The Almost Murder and Other Stories by Theresa Saldaña Read Free Book Online Page B

jeans. Stiffly, rolling my shoulders I walked to the tray table to check out my Get Well cards. Delgado strode in, shook her head and snapped, “Guess you never felt like callin’!”
    I shrugged.
    As Delgado checked my vitals, I kept my head down, trying to hide hot, unexpected tears.
    â€œStill feel sorry for yourself?” she asked. There was no edge in her voice.
    I sniffled, “Yep. So would you.”
    She was silent.
    A nurse’s aide dropped off my food tray just then. Delgado picked it up and moved toward the door, beckoning me to come along.
    â€œWe’re eating with friends,” she said.
    I followed her pink-uniformed, chunky frame into the elevator. She pinned a “Volunteer” button on my T-shirt and said, “There’s your title. Try living up to it.”
    I read the words “Burn Unit” over the archway of a door. Delgado led me through it and down a gleaming corridor. We took a right turn and walked into a small cafeteria. Delgado whispered that this place was nicknamed “The Burn Café” by residents of the ward and their families.
    Delgado found her sister, Marta, the Burn Unit’s charge nurse, as she was finishing a poster she’d taped to the wall announcing an activity. She introduced us, telling Marta I was the girl she’d told her about. Her sister was as slim as Delgado was plump, but just as energetic. She smiled and told me she was glad to meet me at last.
    Delgado told us she had to fly and headed out the door. Marta asked if I’d like to meet some people my age, and I nodded; there wasn’t much else to do.
    She led me to a table of patients: two girls and a boy.
    All three looked me right in the face, without judgment or shock, and smiled. I looked at them, too, really looked. For the first time since the crash, I saw people like me: scarred, torn, kindred spirits. I felt indescribable comfort and a buzz of excitement.
    Jordy and Barbara had facial scars. Ellen, in a wheelchair, had both legs and one arm bandaged and splinted. Their eyes said everything.
    I put my tray down, and we ate lunch together. No one was nervous or timid around me. No one looked away from my face.
    After a while, Jordy said, “All of us were burned—obviously. Do you mind telling us what happened to you?” For no reason I could figure out, I laughed. And then, I told them.
    We went around the table, briefly saying what we’d been through. They were accustomed to doing this, but taking part in this tiny, powerful support group was a first for me. We were interrupted by a candy striper, who announced that my three new friends were late for occupational therapy.
    I told them that I’d be getting discharged the next day. Jordy seemed disappointed and invited me to come up to the unit that evening. There was to be a lecture and rap group. I agreed, eager to see them again.
    Delgado was about to clock out but told the charge nurse, Tiffany, where I wanted to go. She also okay’d me to attend the group. I rode up in the elevator, my stomach fluttering.
    In a big meeting room were patients of all shapes, sizes, colors, ages, along with many family members. All of them had gathered to hear a speaker.
    The subject was “humor in the face of adversity.” Our speaker, who’d written of her experience and been published, had lost her two children and husband in a freak accident. She told her story and handed out free copies of her book.
    During a break, my three friends introduced me to everyone there. I met an Asian man who had much of his face, including his nose, burned off. I was touched by him. He had beautiful eyes, a soft voice, a shy wife and a toddler who crawled all over him, unfazed by his scars or missing nose.
    I wasn’t the only one who’d been through pain, who still felt it.
    After the break, we were invited to share stories related to our experiences. I told them that I’d hidden in a stifling,