“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.
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