Johnny launched into a set of dance tunes, and after a moment Vanessa closed her eyes and began to sway to the music. It hurt to watch her, sitting there in her chair, when she so obviously longed to be dancing. I tried to imagine how Vanessa would dance to this music if she could, what steps she might use, how she would look dancing here in my very own apartment. I could almost see her.
I could see her.
I blinked and turned to face her. She was still sitting in her chair, but she was motionless now, her hand pressed tightly to her mouth. She was staring not at Johnny, but at Lilly, who was no longer at the table.
Lilly was dancing.
And I had never seen her dance like this before. For a stunned, confused moment, I could not figure out what was different. Then I saw it. Lilly’s face was alive with expression. Her body moved with the music, from her toes to her fingertips, as if she were a part of it. I stole a glance at Johnny; he was trembling and he looked like he was about to drop the flute, but he somehow managed to play on without missing a note. Lilly lifted her arms, looking up exultantly, and spun across the tiny floor.
In the middle of a turn, Lilly’s legs buckled and she fell. The music halted just as abruptly; Johnny had dropped the flute. It hit the floor with a silvery metallic clank, then bounced twice and rolled into a corner. Johnny knelt on the floor in front of Lilly, and helped her up.
“Oh, Johnny, I felt that,” she said in amazement. “I really felt it; I understood it. I really did! Oh—” She fell against him, tumbling to her knees before Johnny caught her and lifted her back up. “My legs have gone very strange.”
“Can you stand?” Johnny asked anxiously.
“No, I don’t think so.”
Johnny helped her to a chair and she sank into it gratefully. Vanessa wheeled quickly to her side, her look of wonder changing instantly to alarm.
“Lilly, your legs. How do they feel?”
“It’s strange. Weak, and kind of numb. I suppose it’s just the M.S. getting worse.” Suddenly she looked frightened. “It is getting worse, isn’t it? It’s happening so fast. I didn’t think it would happen so fast.”
Vanessa took her hands. “It does seem fast, I know. But you’ll start treatments next week, and they’ll help, I just know they will. They have for me; I’ve had no progression at all since starting them. And they should work even better for you.”
“I’m frightened.”
Vanessa sat for a moment, mouth open, as if she had no idea what to do. And how would she know? Had her child ever been frightened before? Finally, hesitantly, she reached out and took Lilly in her arms.
On the Saturday after Thanksgiving, Tyler was at work in the M.S. lab, setting everything up for Lilly’s first treatment on Monday. I peeked in through the doorway; no one else was there. I took a deep breath and went in.
“Heather,” Tyler said. He looked surprised to see me.
“Hi. Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Sure.”
“It’s about Lilly. She’s had some really dramatic changes.”
He frowned. “The symptoms are that much worse? What’s happened?”
“The symptoms are worse, I suppose, but that’s not what I meant. She’s started feeling things. On Thanksgiving she was listening to Johnny play his flute, and all of a sudden she could feel the music. She understood it. And she was frightened about having M.S. She wasn’t frightened before, you know.”
“I know,” he said softly. “Is this still going on?”
“Yes. Sometimes it’s more intense than others, but ever since then, yes.”
“And the M.S. symptoms?”
“Her legs seem worse. But that kind of comes and goes, too.”
“And she’s never had feelings like this before.”
“No. Never.”
Tyler sat silently for a time, staring blankly at his computer screen. Then he shook his head slowly. “It’s one hell of a coincidence, isn’t it.”
“That’s what I thought.”
He said, “Lord knows it probably is a coincidence. They do happen. All the time. But I wonder… you know, she does have brain stem lesions.”
I looked at him in confusion. He caught my look and explained, “A few patients with brain stem attacks have emotional lability. The slightest thing can make them laugh or cry; the feelings are so strong that they’re literally overwhelming. I’ve got one patient who has to take tranquilizers and antidepressants just to function.”
“Then the M.S. might be what’s giving Lilly these feelings.”
“It’s possible.” He stared at me for a moment, then shook his head. “But there’s no way to know for sure.”
“Oh.”
“But whatever the cause, it s such a marvelous thing for her, to be able to feel, after all this time!”
“Yes. You should have seen her listening to Johnny’s music.”
“Must have been great.”
“Yes.”
The door flew open abruptly and Dr. Peterson hurried in with an armload of folders. He nodded to Tyler, dumped his folders on another desk, and sat down with a sigh.
“Excuse me a minute,” Tyler said. “I’ve got to ask Dr. Peterson something, and it’s best to catch him before he gets buried in his papers.”
“Sure,” I said. He crossed to Dr. Peterson’s desk and I bit my lip; as soon as he got back I could say We re taking Lilly to the cafe tonight, and Johnny’s playing. Why don’t you come? But then I remembered how he’d looked at me when I’d come in. Surprised to see me. Startled, really. Perhaps it would be better to leave well enough alone. After all, here I was, poorly educated, no artistic talent, plodding along in a dead-end job with no ambitions for anything else. What research physician in his right mind would be interested?
So when Tyler returned, I thanked him politely for the information, and walked away.
At the cafe that night I sat with Lilly in the candlelight, listening to Johnny and his band. They played exceptionally well that night, inspired, no doubt, by Lilly. She sat perched on the edge of her chair, her face rapt, leaning forward as if to capture every nuance of the music. Johnny never took his eyes off her, and I knew he played and sang for her alone.
At the end of the first set the band took a break, drifting out into the audience for drinks and conversation, and Johnny went straight to Lilly.
“Will you show me the instruments?” Lilly asked, and Johnny took her by the hand, leading her from fiddle to dulcimer to percussion. She touched Gillian’s keys experimentally, setting off a rippling chime, and peered curiously at the mixing bowl. She played a few notes on the dulcimer, and laughed in delight. Johnny smiled at her in a way that I had never seen before, a dizzying, breathtaking smile, and took her in his arms. She held on to him tightly, holding on, I knew, to someone she suddenly and unexpectedly loved. It was a beautiful sight, really. But painful for me. If only someone would smile at me like that. If only someone would hold me like that.
On Monday morning Lilly went to the hospital, leaning on a cane, and politely refused treatment. Vanessa and Dr. Peterson were utterly shocked; Tyler was not. I wasn’t surprised either, though neither Tyler nor I had talked to her about our speculations. She had obviously speculated a bit herself.
After a brief and emotional argument, Vanessa wheeled off in tears, and Dr. Peterson shrugged and philosophically returned to his office. Lilly turned to Tyler, looking troubled. “You understand, don’t you?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“I didn’t decide this lightly. I’m frightened of the disease, of how fast it’s progressing. But I just can’t take any chance of losing this, this… feeling.”