Thank Yous

Emory

Lex looks different when he comes in. It’s not just that he’s got smudges of dirt all over him and his clothing is torn, something I can’t imagine from the polished Lex I saw at dinner the other night and in the library earlier, but his countenance has changed.

“Hello,” he says as he walks to the foot of my bed. He doesn’t sit in the chair his brother vacated about ten minutes ago, nor does he find another one. He just stands there, with his hands folded in front of him. “How are you?”

I’m starting to get my ability to feel my body back now. I am still a bit tingly in the extremities, and my shoulder is starting to hurt a little, but I don’t want more medicine because I don’t want to lose my ability to feel, so I haven’t told the doctors.

In response to Lex’s question, I say, “I’m better, thank you.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” he says politely. “Dr. Martin is very good.”

I nod. I haven’t had a chance to meet the man yet, not that I remember anyway, but I am looking forward to thanki