Chapter 9

I feel like I'm going crazy. These past couple of days, all I see is my wife. She's come to visit every day without fail. Usually, I just ignore her, but now my eyes are basically searching for her. I become uneasy if I don't see her by 12 o'clock. Is this what happens when you're stuck in a room for a month? Do you start changing preferences?

"Is there something on my face?"

I blink… I didn't even notice I've been staring at her this whole time without blinking. She looks skittish in her seat, clearly not used to me looking at her so much.

"It's nothing… just bored."

I want to slap myself. What kind of excuse is that? Why do I even feel shy? I've stared at hundreds of beautiful women before. God, how much more pathetic can you make me?

"If that's the case… do you want to take a walk? There's a private area if you want… there won't be any other patients around."

Well, she said "walk," but it's more of me being pushed in a wheelchair with the help of Nurse Sam. She was so sure she could put me in the wheelchair by herself, but not even a foot off the bed, I almost crushed her. What a silly woman.

The soft wind feels nice. Maybe I was feeling suffocated. It's been, what, a month since the car crash? The hospital park is definitely a nice addition. At least they're making good use of my investment—they even planted apple trees.

"Oh… there's a ripe one… want me to get it for you?" my wife said happily, pointing at the red fruit on the tree.

"You're going to fall—" My mind became fuzzy as I watched my wife try to jump up to get the apple.

'Look, there's a ripe one!' A small, childlike voice echoed in my head.

'Careful, you're going to fall,' another voice echoed, but this one was a bit more boyish.

What was that…? A memory?

"Here, look… it's perfectly red," my wife said, showing me the apple she just picked. Indeed, it was a very red apple.

'See, it's very red,' the same childish voice echoed in my head. For a second, I could see an image of a little girl holding up an apple toward a taller boy. The boy just laughed.

Why does it feel so familiar, as if I know what happened next?

'You silly girl.'

"You silly girl."

It came out as naturally as breathing. Was this my memory? Why only now do I remember it? I looked up at my wife, who was standing still, as if frozen. Her mouth was half-open, and her eyes looked surprised, as if she'd just seen a ghost.

"How do—"

"Yo."

My wife's words were cut off by another person. Both of us turned toward the source of the voice.

"Oh, did I come at a bad time?" Renold said, realizing he was interrupting something.

My wife left to give us some time to talk. Renold pushed my wheelchair to a nearby bench just below the shade. Why did she have to leave me with him, though? It's not like we were discussing something secretive. With how reckless I was with my affair, I doubt she hasn't found out about the things I did.

"So… how's your recovery going?" Renold started, looking at my cast-covered legs.

"Can't tell… it's been like this since your last visit," I said sarcastically, rolling my eyes. The cast on my legs hasn't moved in the past month.

"Man, you're really good at throwing shade at people. I mean, how are you feeling?" Renold laughed, leaning his back against the park bench.

"Oh… I'm good?" I wasn't really sure how to answer that. Other than not being able to stand up on my own, I guess I'm just alive.

"Yeah, I can tell." Why the hell did you even ask, then? I'm seriously questioning this guy's way of communicating.

"Nah, really… you look more relaxed, more mellowed down, I suppose. You were always intense, both in the game and just going about life. Either calling the other guys names if they made a mistake or picking up women like they were fruits." We both laughed. It does feel like just yesterday I was still playing on the field and going to bars and clubs just to pick up women. But strangely, I don't miss that feeling anymore. It was agonizing for the first week—everything was so slow and stressful, and I couldn't control my emotions. But now, I can barely even remember the feeling. It's like those times when I was the famous Jordan Blythe were just a dream.

There was silence for a few minutes, just the sound of the wind and leaves. No buzzing crowds, no piercing screams of fans, or constant music. I never knew I would love this kind of atmosphere.

"You know… the team is still waiting for you…" Renold started, though I doubt they'll keep me if they find out I can't play anymore. Still, it's nice to know they still want me there.

"It's not like I'm going anywhere…" I laughed, trying to brush the tension away. But Renold is a sharp guy. His brow creased—he definitely caught something off.

Before Renold could continue, I just looked at him. I knew he could see it—that I didn't want to talk about my condition anymore. He just nodded and stared at the sky with me until my wife returned to take me back to my hospital room.