And when I turn my head, God lets me know He has accepted my apology.
When they first brought Danny to the bad place, he wouldn’t talk. Like me and everyone else, he had a scar, but his was much larger and on the back of his head, making a bright pink line in his Afro. For a month or so, he just sort of sat in a chair by the window of his room as speech therapists visited and left frustrated. Me and the boys would stop in and say hello, but Danny only looked out the window when we talked to him, so we thought he was one of the people whose brain trauma was so bad he was most likely going to be a vegetable for the rest of his life—sort of like my roommate, Jackie. But after a month or so, Danny started taking his meals in the cafeteria with the rest of us, attending music and group therapy sessions, and even going on a few group excursions to the shops by the harbor and the Orioles games down at Camden Yards. It was obvious that he understood words and even was pretty normal—he just wouldn’t talk.
I don’t remember how long it took, but after a time, Danny started talking again, and I happened to be the first person he spoke to.
A girl from some fancy college in Baltimore came in to provide what we were told were “non-traditional treatments.” We had to volunteer for the sessions, as this girl was not a real therapist yet. We were skeptical at first, but when she came to promote the program, we were soon persuaded by her girlish figure and cute, innocent-looking face. She was very nice and quite attractive, so we all did whatever she said, hoping to keep her around—especially since there were no women patients in the bad place and the nurses were extremely ugly.
For the first week, our college student had us look into mirrors a lot as she encouraged us to really get to know ourselves, which was pretty out-there. She’d say things like, “Study your nose. Look at it until you really know it. Watch how it moves when you breathe in deeply. Appreciate the miracle of respiration. Now look at your tongue. Not just the top, but underneath. Study it. Contemplate the miracles of taste and speech.”
But then one day she paired us randomly, had us sit facing each other, and told us to stare into our partner’s eyes. She had us do this for a long time, and it was quite weird because the room was completely silent, and men do not usually look into each other’s eyes for long periods of time. Then she started telling us to imagine that our partner was someone we missed, or someone we had hurt in the past, or a family member we hadn’t seen for many years. She told us to see this person through our partner’s eyes, until that person was in front of us.
Looking into another person’s eyes for an extended period of time proved to be a powerful thing. And if you don’t believe me, try it yourself.
Of course I began to see Nikki, which was strange because I was staring into Danny’s eyes, and Danny is a six-foot-three black man who looks nothing like my ex-wife. Even still, as my pupils remained locked on Danny’s, it was as if I were looking directly into Nikki’s eyes. I was the first one to start crying, but others followed. Our college girl came over, said I was brave, and then hugged me, which was nice. Danny said nothing.
That night I woke up to the sound of Jackie’s grunting. When I opened my eyes, it took a few seconds for my pupils to adjust, but when they did, I saw Danny standing over me.
“Danny?” I said.
“My name’s not Danny.”
His voice scared me because I was not expecting him to speak, especially since he had not spoken to anyone since he arrived.
“The name’s Mad Nipper.”
“What do you want?” I asked him. “Why are you in our room?”
“I only wanted to tell you my street name, so we could be boys. But we’re not on the streets right now, so you can keep calling me Danny.”
And then Danny walked out of my room and Jackie quit grunting.
Everyone in the bad place was pretty shocked when Danny began speaking regularly the next day. The doctors said he was experiencing a breakthrough, but it wasn’t like that. Danny just decided to talk. We really did become boys and did just about everything together in the bad place, including our exercise routine. And little by little I found out Danny’s story.