“You come back next week for that check up, you hear. Now, before you get up off that bed, remember: Your legs are very weak, you haven’t used those muscles in quite a while, so go easy at first.” The doctor said to Colby.
Colby swung his body up into sitting position, his legs dangled freely below, almost touching the floor. They were a pasty white where the rest of his body had been charred by the northern summer sun; they looked like chicken legs.
But they were moving. They were no longer in that itchy, smelly, retarded cast. They were free, and so was Colby. Free to drive. Free to walk out the doors. Colby was free for the first time since his accident in January, only 7 months ago.
His toes touched the cold tiles and the feeling made him jitter and smile. His leg muscles flexed as he pushed himself forward to stand. He wobbled for a second, but could keep his balance.
“Wow, I never thought walking would feel so good!” Colby’s grin was as if he was the second-grade birthday boy ready to open a table full of wrapped presents. He walked in short strides on wobbly muscles, shaking to the pressure and the weight that they had received such a long break from.
Minutes later, he was driving his mother home. “I am proud of you, Colby.” Avery started to tear up as she brushed his stubble-laden cheek.
“I’m your kid, you ought to be! I can’t wait to get to the house, my clubs are all polished, and I only got one month to get ready!”
He pulled into the golf course an hour later. He remembered he had to take it easy until his legs grew a little more accustomed to supporting his weight. His bones felt great, but those muscles just weren’t strong enough to do anything.
“Give me a bucket of range balls, Pete.”
“Good to see you walking again, man. What have you been up to?” Peter asked as he fished out a token from the register for the machine outside.
“Rolling around on twenty-inch wheelchair rims all summer! Hey I’m sure I will see you again soon, gotta go get that swing back.”
“Take ‘er easy!”
The wind blew hard as Colby walked up to the range. He set his golf bag down and bent over for a ball. He dropped it on the green earth and pulled out a wedge from his bag.
Nice and easy, he thought.
Follow through, he thought.
Head down, he thought.
He pulled the club back and made some nice, smooth practice swings. He heard the whoosh of the club as it touched the grass below. The blur of the club head made him smile and respect what he had even more, now that he was out of the wheelchair.
He addressed the ball lying on that patch of ground. He gently placed the thin blade-like head behind the ball, thinking those same three thoughts. As he drew his club back, he caught and held his breath, as he always did.
The hesitation at the top of his swing was there, his body was coiled and poised for as much potential energy as he could muster. He let the club down its path, striking the ball. The ball took off, but instead of floating on the breeze, it shot straight forward and beat itself into the grass a few yards ahead of Colby.
“Caught thin. Can’t expect everything, I guess.” Colby said, reaching for another ball.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Part 10
“Hey Cappy! how have you been?” Colby said over the phone. The summer sun was beaming into his bedroom window and was baking his arm. The brown carpet seemed to have a platinum-plated shine to it.
“I’ve been well. You know me. So how are the legs treating you?”
“Funniest thing, actually. I might not have to play the U.S. Amateur in the wheelchair!”
“You can’t play golf in a wheelchair. Plus, usually, it’s me that needs the wheelchair by the end of the round. Wait – won’t be playing in a wheelchair? I thought yer legs were all broke and shit?”
“Well, they are. But they are healing really well, the doctor even said so. I want to know that if there was a chance that I could play in the amateur, would you be my caddie?” Colby asked. Cappy laughed in the phone so loud Colby had to hold the phone away from his ear and wince.
“Of course I would, but don’t get your hopes up, now. Those damn doctors never get their shit right. I’ll tell you what. You get out of that cast, you give me a call and we will work on your swing, ok?”
“Sounds good. Hey it was good hearing from you.” Colby hit the end button on the phone and set it in the armrest of the wheelchair. I will get out of this chair. I will get out of the casts, he thought.
The June sun warmed the outside air as Colby wheeled his way onto the deck and down the new ramp that his uncle built. The ramp was crooked now, the snow and the cold dwarfed his uncle’s ability to build the ramp to the quality he wanted and when the frost left, the posts sunk into the ground. Now, the ramp was tilted more towards the side than down and Colby had to watch out or the chair would roll off the side and send him flat on his ass in the driveway.
“Are the keys in the ignition, Colby?” Bruce asked. He was home for the next few days and wanted to give Avery a break from trucking Colby around the town.
“Yep.” Colby said as he hit the remote button for the side door. The contraption flung itself out and he wheeled himself up on.
When they got to Amanda’s therapy place, Bruce shut the van off. “Hey, kiddo. You behave in there.” Bruce smiled and his large hands rubbed against Colby’s hair, messing it all up.
“Yea, I know. Hey dad, do you think I can get better by the end of summer?”
Bruce looked at his boy. “Kid, you got the potential to do whatever you want. I have seen you do it. Remember that tournament in New Hampshire a few years back? I watched you play a shot on the 16th hole from the woods and on the green. By all rights, you should have lost, even Cappy said that afterwards, but you decided to take the shot through the trees and cut it around the bunker. When it landed on the green, nobody believed it. That birdie turned the tournament around, then you won the next two holes to win. It takes more than some cuts and bruises and even broken bones to stop drive like that.” Bruce didn’t answer the question, but he knew that Colby needed to hear that anything was possible.
“Ok. Come August, I will be in Washington County, swinging my clubs, listening to my caddie.”
Colby opened the door again and listened to the motors whizzing as the metal under him sent him back into the 80 degree weather and the beaming sun hitting the blacktop driveway with enough force to make it feel like the wheels were going to melt off the chair.
“Hey Amanda! How is my sweetheart?” Colby asked, smiling as the air conditioning hit him in the face while he rolled into the building.
“Same old things. Helping people with life, are you ready for today? I thought we might try something new.” Amanda said as she walked around the counter. Her baby-blue tank-top paired with her white shorts made each curve on her body the perfect accent, and they were in all the right places.
“Always ready to try new things,” Colby said with a smile. Today they were going to start working on his torso and moving his toes constantly. Colby placed himself under a bar and lifted himself off the chair. The exercises from there were strenuous, and very tough for Colby, but Amanda was beside him, coaching him all along the way. Soon, they stopped for their first break.
“So how did the doctor’s visit go yesterday?” Amanda asked.
“Well, I didn’t get any dates, but he did say that my leg re-alligned itself and was making more bone, or something.” Colby said as if he were trying to translate some foreign language.
“Oh? The bones must be aligned to where they should be then. That is very good, and they said they have already started connecting back together, huh? That’s way ahead of schedule!” Excitedly, Amanda raised her hand up and gave Colby the sign for a high-five.
“We gotta work hard now, though. I can’t be giving up on this one, not yet!” Colby said.
“I’ve been well. You know me. So how are the legs treating you?”
“Funniest thing, actually. I might not have to play the U.S. Amateur in the wheelchair!”
“You can’t play golf in a wheelchair. Plus, usually, it’s me that needs the wheelchair by the end of the round. Wait – won’t be playing in a wheelchair? I thought yer legs were all broke and shit?”
“Well, they are. But they are healing really well, the doctor even said so. I want to know that if there was a chance that I could play in the amateur, would you be my caddie?” Colby asked. Cappy laughed in the phone so loud Colby had to hold the phone away from his ear and wince.
“Of course I would, but don’t get your hopes up, now. Those damn doctors never get their shit right. I’ll tell you what. You get out of that cast, you give me a call and we will work on your swing, ok?”
“Sounds good. Hey it was good hearing from you.” Colby hit the end button on the phone and set it in the armrest of the wheelchair. I will get out of this chair. I will get out of the casts, he thought.
The June sun warmed the outside air as Colby wheeled his way onto the deck and down the new ramp that his uncle built. The ramp was crooked now, the snow and the cold dwarfed his uncle’s ability to build the ramp to the quality he wanted and when the frost left, the posts sunk into the ground. Now, the ramp was tilted more towards the side than down and Colby had to watch out or the chair would roll off the side and send him flat on his ass in the driveway.
“Are the keys in the ignition, Colby?” Bruce asked. He was home for the next few days and wanted to give Avery a break from trucking Colby around the town.
“Yep.” Colby said as he hit the remote button for the side door. The contraption flung itself out and he wheeled himself up on.
When they got to Amanda’s therapy place, Bruce shut the van off. “Hey, kiddo. You behave in there.” Bruce smiled and his large hands rubbed against Colby’s hair, messing it all up.
“Yea, I know. Hey dad, do you think I can get better by the end of summer?”
Bruce looked at his boy. “Kid, you got the potential to do whatever you want. I have seen you do it. Remember that tournament in New Hampshire a few years back? I watched you play a shot on the 16th hole from the woods and on the green. By all rights, you should have lost, even Cappy said that afterwards, but you decided to take the shot through the trees and cut it around the bunker. When it landed on the green, nobody believed it. That birdie turned the tournament around, then you won the next two holes to win. It takes more than some cuts and bruises and even broken bones to stop drive like that.” Bruce didn’t answer the question, but he knew that Colby needed to hear that anything was possible.
“Ok. Come August, I will be in Washington County, swinging my clubs, listening to my caddie.”
Colby opened the door again and listened to the motors whizzing as the metal under him sent him back into the 80 degree weather and the beaming sun hitting the blacktop driveway with enough force to make it feel like the wheels were going to melt off the chair.
“Hey Amanda! How is my sweetheart?” Colby asked, smiling as the air conditioning hit him in the face while he rolled into the building.
“Same old things. Helping people with life, are you ready for today? I thought we might try something new.” Amanda said as she walked around the counter. Her baby-blue tank-top paired with her white shorts made each curve on her body the perfect accent, and they were in all the right places.
“Always ready to try new things,” Colby said with a smile. Today they were going to start working on his torso and moving his toes constantly. Colby placed himself under a bar and lifted himself off the chair. The exercises from there were strenuous, and very tough for Colby, but Amanda was beside him, coaching him all along the way. Soon, they stopped for their first break.
“So how did the doctor’s visit go yesterday?” Amanda asked.
“Well, I didn’t get any dates, but he did say that my leg re-alligned itself and was making more bone, or something.” Colby said as if he were trying to translate some foreign language.
“Oh? The bones must be aligned to where they should be then. That is very good, and they said they have already started connecting back together, huh? That’s way ahead of schedule!” Excitedly, Amanda raised her hand up and gave Colby the sign for a high-five.
“We gotta work hard now, though. I can’t be giving up on this one, not yet!” Colby said.
Part 9: The first promising doc's visit
“What has he done in the past two months?” Colby’s doctor asked his mother.
“Well, he has been burning the midnight oil, working harder than – well, even I have wanted him to. He wants to get that cast off as soon as possible, and he hasn’t liked what you have said about how long his leg will be in that cast.” Avery said, partially proud of her hard-working son and partially worried that what the doctor was going to tell her was that Colby had thwarted the healing process of his leg.
“He has been doing a very good job. I haven’t seen bones heal at this rate in a long time. Apparently, he has been dedicating himself in every aspect to getting better. His bones have already realigned themselves into the correct position and, to make it even more amazing, they have already begun building new bone and reconnecting the pieces. What has his diet been like?”
“Milk all the time, doubling his dairy intake and craving meat, but I think that last part is because he has been training so hard too. Do you think he has a chance to get out of his cast this summer?”
“At this rate, it is tough to say. What I can say is this: my first determination was based on normal circumstances, and there was a chance that Colby might not ever walk – or walk easily again. Now, the circumstances suggest that it wasn’t a matter of if or how hard it would be for Colby to walk again as it is a question of when he will. If he keeps doing whatever he is doing, it’s tough to say, but he might be out of that cast by the end of August.
“End… of August?” Avery said, knowing that the U.S. Amateur was scheduled for the end of August. Colby was going to need at least some time to work with his caddy, work on his swing, and work on the mental game. Colby wasn’t going to do well hearing that. “Can you do me a favor?” Avery asked the doctor.
“That depends on what it is.”
“Don’t tell Colby that. It would break his heart if he couldn’t play in a golf event, scheduled for the end of August. He needs as much hope and prayer as he can get.” Avery’s soft eyes were full of concern, but the doctor nodded, turned, then walked a few steps, then disappeared behind the corner in the white hall of the hospital. It was almost as if the doctors around here were trained to blend in and disappear in the blink of an eye like that.
“I need to call Cappy, let him in on the news, not to excite him or anything, just to let him know we aren’t completely lost of hope for playing in the U.S. Amateur!” Colby said as Avery started up the van. It had been fitted to suit and load up Colby in his wheelchair, at a very expensive cost. Fancy metal and motors surrounded the old back seats of the van, the same van that played ‘Golf mom’ for Avery when Colby was in his teens and ripping up the turf all around Maine. People said it wasn’t a matter of when he would play against professional golfers as much as it was a question of when. Avery immediately recalled her visit with the doctor.
“We don’t need to call him yet, why don’t we wait a few weeks, maybe after the next doctor visit?” Avery said, trying to calm Colby down. It would break his heart if he knew that the doctor didn’t think it was possible for him to have his leg out of that cast by August. It would further break Avery’s heart to see Colby in such low spirits when he has been so high in hopes for the past few months.
“Whatever, it doesn’t matter, really. I am playing in the tournament, wheelchair or not. I would just play better if I could stand up to take the shots!” Colby said sarcastically. “So either way, I will need Cappy for my caddy!”
“Well, he has been burning the midnight oil, working harder than – well, even I have wanted him to. He wants to get that cast off as soon as possible, and he hasn’t liked what you have said about how long his leg will be in that cast.” Avery said, partially proud of her hard-working son and partially worried that what the doctor was going to tell her was that Colby had thwarted the healing process of his leg.
“He has been doing a very good job. I haven’t seen bones heal at this rate in a long time. Apparently, he has been dedicating himself in every aspect to getting better. His bones have already realigned themselves into the correct position and, to make it even more amazing, they have already begun building new bone and reconnecting the pieces. What has his diet been like?”
“Milk all the time, doubling his dairy intake and craving meat, but I think that last part is because he has been training so hard too. Do you think he has a chance to get out of his cast this summer?”
“At this rate, it is tough to say. What I can say is this: my first determination was based on normal circumstances, and there was a chance that Colby might not ever walk – or walk easily again. Now, the circumstances suggest that it wasn’t a matter of if or how hard it would be for Colby to walk again as it is a question of when he will. If he keeps doing whatever he is doing, it’s tough to say, but he might be out of that cast by the end of August.
“End… of August?” Avery said, knowing that the U.S. Amateur was scheduled for the end of August. Colby was going to need at least some time to work with his caddy, work on his swing, and work on the mental game. Colby wasn’t going to do well hearing that. “Can you do me a favor?” Avery asked the doctor.
“That depends on what it is.”
“Don’t tell Colby that. It would break his heart if he couldn’t play in a golf event, scheduled for the end of August. He needs as much hope and prayer as he can get.” Avery’s soft eyes were full of concern, but the doctor nodded, turned, then walked a few steps, then disappeared behind the corner in the white hall of the hospital. It was almost as if the doctors around here were trained to blend in and disappear in the blink of an eye like that.
“I need to call Cappy, let him in on the news, not to excite him or anything, just to let him know we aren’t completely lost of hope for playing in the U.S. Amateur!” Colby said as Avery started up the van. It had been fitted to suit and load up Colby in his wheelchair, at a very expensive cost. Fancy metal and motors surrounded the old back seats of the van, the same van that played ‘Golf mom’ for Avery when Colby was in his teens and ripping up the turf all around Maine. People said it wasn’t a matter of when he would play against professional golfers as much as it was a question of when. Avery immediately recalled her visit with the doctor.
“We don’t need to call him yet, why don’t we wait a few weeks, maybe after the next doctor visit?” Avery said, trying to calm Colby down. It would break his heart if he knew that the doctor didn’t think it was possible for him to have his leg out of that cast by August. It would further break Avery’s heart to see Colby in such low spirits when he has been so high in hopes for the past few months.
“Whatever, it doesn’t matter, really. I am playing in the tournament, wheelchair or not. I would just play better if I could stand up to take the shots!” Colby said sarcastically. “So either way, I will need Cappy for my caddy!”
Part 8: The slow Weeks
There wasn’t much that Colby could do as the snow melted away. He was so used to going golfing every chance he got, or even having to work that he had forgotten how boring it was – how scary it was to be confined to the restraints of a life that had no responsibilities or any abilities, for that matter. He stayed at his parents’ house with nowhere to go, other than the days that he got to spend with Amanda. That’s what kept his sanity, when he got to go there, see her, and do something. The doctor visits weren’t nearly as fun, but again, it kept him from absolute boredom, and lately, the doctor was bringing only the best of news as to how his body was healing so rapidly.
“The doctor says I might be able to get out of this wheelchair by next winter,” Colby said, lacking enthusiasm.
“You know, sometimes, a person can change their stars. Sometimes, if a person works hard enough, they get rewarded by finally getting what they have worked so hard for. If you want to, I know I can help you get back on your feet, you have inspiration, you have that want to get out of this wheelchair and get back to living.” Amanda said as Colby continued to work his upper-body with free-weights. She was sitting on the weight bench beside him, clipboard in hand, but she was looking at Colby with eyes full of all the enthusiasm that he had been lacking ever since the doctor gave him an idea of how long he was going to be in that cursed wheelchair.
Colby put the weights down and looked back. “Do you really think that? I mean, a doctor ought to know when I am going to get out of this damn thing.”
“A doctor can make a hypothesis based on the circumstances. If your circumstances improve, the doctor’s hypothesis will change.”
“Yea. So what’s next?” Colby asked, tired of being on break. The rest of the afternoon of therapy marked the change in behavior, from relaxing physical therapy to aggressive. Colby pushed harder, tried harder. He was still limited by the cast running down his full leg, but he hadn’t resigned from the U.S. Amateur competition yet, and he didn’t plan on doing so. If there was so much as a chance that he could play.
Days ran into weeks. Weeks ran into a couple of months. Each day, Colby worked hard, hard enough so that he was exhausted every night. Amanda was by his side all the while, sweating with him, working hard with him, and pushing him until he couldn’t push any harder. For a while, it was hard to tell who wanted Colby to get better more, Colby, or Amanda.
“The doctor says I might be able to get out of this wheelchair by next winter,” Colby said, lacking enthusiasm.
“You know, sometimes, a person can change their stars. Sometimes, if a person works hard enough, they get rewarded by finally getting what they have worked so hard for. If you want to, I know I can help you get back on your feet, you have inspiration, you have that want to get out of this wheelchair and get back to living.” Amanda said as Colby continued to work his upper-body with free-weights. She was sitting on the weight bench beside him, clipboard in hand, but she was looking at Colby with eyes full of all the enthusiasm that he had been lacking ever since the doctor gave him an idea of how long he was going to be in that cursed wheelchair.
Colby put the weights down and looked back. “Do you really think that? I mean, a doctor ought to know when I am going to get out of this damn thing.”
“A doctor can make a hypothesis based on the circumstances. If your circumstances improve, the doctor’s hypothesis will change.”
“Yea. So what’s next?” Colby asked, tired of being on break. The rest of the afternoon of therapy marked the change in behavior, from relaxing physical therapy to aggressive. Colby pushed harder, tried harder. He was still limited by the cast running down his full leg, but he hadn’t resigned from the U.S. Amateur competition yet, and he didn’t plan on doing so. If there was so much as a chance that he could play.
Days ran into weeks. Weeks ran into a couple of months. Each day, Colby worked hard, hard enough so that he was exhausted every night. Amanda was by his side all the while, sweating with him, working hard with him, and pushing him until he couldn’t push any harder. For a while, it was hard to tell who wanted Colby to get better more, Colby, or Amanda.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Part 7 The High School Sweetheart
The cool night air and the small pile of empty beer bottles separated them as they sat in the tall, grassy field. Timothy shook intermittently as whisks of wind tickled them, taking the dried seed with it. The stars were bright against the dark blue canvas sky and the moon pressed against it with a stark crescent shine. The trees at the other end of the field were black against the sky, making it look like someone had torn that part of the sky out and threw the rest of it away like a piece of paper.
“There is Boone’s Farm in the cooler.” John said to her, remembering he had put it in there as he reached around it for another beer.
“Really?” Amanda said, turning herself around too fast. She rolled backwards onto her back out of control and laughed as she did. John laughed as well, reached for her hand, and pulled her close to him. Too close. It was only their second date, Amanda was excited to go on this date with him, but at that moment, the jitter in her steps turned into butterflies in her stomach.
“Thank you,” she said nervously, backing away – or trying to.
“Your welcome. Gotta be more careful, can’t have you getting hurt out here,” John said with a sexy, gravelly tone. Amanda was still reluctant to be this close, and when John tried to press in a sweet kiss, the butterflies in Amanda’s stomach revolted and they were violently set free.
John rocked backwards, letting go and pushing Amanda away from him. The warm ooze splashed all over his face and shirt. He stood up and was completely stunned, wide-eyed, and looking very aggravated. Then the slew of swearwords and pointed fingers came out.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to!” Amanda pleaded as he finished his slur of words.
John pulled off his shirt and revealed a compelling athletic body to Amanda. She grabbed her jacket and tried to help him clean off, sure that he would never want to see him again.
A few minutes later, he was marginally clean and his temper had subsided. He threw his shirt on the ground and looked at Amanda. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”
“Actually, I’ve been meaning to tell you, Mom and dad are gone for the weekend, and I am sure that apartment gets pretty lonely,” Amanda said as she wavered onto her feet. “I do have some making-up to do and all,” her seductive voice made him even more interested as she slowly made her way towards him, throwing her arms around him, having given up the butterflies upon the realization that it couldn’t get worse than puking on him.
“There is Boone’s Farm in the cooler.” John said to her, remembering he had put it in there as he reached around it for another beer.
“Really?” Amanda said, turning herself around too fast. She rolled backwards onto her back out of control and laughed as she did. John laughed as well, reached for her hand, and pulled her close to him. Too close. It was only their second date, Amanda was excited to go on this date with him, but at that moment, the jitter in her steps turned into butterflies in her stomach.
“Thank you,” she said nervously, backing away – or trying to.
“Your welcome. Gotta be more careful, can’t have you getting hurt out here,” John said with a sexy, gravelly tone. Amanda was still reluctant to be this close, and when John tried to press in a sweet kiss, the butterflies in Amanda’s stomach revolted and they were violently set free.
John rocked backwards, letting go and pushing Amanda away from him. The warm ooze splashed all over his face and shirt. He stood up and was completely stunned, wide-eyed, and looking very aggravated. Then the slew of swearwords and pointed fingers came out.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to!” Amanda pleaded as he finished his slur of words.
John pulled off his shirt and revealed a compelling athletic body to Amanda. She grabbed her jacket and tried to help him clean off, sure that he would never want to see him again.
A few minutes later, he was marginally clean and his temper had subsided. He threw his shirt on the ground and looked at Amanda. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”
“Actually, I’ve been meaning to tell you, Mom and dad are gone for the weekend, and I am sure that apartment gets pretty lonely,” Amanda said as she wavered onto her feet. “I do have some making-up to do and all,” her seductive voice made him even more interested as she slowly made her way towards him, throwing her arms around him, having given up the butterflies upon the realization that it couldn’t get worse than puking on him.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Part 6: Meeting with the Fair Lady
Colby rolled his way into therapy much easier than he had maneuvered the wheelchair earlier in the week. Getting used to a bulky wheelchair wasn’t easy, but he managed well in the wide halls following the glass doors.
Ahh, Colby Dickens, right? The room was empty of people, except for Colby and the receptionist. He eyed her from chest up, that being all he could see across the polished desk. Her button-up shirt wasn’t buttoned all the way, and the thin, white undershirt was the only thing keeping her cleavage from peeking out. A few strands of blonde hair fell out of place as she looked up, partially covering one of two beautifully resilient blue eyes. She smiled quaintly.
“Yea, are you Amanda?” he replied. His gaze was locked by her infectious eyes. All he wanted to say was lost. He forgot how badly he wanted to be fixed, how badly he wanted to be an able body again. His eyes outlined her image, tracing some soft dirty-blonde hair down her cheek, the rigid stop where her jaw ended, following her jaw line clear to her chin. Her skin looked so soft, a slightly darker mole was the only thing interrupting the landscape he was following. Her skin reminded him of what a timothy field looked like as he was flying overhead, same color and consistency throughout her complexion. His eyes followed her lip line. No lipstick, he thought, and proceeded to venture south with his eyes. He sat there, motionless as she stood. He sat still as she approached him, almost forgetting to offer his hand out for a friendly handshake.
“I am. I hear you got yourself in quite an accident, that’s unfortunate.” She said, referencing that she actually did a little homework. Colby was amused at catching the fact.
“Mmm. Lucky for you!” He meant it as to say she was getting business out of the deal, but the tone suggested more of a conceited innuendo, more to the tone that he was lucky that she was his therapist.
She curled one end of her lips up. “And unfortunate for you.” She turned away as the other half of her lips to complete a full-fledged smile. “Okay, we don’t have a lot to do today; usually I get to know my patients, as a way of developing the best plan for them. What do you think you want?”
Colby’s mind turned in thoughts. He knew what he wanted right now. It took a moment to get back to recovery. “I want…” His eyes took on a new shine and he began to smile. “I want what every other guy wants when they come in here!”
“Okay. There are several approaches to this. We have to start slowly, build you into a routine. After that, we can push it to the limit, or we can move on steadily. The faster we go, the more stress and exhaustion you will experience, also more risk. Which do you choose?” That tuft of hair fell back down, and she brushed it away carelessly with the slight of her hand.
Colby looked around the room. He saw the weight equipment and some odd structures, wondering what they were for, and if he was going to use them. Posters covered some of the white walls, some talking of courage and some talking of perseverance, along with some others that were harder to read. “I will take the fast way,” he replied, staring now at a large bench towards the corner.
“Okay, the first thing we are going to focus on is your upper body strength. It should improve your lung function along with cardiovascular output. We can’t do much of anything in your lower body, not until the doctor advises it.” She eyed Colby now, noticing that he was looking around the room. “Would you like to start off easily today?”
He snapped out of his daydream and stiffened in his chair. “uhh, uhh…” He stumbled, trying to remember what she said. “Yea, sure.” He didn’t know exactly what he was agreeing to, but her body language suggested that it was a good answer.
“Okay,” she smiled and scribbled something down on paper. She got up from her desk one more time. “If you will just come over here, we can get started. First, push-ups!”
“You first, show me!” Colby replied, taking the comment as a humerous gesture, not letting it ruin his good mood. And she laughed. Colby got his first look at an astonishing contrast between her dark pink lips and her polished white teeth. One was a little crooked, but he wanted to see more smile on this one.
She picked up two ten pound free-weights. “Hold these and oscillate repetitions, one with your right arm, and one with your left. Do it until you start to feel the burn, okay?”
“…Colby?” Again, he had to jerk his mind out of another daydream. He cursed his boneheadedness as he realized she was holding the weights at him.
“Oh, sorry. I was just admiring, uhh, your poster there.”
“Oh? Which one?”
“That one, with the golf course on it.”
“I love that one, so simple, but true. Dreamers and visionaries are very different things, you know.”
“Actually, I do. Dreamers are useless. If you want it, go the hell out an’ get it!” Colby replied, without thinking.
“Well, sometimes we can’t have just what we dream about, you know.”
The workout went smoothly after that and a half an hour later, Avery was back, and Colby was gone. Amanda went back to her desk. She should have gone home, but there was more here to think about than there was for stuff to do at her apartment. She turned off the main lights, and the lamp on her desk threw a dim light that was incompatible with the overcast cloudy light coming in from the front windows, it hurt her eyes. So she grabbed her overcoat and went out the door.
“You met with the Dickens boy today, he still all fucked up?” Amanda’s husband, John piped up. The stench of a redemption center was heavy in the apartment, the sink was half full of empties. The other half sat on the coffee table, some tipped over and still dripping alcohol on her carpet.
She went upstairs immediately. He would have followed immediately, but the floor was floating, and the stairs were moving, he sat back down as immediately as he got up. “Don’t walk by me, I asked you a god damned question! Get back here!”
The bedroom door slammed and locked behind her. His tantrum was muffled now, but remained audible for the next few minutes. A hot shower later, and it was all quiet again. Amanda sprawled out naked on her bed, then hid herself under the blankets, smiling.
Ahh, Colby Dickens, right? The room was empty of people, except for Colby and the receptionist. He eyed her from chest up, that being all he could see across the polished desk. Her button-up shirt wasn’t buttoned all the way, and the thin, white undershirt was the only thing keeping her cleavage from peeking out. A few strands of blonde hair fell out of place as she looked up, partially covering one of two beautifully resilient blue eyes. She smiled quaintly.
“Yea, are you Amanda?” he replied. His gaze was locked by her infectious eyes. All he wanted to say was lost. He forgot how badly he wanted to be fixed, how badly he wanted to be an able body again. His eyes outlined her image, tracing some soft dirty-blonde hair down her cheek, the rigid stop where her jaw ended, following her jaw line clear to her chin. Her skin looked so soft, a slightly darker mole was the only thing interrupting the landscape he was following. Her skin reminded him of what a timothy field looked like as he was flying overhead, same color and consistency throughout her complexion. His eyes followed her lip line. No lipstick, he thought, and proceeded to venture south with his eyes. He sat there, motionless as she stood. He sat still as she approached him, almost forgetting to offer his hand out for a friendly handshake.
“I am. I hear you got yourself in quite an accident, that’s unfortunate.” She said, referencing that she actually did a little homework. Colby was amused at catching the fact.
“Mmm. Lucky for you!” He meant it as to say she was getting business out of the deal, but the tone suggested more of a conceited innuendo, more to the tone that he was lucky that she was his therapist.
She curled one end of her lips up. “And unfortunate for you.” She turned away as the other half of her lips to complete a full-fledged smile. “Okay, we don’t have a lot to do today; usually I get to know my patients, as a way of developing the best plan for them. What do you think you want?”
Colby’s mind turned in thoughts. He knew what he wanted right now. It took a moment to get back to recovery. “I want…” His eyes took on a new shine and he began to smile. “I want what every other guy wants when they come in here!”
“Okay. There are several approaches to this. We have to start slowly, build you into a routine. After that, we can push it to the limit, or we can move on steadily. The faster we go, the more stress and exhaustion you will experience, also more risk. Which do you choose?” That tuft of hair fell back down, and she brushed it away carelessly with the slight of her hand.
Colby looked around the room. He saw the weight equipment and some odd structures, wondering what they were for, and if he was going to use them. Posters covered some of the white walls, some talking of courage and some talking of perseverance, along with some others that were harder to read. “I will take the fast way,” he replied, staring now at a large bench towards the corner.
“Okay, the first thing we are going to focus on is your upper body strength. It should improve your lung function along with cardiovascular output. We can’t do much of anything in your lower body, not until the doctor advises it.” She eyed Colby now, noticing that he was looking around the room. “Would you like to start off easily today?”
He snapped out of his daydream and stiffened in his chair. “uhh, uhh…” He stumbled, trying to remember what she said. “Yea, sure.” He didn’t know exactly what he was agreeing to, but her body language suggested that it was a good answer.
“Okay,” she smiled and scribbled something down on paper. She got up from her desk one more time. “If you will just come over here, we can get started. First, push-ups!”
“You first, show me!” Colby replied, taking the comment as a humerous gesture, not letting it ruin his good mood. And she laughed. Colby got his first look at an astonishing contrast between her dark pink lips and her polished white teeth. One was a little crooked, but he wanted to see more smile on this one.
She picked up two ten pound free-weights. “Hold these and oscillate repetitions, one with your right arm, and one with your left. Do it until you start to feel the burn, okay?”
“…Colby?” Again, he had to jerk his mind out of another daydream. He cursed his boneheadedness as he realized she was holding the weights at him.
“Oh, sorry. I was just admiring, uhh, your poster there.”
“Oh? Which one?”
“That one, with the golf course on it.”
“I love that one, so simple, but true. Dreamers and visionaries are very different things, you know.”
“Actually, I do. Dreamers are useless. If you want it, go the hell out an’ get it!” Colby replied, without thinking.
“Well, sometimes we can’t have just what we dream about, you know.”
The workout went smoothly after that and a half an hour later, Avery was back, and Colby was gone. Amanda went back to her desk. She should have gone home, but there was more here to think about than there was for stuff to do at her apartment. She turned off the main lights, and the lamp on her desk threw a dim light that was incompatible with the overcast cloudy light coming in from the front windows, it hurt her eyes. So she grabbed her overcoat and went out the door.
“You met with the Dickens boy today, he still all fucked up?” Amanda’s husband, John piped up. The stench of a redemption center was heavy in the apartment, the sink was half full of empties. The other half sat on the coffee table, some tipped over and still dripping alcohol on her carpet.
She went upstairs immediately. He would have followed immediately, but the floor was floating, and the stairs were moving, he sat back down as immediately as he got up. “Don’t walk by me, I asked you a god damned question! Get back here!”
The bedroom door slammed and locked behind her. His tantrum was muffled now, but remained audible for the next few minutes. A hot shower later, and it was all quiet again. Amanda sprawled out naked on her bed, then hid herself under the blankets, smiling.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Part 5: Long Road to Recovery
It was a full month before he was released from the hospital. One month shifting in and out of consciousness, being welcomed by the same damn scenery. One month of lying in a hospital bed. One month of nothing. The two surgeries that followed his transfer left him with screws and rods in his legs. “They will help the healing process,” doctors told his parents just before the final decision.
By the time he was released from the hospital and started therapy, the final verdict wasn’t whether he would walk again or not, the question had shifted to when he would have that ability. One doctor would say it would take a year to regain full flexibility and strength in either leg, while another argued that it might take even longer given the complexity of the breaks and the state of his lower sciatic nerve.
As if Colby cared. He just wanted to get better, determined to make it to the U.S. Amateur Championships in August; now just seven months away. He had made a great impression to get that far, and his invitation was not one that could be renewed. This was his golden ticket into the golf world, a ticket that he was sure would buy his way into the world he had been subliminally working himself into since he swung his first club, since he first fell into his loving obsession with a game that would bite him at times, then turn around and hoist him up onto a pedestal other times.
It seemed miles away, being refined to the restrictions of a wheelchair. Everything was a chore, from getting in and out of his mother’s car to simply making a sandwich or trying to clean up after himself at home. Work was impossible. He prided himself in his work, as a hard worker, always on the go. Now, even going was even difficult.
“You ready to meet your therapist tomorrow?” Bruce said over his coffee cup, hearing the banging of a beginner in a wheelchair maneuvering down the hall, swearing intermittently.
“I guess so. Long as she is hot an’ helpful!” Colby said with a smirk after successfully making his way down the hallway, finding his breakfast waiting for him beside his own hot cup of coffee. His father glared at him through a light steam as his own cup neared his lips.
“Colby, do you want milk or water?” His mother asked, trying to cut the tension. He hadn’t lived at home since his argument with his father shortly after high school. His father didn’t respect the way Colby’s decisions affected the morality of the household, causing tension that resulted in Colby moving. It left the house bare of life during the week, with only one soul, Avery, to bear the responsibilities of a homeowner throughout most weeks.
“I’m all set,” Colby said quickly. “Thank you.”
“So you going to work today?” Colby asked in between bites of toast soaked in egg yolk. His father nodded as he pushed more hash on his fork with a piece of toast and shoveled it in. Bacon grease escaped his lips, coating his beard giving the dark brown hair a sebaceous shine. Bits of bread and potato were stuck to the corners of his mouth as he continued to devour the last of his breakfast. The smell of body odor and sex was heavy on that side of the table.
Bruce got up as he laid the fork down and headed for the stairs to fill the woodstove before he left. He came back up bearing his wool, a thick, red wool shirt whose attraction was interrupted by a dark pair of thick wool pants and a dirty pair of chaps. His orange helmet was to his side. He put his hand on Colby’s shoulder and wished him good luck through the week, not breaking stride towards his wife, intent on kissing her one more time before he went out the door.
“Looks like it is us for the week, kid,” Avery said, cleaning the table off and wiping down where Bruce sat with a wet rag. She smiled to the thought of it being the same way it had been a couple of years ago. “So when did you guys clean out my apartment?” Colby asked, now sitting back in his chair and digesting his meal.
“Your father came back from the hospital about two weeks after you got transferred and took care of it. He talked to your landlord and got your contract cancelled, so you wouldn’t be charged.”
Something felt different about Avery this morning. Her long, brown hair looked as if it was dancing along daintily behind her as she walked to and fro. Her hands worked smoothly at the plates in the dishwater, as if she wasn’t scrubbing the plates, but rubbing them softly, gently. When she looked at Colby, her eyes told a coy story, one different than the one they usually depicted, a life resigned to mediocrity.
Avery’s parents told her long ago that Bruce was trouble. They told her repeatedly that he was what was left at the bottom of the barrel, after the barrel was emptied. “There isn’t a brain to be had in that thick skull,” her father told her, sticking his thumb at the closed front door and down the walkway, directly at Bruce’s clanking pickup, idling too high and rattling, waiting for his date to exit.
“At least he didn’t try sticking his nose up your ass trying to tickle your fancy when I brought him, like everyone you say is right for me!”
“I won’t have you ruining your life settling for less than mediocrity!” He shot those words back at his teary-eyed daughter.
Avery stormed out of the hall, acting as if she were going to her room, but instead sneaking out the back door and running up the concrete pads to Bruce.
They got married six months later, just out of high school. They had their first child in another three months, and Avery’s fate was sealed to the man.
By the time he was released from the hospital and started therapy, the final verdict wasn’t whether he would walk again or not, the question had shifted to when he would have that ability. One doctor would say it would take a year to regain full flexibility and strength in either leg, while another argued that it might take even longer given the complexity of the breaks and the state of his lower sciatic nerve.
As if Colby cared. He just wanted to get better, determined to make it to the U.S. Amateur Championships in August; now just seven months away. He had made a great impression to get that far, and his invitation was not one that could be renewed. This was his golden ticket into the golf world, a ticket that he was sure would buy his way into the world he had been subliminally working himself into since he swung his first club, since he first fell into his loving obsession with a game that would bite him at times, then turn around and hoist him up onto a pedestal other times.
It seemed miles away, being refined to the restrictions of a wheelchair. Everything was a chore, from getting in and out of his mother’s car to simply making a sandwich or trying to clean up after himself at home. Work was impossible. He prided himself in his work, as a hard worker, always on the go. Now, even going was even difficult.
“You ready to meet your therapist tomorrow?” Bruce said over his coffee cup, hearing the banging of a beginner in a wheelchair maneuvering down the hall, swearing intermittently.
“I guess so. Long as she is hot an’ helpful!” Colby said with a smirk after successfully making his way down the hallway, finding his breakfast waiting for him beside his own hot cup of coffee. His father glared at him through a light steam as his own cup neared his lips.
“Colby, do you want milk or water?” His mother asked, trying to cut the tension. He hadn’t lived at home since his argument with his father shortly after high school. His father didn’t respect the way Colby’s decisions affected the morality of the household, causing tension that resulted in Colby moving. It left the house bare of life during the week, with only one soul, Avery, to bear the responsibilities of a homeowner throughout most weeks.
“I’m all set,” Colby said quickly. “Thank you.”
“So you going to work today?” Colby asked in between bites of toast soaked in egg yolk. His father nodded as he pushed more hash on his fork with a piece of toast and shoveled it in. Bacon grease escaped his lips, coating his beard giving the dark brown hair a sebaceous shine. Bits of bread and potato were stuck to the corners of his mouth as he continued to devour the last of his breakfast. The smell of body odor and sex was heavy on that side of the table.
Bruce got up as he laid the fork down and headed for the stairs to fill the woodstove before he left. He came back up bearing his wool, a thick, red wool shirt whose attraction was interrupted by a dark pair of thick wool pants and a dirty pair of chaps. His orange helmet was to his side. He put his hand on Colby’s shoulder and wished him good luck through the week, not breaking stride towards his wife, intent on kissing her one more time before he went out the door.
“Looks like it is us for the week, kid,” Avery said, cleaning the table off and wiping down where Bruce sat with a wet rag. She smiled to the thought of it being the same way it had been a couple of years ago. “So when did you guys clean out my apartment?” Colby asked, now sitting back in his chair and digesting his meal.
“Your father came back from the hospital about two weeks after you got transferred and took care of it. He talked to your landlord and got your contract cancelled, so you wouldn’t be charged.”
Something felt different about Avery this morning. Her long, brown hair looked as if it was dancing along daintily behind her as she walked to and fro. Her hands worked smoothly at the plates in the dishwater, as if she wasn’t scrubbing the plates, but rubbing them softly, gently. When she looked at Colby, her eyes told a coy story, one different than the one they usually depicted, a life resigned to mediocrity.
Avery’s parents told her long ago that Bruce was trouble. They told her repeatedly that he was what was left at the bottom of the barrel, after the barrel was emptied. “There isn’t a brain to be had in that thick skull,” her father told her, sticking his thumb at the closed front door and down the walkway, directly at Bruce’s clanking pickup, idling too high and rattling, waiting for his date to exit.
“At least he didn’t try sticking his nose up your ass trying to tickle your fancy when I brought him, like everyone you say is right for me!”
“I won’t have you ruining your life settling for less than mediocrity!” He shot those words back at his teary-eyed daughter.
Avery stormed out of the hall, acting as if she were going to her room, but instead sneaking out the back door and running up the concrete pads to Bruce.
They got married six months later, just out of high school. They had their first child in another three months, and Avery’s fate was sealed to the man.
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