What Passes For Normal

Chapter 2

Bizarre feeling, waking up in a bed—soft pillows, sheets, a duvet, the works, all clean and fresh. Not exactly what I'm used to lately.

I remember that woman, Neea, actually apologizing. She was helping me down the stairs to her half-finished basement, chirping away about how the room was being renovated so please excuse the exposed framing and unpainted drywall. If she knew where I usually sleep...

What time is it? Have I been out for one night, or is it, like, days? Light fills up the room from two small windows up on one wall. On a dresser in the corner there's an old clock that reads seven-fifteen, but it doesn't seem to be changing so it could be any time.

I move my legs under the covers and the dull ache I was feeling in my upper thigh turns into sharp pain. Impact point with the car, probably. Somehow my leg isn't broken, and really, how am I not dead, or at least way more hurt? Maybe their car wasn't going that fast? Fast enough to send me flying, but I guess that's cuz I'm small and light like a ragdoll. Just glad I didn't crack my head or mess up my internal organs.

After a lot of talk and confusion at the hospital about paperwork and insurance we finally got to see a doctor. They looked me over, took an x-ray, then the doc came back to tell us there was no permanent damage. Strong bones, she said. Must be due to my stellar diet and health regimen. Anyway, she wrote up a prescription for some painkillers and gave Neea instructions on what to do to keep the swelling and bruising down. While we were still at the hospital Neea got in touch with the police, apologized about not waiting at the scene, etc. She really turned on the charm, and they ended up being okay with her just coming into the station for some paperwork or something. They want my name and particulars but I don't see too much fallout coming from this.

We came back here to their house around nine and had a late and pretty uncomfortable dinner: me sitting there in pain, mostly ignoring my plate of reheated leftovers, and then grumpy Ted getting up to take his dinner up to his room, making some excuse but apparently not willing be in the same room with me, this piece of human garbage they picked up off the street. He was super nice after I got hit, and on the way to Emerg, and while we went through all the rigamarole at the hospital, but then he got moody as it slowly sunk in that Neea was planning to bring me home and not leave me there at the hospital.

I needed to sleep, so Neea brought me down to this room right after we ate. The crazy woman then proceeded to wake me up three or four times through the night, interrupting violent dreams each time, in order to ice and elevate my leg and give me new doses of the painkiller, following instructions from the doctor to a T. Other than that, it's just been me down for the count.

• • • •

Teddy stood by the big bulletin board in the Welcome Centre of the Schuler Building on the campus of Songhees College. His mom had been very serious about the importance of getting involved in clubs, sports, volunteer work and all the extracurricular stuff that would help him get the most out of college life and become a well-rounded person. He thought it sounded fine, but none of the things tacked on the board really interested him: rowing club, chess club, sewing club, Latin dance, Jiu-Jitsu, hiking, rock-climbing, robotics, anime, and on and on.

Maybe if there was robotic Latin dance, he thought, or Jiu-Jitsu rock-climbing...

Besides clubs, there were Songhees Radio, Songhees Web TV, yoga, flower arranging, public speaking, Amnesty International, Greenpeace, campaigns to save the marmots, the spirit bears, elephants and sharks. Teddy was all for animals and the environment but he had the rest of his life ahead of him for causes like that, and he had enough on his mind in first year.

And, of course, there were sports. Tons of sports. Teddy had a bit of a problem with sports. He'd always had the potential to be athletic, but in his younger years he just never found a sport he liked. His mother thought he was too shy to join a team. Maybe she was right. After a while, he got a reputation for not being a sports guy and it was like he was forced in the opposite direction. Soon he began to hate the whole idea of sports because people constantly asked him about it. What sports are you into? Why aren't you into sports? You're tall so why don't you play basketball? You're Canadian so why don't you play hockey? On and on...