Some days are better than others. Most start out pretty good. Justin wakes up and looks for me, and then he smiles when he sees that I’m still there. I can’t help but smile back. His smile always has been contagious.

His appetite isn’t the greatest, but I’m comparing it to the Justin I knew ten years ago, the Justin I lived with for eight years, and I keep trying to remind myself that people do change I may not know everything about him anymore. If he could say more it would help me get to know him again, but I’m not complaining. A week ago I wasn’t sure he’d make it this far.

He can say so much, without saying a word. He always thought it was a special gift he had being able to read me when I wouldn’t utter a word. I’m finding out now that I have the same gift when it comes to him. I just never knew it, hell this is the first time he’s ever been this quiet, this is the first time I’ve ever needed to rely on this ‘power’.

He’s sitting up in bed looking at the designs on the wall that Gus hung just a few weeks ago. I can see the recognition in his eyes. He knows which ones Gus did and I’m sure he can spot the ones that I created. He smiles as he looks at them, and turns to look at me, the smile is still in place, but his eyes hold a sadness in them that nearly breaks my heart.

“Why?” It’s one of the few words he’s actually speaking. Every time I hear it I ache to hold him in my arms and comfort him. For someone trying to put up a brave front his emotions sometimes get the best of him, because now his face is a mixture of confusion and sadness.

“I don’t know Justin.” It was all I could say. It was a much better response than I’d given him the first time he asked me. “Shit happens, Justin.” Sometimes I wonder what possesses these things to come out of my mouth.

I think he remembers what happened now. I’m pretty sure I saw it in his eyes a few days ago, when Gus walked in the room. He motioned Gus over to him and he hugged Gus tight. They both were in tears and I know it helped Gus to share the pain of it with Justin. I excused myself and let them be alone for a little while. I knew Gus needed to tell Justin exactly what happened, just as much as Justin needed to hear it all. The same way I knew that I couldn’t listen to it.

He reaches out to me, and I’m sure my eyes have betrayed me as well. The sadness I’m holding inside has escaped a few times before this, I’ve seen it myself when I look in the mirror. I take his hand and give him a reassuring smile.

“Don’t think about it. Okay?” He nods. “You’re getting better every day. I know you can’t see it but trust me. You’ll be back to your old self before you know it.”

His eyes brim with tears and he looks down. I know he doubts my words. I cup his chin in my hand and bring his eyes level with mine, forcing him to look into them. He has to see that I believe this, so that he’ll start to believe it himself.

My afternoons are spent waiting alone in Justin’s room while he is in physical therapy. Thankfully this time his motor skills weren’t affected, he’ll still be the creative genius he’s always been. He just needs to regain his strength from being down for so long. He’s usually exhausted when he gets back to the room and I can see in his eyes that there are a million things he wants to say, but he can’t. That’s when the days start to get rough.

He’s weak as the nurse wheels him into the room and helps him into bed. He keeps pushing the nurse off, wanting to do everything for himself. This nurse doesn’t seem to take the hint and gets a glare from Justin.

“NO!!!!!!!!” He yells at her and she backs off a bit. He gets into the bed and lies back with his eyes closed. The nurse seems angry as she pushes the empty wheelchair out of the room. He opens his eyes as the door closes and I can feel his eyes on me.

I’m sitting on one of the more comfortable chairs in the room. It’s tucked away in the corner and I’m pretending to read a magazine while I watch Justin shift around in bed. He’s agitated and full of anger. He rolls over on his side and he’s looking over at me now, clearing his throat to get my attention. I look up setting the magazine down next to me in the chair.

“Good workout?” I ask casually.

He glowers at me and raises his middle finger toward me.

“Now is that nice?” I ask him with just the slightest hint of sarcasm.

He sighs heavily as I cross the room toward him.

“Gus stopped by while you were gone.” Even I’m amazed at how calm I’m being. “He brought you this.”

I toss an empty sketch pad down on the bed and a pencil.

“I’m hungry. I’m going to get something to eat. You want anything?”

He nods.

“Well, what would you like?”

He looks at me angrily. I feel like a prick asking, but I do have a purpose in this question.

“Well?”

If looks could kill, I’d be dead right now. He just shakes his head as if to tell me to forget it. He’s not hungry, and we both know that’s a lie.

“Draw it.” I say and sit back down in the corner chair. “I can wait.”

He looks down at the sketch pad, and then looks at me still a little angry, but he picks it up and begins drawing. I pick the magazine back up and flip through the pages, while I watch him. A few minutes into his drawing I see the tension and anger leave his face. He’s concentrating on the drawing he’s working on and I see a look of calm overtake him. I actually stop watching him then, feeling as if I’m intruding on his thoughts, and I finally read something in this damn magazine.

“Brian.” He says softly to get my attention when he’s done.

I walk over and look at the pages.

“Christ Justin! You’re going to have to schedule two sessions of physical therapy for tomorrow if you eat all that.”

He smiles and points to me.

“Oh you think I’m going to help you eat all of it?”

He nods.

“When was the last time you saw me eat French fries and cheeseburgers? And, if I’m not mistaken you’ve drawn two milkshakes there.”

He giggles and nods.

“Two?” I say and look at him mystified.

He points at himself then at me.

“I am not drinking a milkshake.”

“Yes.” He says and grins.

“No.”

He points at the picture then at the door. The little fucker is ordering me to go get his food now. He must be feeling better.

“Okay, I’m going. I’m going. I’ll be back.”

As I leave the room I see him flip the page and start on another drawing. I smile completely pleased with myself. I knew he just needed to find a way to let the outside world in on his thoughts and Gus won’t mind taking the credit for his old man’s plan.

I’m not sure if he’ll still be awake when I come back. I know he’ll rest eventually.He’s usually better if I can coax him into sleeping for a little while after his physical therapy. He wants to be awake, he wants me to talk to him, but he’s just so aggravated that he can’t hold a conversation that he ends up angry with me. If he sleeps for awhile, he wakes up in a better mood, and by then Gus is usually there for a visit. If he fights the sleep that his body needs, he’s almost unbearable to be around. Today though, I knew immediately that his need to communicate was more important than his need for rest.

His food might be cold by the time he wakes up if he does fall asleep, but I’ve never seen him turn food away for any reason, so that shouldn’t be a problem. I look at the clock near the elevator, it’s just between the lunch rush and the dinner rush down at the diner, and if I hurry he should still be awake when I get back.

To Be Continued...