I felt the last time I tried to open my eyes still fresh in my mind and not eager to repeat the experience, I decided that the smartest thing to do was to leave my eyes closed for the moment, even though I had already regained consciousness for a few minutes. Instead of worrying about my sight, I focused on the rest of my senses to take stock of my condition.

The good news was that my body hadn’t deteriorated while I was unconscious, at least there were no new aches or pains from what I could sense. The bad news was that I still hadn’t recovered any ability to move my arms or legs. That combined with the lack of sensation from my limbs and extremities, I felt like my body had been encased in a heavy lead shell.

Eventually, I grew tired of staring at the darkness behind my eyelids so I gingerly opened them just a crack to check if I had gotten my vision back.

Thankfully, there was no searing pain even though the light still seemed a little too bright and it took a while for my sight to come into focus. When the blurriness did finally go away, I was greeted by the scene of two very different looking women staring down at me as I lay in a bed.

The two women appeared so different from each other that the extreme contrast was somewhat comical. The one standing to my right and gazing at me with calm steady brown eyes behind a pair of old fashioned spectacles. She was a very tall African American woman with an impressive physique. Her well-toned body could not be hidden beneath the business suit and lab coat she was wearing.

On the other hand, the woman to my left was looking at me with her light hazel-green eyes squinted in nervousness, as if she was afraid my head could explode at any minute. I didn’t know if the paleness she was exhibiting was a sign of her anxiety or just how she normally looked, but her milky white complexion made the light dusting of freckles on her nose, cheeks and forehead more conspicuous than they would have been otherwise. She had a very slim build that could be described as petite, especially when seen next to the other woman standing opposite her. In fact, she looked like a child wearing a grown-up’s clothes. The dust covered, oversized jeans coveralls she was wearing was jammed underneath a clear plastic hazmat suit which itself looked a little crumpled because she had to tighten the size-adjustment bands on her waist as much as she could.

She must have noticed my incredulous expression as I looked at her ridiculous getup because she blushed bright red and said, “I know what I’m wearing is a little strange but it is not like I chose these clothes. I was out spelunking in a nearby cave system when all this happened. I didn’t exactly have time to care about my wardrobe.”

I think she didn’t realize what she was saying before she spoke, and by the time she heard her own words, it was already too late. All she could do was blush even harder and start to stutter incomprehensibly. At this point, I decided to save all of us from embarrassment and spoke to calm the poor girl.

“Greetings Dr. Karp. My name is Jonathan Gates, and I understand you have been the one taking care of me? I would get up to properly express my gratitude, but as you can see, I’m somewhat indisposed, what with the bandages and the anesthetics keeping me stationary from the neck down.”

The good doctor would probably be a lousy poker player because her thoughts were clearly revealed by her reactions. Where she was blushing furiously before, now her jaws had slackened and her mouth was hanging open in shock. Her expressions were almost cartoonish.

Although Doctor Karp’s reaction was rather extreme, it was not by any means considered abnormal when compared to the way people usually responded to my more mature mannerisms and speech. I also admit that it was something of a guilty pleasure of mine to surprise people with speech that wouldn’t normally be associated with a child my age and observe their reactions. In fact, what I found more interesting than Doctor Karp’s reaction was the other woman’s complete lack of one. She just kept looking at me with the same calm expression as if it was only natural for me to speak like an adult. I had an inkling that she had already figured out what was going on, but I tried to get a rise out of her anyways.

“Doctor Beatrice Queen, it is an honor to meet you in person. I am a big fan of your work on artificial gene-delivering viral agents. I think the whole concept is positively inspired. To what do I owe the honor of having one of the world’s leading geneticists at my bedside?”

As I expected, there was no surprise on Doctor Queen’s face. She probably already figured out my condition, she was one of the very few people who would have come across such a rare congenital defect in the course of her work.

On the other hand, Doctor Karp still seemed to be struggling to speak, but she finally managed to struggle through her stutter to ask, “Wait, how do you know who we are?”

“I follow a few of Doctor Queen’s lectures online, so it is only natural that I recognize her. As for you, Doctor Karp, I heard your name mentioned when I woke up earlier. I also heard you speak and noted your youthful voice. Add that to the fact that you are wearing a self-cleansing hazmat suit, which has been a recent trend that had appeared among overburdened trauma surgeons who do not have enough time to go through sterilization and decontamination procedures between patients, I could deduce your identity.” I felt a jolt of smug joy as I noted the unconcealed amazement from Dr. Karp. It was juvenile and trite, but I still found enjoyment in impressing the unsuspecting doctor.

My attention that was focused on the more entertaining Dr. Karp was drawn to Dr. Queen when she, without giving any prior warning, sat on my bed on a spot right next to me and stared right into my eyes. Something in her gaze made me uncomfortable, but for some odd reason, I couldn’t look away from her. After a few moments of eye contact, which to me felt like an eternity, she smiled and said in a very soft yet steady voice, “A lot of people have the misconception that people with higher intelligence suffer from a deficit of emotions. They think that if someone is smarter than normal, then that person will somehow be unable to feel as much as a normal person. They believe that he or she will be able to shackle and control his or her emotions using intelligence. Of course, they would not be faulted for thinking that way because a lot of smart people build barriers around themselves like a protective shield. They seem to believe that feeling emotions would erode their rational side and diminish their intelligence. They see emotions as things to be suppressed and controlled, that expressing them openly would be a sign of weakness.”

I fidgeted under her serene gaze that seemed to see right through me. “What are you trying to say?”

“I am not a psychologist, but I do interact with a lot of very smart people on a daily basis, so I know a thing or two about the way they think and act. You are a very smart young man Mr. Jonathan, smart enough to fool others and even yourself if you wanted to, but I can tell you that it isn’t necessary to hide your pain. I lost my husband in this disaster. He was the most important person in my life and I am devastated by his loss. I might seem calm on the outside, but I am in the process of grieving. I spent the last hour by his side, saying my final farewell. In a way, I think I am lucky because I got the chance to say goodbye. As one person who is mourning to another, I can see the pain you are hiding. It is tempting to think that by ignoring it, it will go away, but I promise you that it will only grow and end up harming you in ways that will be difficult to recover from. My advice is to just let it all out. We will not judge you or think any less of you if you do.”

I tried to respond to her one sided assertions. I tried to argue that grieving for someone who has died was illogical; if someone was in heaven enjoying paradise, we should feel happy for them, and if there is no after life, then it is meaningless to care for an entity that no longer existed.

In the end, I couldn’t say a single word. The only response I could muster were the twin streams of tears that escaped my eyes and soaked the bandages covering my face.