SONYA
Mom and I don’t talk about Trisha’s revelation. That she knew what he had done and continued to live with him makes me furious. I don’t understand, but I fear if I demand an explanation it will fall short, and I will finally have the excuse to hate her. I wonder if I haven’t been searching for one forever.
Trisha continues to stay with us, sleeping in my bed with me as if we are once again children. She barely comes out of the bedroom, preferring the security of the blankets and the bed to returning to real life. Mom brings her food in the room, leaving the plate on the table next to where she is sleeping. It is the only way Mom knows how to offer comfort—feed away the sadness.
Mom and I limit our conversations to Trisha’s well-being. She asks me how Trisha slept; when I return home from work, I ask her how Trisha’s day went. We play this back and forth for an entire week, neither demanding any further answers from the other. I know when Trisha finally showers—there’s a wet towel neatly hung in the bathroom. When I check the room hoping to find my sister awake, she is curled yet again under the covers. I try to talk to her, but she simply shakes her head no. Not yet, she seems to say. Not yet.
I return to the hospital, finding the place I have used as an excuse to remain in the area has become a haven. I work with the patients, spending hours teaching them how I escape my world so they can escape theirs. When I find them getting lost in the beauty they can create, I see through their eyes how photography became my flight, and once again I am thankful that my vocation found me.
I have successfully avoided seeing David since our last encounter. I don’t work the long hours I used to, choosing instead to leave at my designated time so there’s little chance of us running into each other in the halls during the evening hours. Once I am out of the hospital, I drive around the city, using my camera as a guide. The other day I arrived at an outdoor wedding. Keeping my distance, I shot over a hundred pictures of guests and the happy couple. I suddenly found odd comfort in the gathering. Afterward, I gifted the couple the memory card containing their pictures, telling them I was just an amateur photographer.
Today, I drive to San Jose and walk the streets, appreciating the diversity of people who inhabit the city. I photograph faces and interactions, capturing moments so that they can last a lifetime. Returning to what I love helps me forget what happened between David and me, and what I almost did in the bar.
My phone rings in the middle of the shoot. “This is Sonya,” I answer automatically.
It’s a nurse asking if I’m nearby. A patient has come in, a teenager with a neurological condition. Would I be able to spend some time with him this evening? I glance at my watch. Normally I would have still been in the hospital, available. “I’ll be there in fifteen,” I promise, ready to hang up.
“Oh, Sonya?” the nurse says, “Dr. Ford asked me to let you know he’s the attending.” There’s a question in her voice, curiosity as to why David would feel that was important enough to mention.
What I don’t confide in her is that David is giving me a way out. An opportunity to say no so I don’t have to see him. I don’t take it, not analyzing the reason why. “Thanks. Let him know I’ll call him as soon as I finish with the patient.”
“I’ve been playing soccer since I was a kid. You know those kid leagues where everyone gets a medal for participating?” Will is fifteen. He’s staring at the camera in his lap. He’s had three grand mal seizures in the last two days. “I’m the captain of my team.”
“You must be really good,” I say, feeling his pain from my seat next to the bed.