Just Remember to Breathe (Thompson Sisters)

categorized most of Forrester’s library within the first two weeks. Once, maybe twice a week, we’d go get some coffee afterward, and talk.
    Dylan was different. I’d known that since we first encountered each other again, but sometimes I could see it in conversation. Yeah, he was physically different, of course. But he was also quieter. When we knew each other in Israel, he always had a goofy smile, made silly jokes. Now, not so much. Occasionally I had to prod a little to get him to talk at all. It was disconcerting.
    This day was different. I’d been delayed in class, and I got to Doctor Forrester’s office a few minutes late.
    When I walked in the door, Dylan looked like… I don’t know. Like he was sick. His face was pale, and he was staring out the window, not actually doing anything, and he was breathing really quickly.
    “Hey,” I said. “Are you okay?”
    He looked at me, startled. He was wearing sunglasses in the office, something he did pretty frequently, now that I thought about it. Almost like he was hung over. But Dylan didn’t drink. At least he didn’t used to.
    “Yeah,” he said. “I’m all right, just a rough morning.”
    “You want to talk about it?”
    “No,” he said.
    Well, that wasn’t ambiguous.
    We went to work, sorting through the last of Forrester’s collection. Next time we’d be moving over to the library of rare books and manuscripts to start searching for additional materials. I dreaded the change. Not because there was anything horrible about it, but mostly because I’d come to really enjoy our sessions in Forrester’s office.
    Speak of the devil. The door opened, and Forrester stumbled in.
    His eyes went to Dylan, and when he saw his pale face and sunglasses he grinned. “Good afternoon, you two. The morning after is always a little rough, isn’t it Dylan?”
    Dylan sort of grunted, didn’t really answer.
    “A little hair of the dog?”
    “No thank you, sir.”
    That was the first time I came close to really disliking Forrester.
    An hour later we were sitting in the coffee shop. He was looking worse, his face even paler than before. I said, “Dylan, I’m worried about you. You sure you’re okay?”
    He took off his sunglasses and rubbed his hands against his eyes. His hands trembled.
    “Hey,” I said. I leaned forward when he put his hands down, and took one of them in my own. “I know we’ve got our… um… history. But if you need to talk, I’m here.”
    He looked almost as startled as I was when I took his hand. He looked at me, and swallowed. I let go, and you know, it kind of hurt to do that.
    He shook his head, quickly, then muttered, “Brain injury. I’m not sure I’m going to make it through school. I’m not…”
    He tried to say something else, then just stopped. I’d seen him do this several times over the last couple weeks. He’d be saying something, then just clam up. He closed his eyes, emphasizing the dark circles under them, and took a couple of breaths. Then he said, “I’m not… smart. Not like I used to be. Can’t remember things.”
    Oh, Dylan. I had to blink back tears.
    “Maybe I can help,” I said, very quietly. Please, just say yes. Okay, Kelly was right. I still loved him, and seeing him like this, on a bad day, made me want to go quietly somewhere and cry. Please, I thought, let this man heal . And God, please protect my heart, because I can’t take breaking it again.
    He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
    “Well,” I said, sadly. “Think about it.”
    “There is one thing,” he said in a husky whisper.
    “What?”
    “My doc says… I have to start running again. And… well… you’ve seen how I walk. I need a spotter. Basically someone to follow me and call the ambulance when I fall over.”
    “You want me to… run with you?”
    He nodded. His eyes darted away from me, as if he was looking for an escape route, then back. “Look, I shouldn’t have asked. I just don’t really know anyone here.”
    My heart might have stopped. “I’d be happy to go running with you, Dylan. When?”
    “Tomorrow? At six?”
    “In the morning?”
    “Is that too early?”
    Yes.
    “No. That’s fine.”
    Good God. What was I doing?
    My mouth ran off with me again. “Let me get your number, in case something comes up.”
    So, for the first time since we broke up last February, we exchanged phone numbers.
    After we split up, I walked back to the dorm. And I was afraid. Oh, God I was afraid. Afraid I was going