Alive Day

by Tom Sullivan

  “Doc, let me give you a piece of therapy,” Carver said. “You’re crazy, jack. You’re trying to tell me that to grow up the way I did—a brother in a bad neighborhood—can make being black cool? And you’re trying to tell me that being in this wheelchair, paralyzed—I can turn that into an advantage? That’s a sham, man.”

  Brenden didn’t back off.

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying, Antwone, but it starts with your developing an attitude that opens up all of the possibilities.”

  “Attitude schmatitude,” Carver said. “When I was in school, that’s what they used to tell me. ‘Antwone,’ the teacher would say, ‘you have a bad attitude.’ And she was right, and it was my attitude that made me a great Marine.”

  “Okay,” Brenden said. “Then apply that same kind of attitude to becoming successful back out in the world. Redirect all of that nerve and grit into your current situation. Learn your rights and use your talents to get ahead. When you get out of here, I think it would be great if you’d spend some time with a good career counselor, and, Antwone, you’ll have time. You’ll be on disability for your injuries, so there’ll be some dough coming in.

  “One of the wonderful things that’s happened recently under the law is that you’re allowed to pursue a career without losing any of your health benefits. It’s taken a lot of years to get that legislation through Congress, but now guys in your situation can feel they’re protected while they work to develop a new life. Look, I’m not trying to tell you that it’s easy out there, but what I am trying to say is that there is tremendous potential and that you can be hopeful about the possibility of creating a terrific future.”

  Carver was quiet, thinking.

  After a minute, he asked, “How did you develop this attitude, Doc? I mean, how did you get this positive act of yours together?”

  Brenden smiled. “A really special guy put me straight. His name is Marvin Barnes. He’s a brother, and his story is a lot like yours. He was in Vietnam and got shredded and had some good reasons to feel sorry for himself. He had been the number one draft choice for the Denver Broncos; a three-hundred-pound defensive tackle with the whole world at his feet. But he got drafted and went to Vietnam.”

  “That’s tough, man,” Carver said.

  “You bet,” Brenden said. “Oh, and I forgot to mention he went blind from a war injury.”

  “Blind?” Carver said.

  “You bet,” Brenden told him. “My friend went blind, and so everything was messed up for him. No more football. No more life. But he pulled himself together. He’s married with a great family, and he does the same kind of work I do. He was my counselor, just like I’m your doctor now.”

  “And he really has a good life?” Carver asked, becoming interested.

  “He has a great life,” Brenden said. “He’s married, has three kids, lives in a nice house in Colorado. And if he were here now, he would be telling you the same things I am. In fact, a lot of this conversation is just like one I had with him years ago.”

  “But your friend, I mean, the brother, what about sex?” Carver asked. “You said he has children.”

  “That’s right. He wasn’t affected in that way, Antwone, but like I told you, over 80 percent of the guys who have suffered spinal cord injury and are paras have gone on to have very satisfying sex lives and even families.”

  Brenden paused to let that sink in. “It comes down to this, Antwone. Sex might not be the same as it used to be between you and Darla, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be satisfying. So does having this conversation mean you’re considering letting Darla come to Seattle so you can spend some time together?”

  “I’m thinking about it,” Carver said. “I don’t know, man. I just don’t know yet.”

  “That’s all right,” Brenden said. “Take your time, but I think you’re headed in the right direction. Remember, a few days ago you were as low as it gets. Time is on your side, Antwone.”

  “I know,” Carver said. “You keep telling me one step at a time, or maybe it’s one wheel at a time.”

  Brenden smiled and clapped his hands. “Now, that’s a big step. When you learn to joke about your disability, it means you’re starting to think about it in a positive way. You’re beginning to find balance.”

  “I don’t know,” Carver said. “I still feel real shaky, Doc.”

  “Let me tell you something, Antwone,” Brenden said. “I’ve been blind now for a few years, and there are still some times when I feel sorry for myself and feel—how did you put it?— shaky. Nobody’s that secure. Everybody has doubts and fears. Everyone wonders if they can get their stuff together. But in a way, it’s our insecurity that creates our drive to become secure. That’s part of how we grow. You know who Bill Russell was, don’t you?”

  “Sure, man. The old dude who played for the Celtics way back?”

  “That’s right,” Brenden said. “The old dude with eleven championship rings.”

  “Eleven?” Antwone said, amazed.

  “That’s right. Bill Russell has eleven championship rings, and every night they played, before the game would start, the team would have to wait in the locker room while the big fella threw up.”

  “He puked?” Carver said, almost laughing.

  “You bet. He threw up before every game because he was nervous about how he would play. You get it, Antwone? Nobody’s that secure. We’re all a little scared. Hey, listen,” Brenden went on, “I’ve been thinking. I bet you could use a little R & R out of this place. You’re probably going a little stir-crazy.”

  “What do you mean?” Carver asked. “Aren’t you all watching me in case I decide to take the pipe again?”

  “Antwone,” Brenden said seriously, “I don’t think that will ever happen again. I think you’ve got too much to live for, and I think you know that.”

  The man’s silence was a tacit admission, as far as Brenden was concerned.

  “So anyway, I’ve arranged with the hospital for you and me to take a road trip.”

  “Where are we going?” Carver asked.

  “That,” Brenden said, smiling, “is a secret, but I think you’ll like it.”

  Brenden took control of the close of their session. “That will be all for today, Antwone. I think we’ve covered a lot of ground, and I hope you feel you got something out of our conversation.”

  “Yeah,” the man said. “It was okay talking to you today, Doc. Okay.”

  Brenden stood and opened the door, and he heard Carver reach out to pat Nelson good-bye as he wheeled past him.

  AFTER THE MAN HAD left, Brenden picked up the phone and called Kat.

  “Hey, Kat,” he said. “Can you get a sitter for tonight?”

  “Probably,” she said. “What do you have in mind, big fella?”

  “I was thinking dinner in town and a couple of drinks with my best girl. Today was a good day, Kat. I think I’m beginning to break through with Carver, and it feels good. It didn’t start off that way, but now it feels real good.”

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll dress up just for you.”

  “You’re beautiful all the time,” Brenden said, meaning it. “Dressed or undressed.”

  chapter eighteen

  Two nights later, Brenden and Kat borrowed a hospital van with a hydraulic lift that could easily handle Antwone Carver’s wheelchair. At this point in his therapy, he had not yet been fitted for an updated chair, and he was still a little awkward as he worked to maneuver his antique clunker.

  Brenden had gone online and learned a lot about the NWBA—the National Wheelchair Basketball Association. And, frankly, he was amazed. There were teams from all over the country, with regional and national championships held in the tournament model of the NCAA. Also, every competitor who participated seemed to be driven, wanting to make it all the way to the Paralympic Games—the Olympics for disabled athletes.

  Tonight they would be going to a local high school gym to watch the Seattle High Rollers take on a team from San Jose, Ca
lifornia, called the California Gold.

  Kat was amazing, Brenden observed, as she drove them to the gym while carrying on an animated conversation with Antwone Carver. Brenden was grateful for how gifted his wife truly was. As he listened, he couldn’t help but notice how Kat was able to pull things out of Carver much more easily than he did during their sessions. He thought it was incredibly charming that Carver called her “ma’am” and that there was no street language coming from the Marine in their interaction. Carver, Brenden realized, was quite a gentleman, and that must have been part of what Darla had seen in him during their courtship.

  Kat got him talking about his mother and his life in South Central LA. She asked him about who had influenced his life and whether he still stayed in contact with some of them. She gently guided the conversation as Carver described how sad he was about what had happened to some of his brothers and sisters and how much he wished that he’d had a father figure in his life.

  Kat made an easy transition, almost seamless, to the subject of whether Carver himself wanted children.

  When Brenden overheard this interaction, he at first worried that his wife had forgotten about the man’s sexual issue, but as he continued listening, he realized that she was putting a human face on the problem—allowing for perspective. Incredible, he thought. Wow, what a woman! And what terrific instincts she has. Maybe instead of a teacher, Kat ought to consider becoming a therapist.

  AS THEY PULLED UP to the gym, Carver asked, “So, Doc, what are we doing here?”

  “We’re gonna see some hoop, my man,” Brenden said. “Some big-time B-ball played by some remarkable people.”

  The sign out front advertising the game said ROLLERS RULE—GOLD RUSH STOPS HERE.

  After getting Carver out of the van, they entered the gym to find a good crowd gathered—maybe a couple thousand, Brenden judged by the sound. But right away, Carver stiffened.

  “This isn’t cool, Doc,” he said. “I don’t want to watch cripples play the game. It’s stupid, man. This is basketball.”

  “Yes, it is,” Brenden said, “and I think you’re going to be amazed, Antwone. These are real athletes, you know. And just like you, they had to find another way to play the game they love. Look, just check it out, okay? If you don’t like it after the first half, we’ll go home. All right?”

  “Come on, Antwone,” Kat added. “I have a sitter for the night. This game got me out of the house. Let’s at least try it for a while.”

  Carver hesitated for a second, then said, “Okay, we’ll take a look.”

  As the team lined up for the tip-off, Brenden said, “There are a lot of similarities between this game and the NBA. First of all, they play four quarters, twelve minutes each. They have a twenty-four-second rule on the shot clock, like the pros. And the eight-second rule on getting it across half court is the same. Traveling is defined when a guy has pushed his chair twice—just like taking steps before he dribbles—and if he makes an extra push, that’s traveling, just like walking in the NBA.

  “Fouls are similar, but in this game they call them physical advantage fouls. For example, if a guy’s going to take a shot, the defensive man can’t wave his hands in front of the guy, blocking his vision. That’s considered taking physical advantage. You see a lot of holding fouls, along with charging and blocking.

  “And they make a big deal out of making sure all the wheelchairs are uniform in specs. For example, everybody’s seat rails cannot exceed eighteen inches from the court’s surface, and there can be no extensions for footrests or casters that keep the chairs from tipping over that extend beyond the wheels.”

  Within five minutes of the start of the game, Antwone Carver, despite himself, was very interested. He couldn’t believe the dexterity of the players and how well they passed and shot the ball. At one point he hit Brenden in the ribs.

  “Hey Doc, you should have seen the screen this guy set. There was some pretty fierce physical contact.”

  “Oh, I heard it,” Brenden said. “Those wheels may be rubber, but I heard the chairs come together. And check out the way that one chair guy got rocked on the pick. I’m amazed the ref missed it, because I sure heard it. And how about the sweet shot by the open guy? Nothing but net. Swish from twenty feet.”

  Brenden went on enthusiastically. “You know what I love? The smell of a gym when real athletes are playing. This smells like a gym, doesn’t it? All the tension. This place is loaded with testosterone, enthusiasm, and athleticism. I just love being here. So what do you think, Antwone? Do you think it’s real basketball now?”

  “Okay, okay,” Carver said, almost smiling. “It’s cool, Doc; it’s cool.”

  Brenden could tell the Marine’s eyes never left the court, so he stopped the sales pitch and let the man just watch.

  In the third quarter two guys got into a pushing match along the baseline, and the referee had to step in to stop a fight.

  “These guys really mean business, man,” Carver said to Kat. “I mean, that one dude really wanted to get it on with the Roller guy. Heavy, man. It’s really heavy.”

  In the fourth quarter the star player from the Rollers—number twenty-one—fouled out with his sixth personal. The last call was disputed as to whether it should have been called charge or block, but the referee was clear, and the Rollers were down their best player.

  Brenden explained to Carver, “In wheelchair basketball, there are three classes of players based on the nature of their disability. For example, Antwone, because you have complete use of your upper body, you would be a class 3A player and count for three points if you were on the court for your team. No team can have more than twelve points represented on the floor at any one time.

  “So with the loss of their star player, the Rollers have decided to play with only four men for the rest of the game, rather than bring in someone off their bench whose disability is more involved. That’s the coach’s decision. We’ll have to see if it works out.”

  Throughout the night, Kat was giving Brenden a play-byplay and doing a pretty good job. He remembered she had played basketball in high school, and her commentary wasn’t bad.

  At the end of regulation, the score was 58–58, requiring that the teams play a five-minute overtime. With a thrilling last-second shot, the Rollers won 68–65 when a woman—that’s right, a woman—hit a three-pointer to seal the victory.

  The gym erupted, and the Rollers paraded around the court with the crowd chanting, “Rollers rule! Rollers rule! Rollers rule!”

  Even Carver got swept up in the excitement, and though he didn’t join in the chanting, Kat told Brenden that the man was smiling with appreciation and respect. Following the celebration, Brenden introduced himself, along with Carver and Kat, to the Rollers coach—a thirty-eight-year-old quadriplegic who couldn’t play but had found his calling as a recruiter and teacher. His name was Barney Rothstein, and he was a quad because of a gymnastics accident fifteen years earlier.

  Brenden could imagine the look of astonishment on Carver’s face as he learned that Barney had a wife and three children, and that besides coaching, the man had a job as an accounting vice president at Ernst & Young, a major firm in downtown Seattle.

  Barney sized up Carver right away.

  “You have the look of a guy who played some major hoop before you got hurt, right?”

  “I played a little,” Antwone said, still guarding his emotions. “Yeah, I played some ball.”

  “So what did you think of our game?” the coach asked. “What a minute,” he added. “Let’s talk about that after we’ve had a couple of beers. What do you say? Look, all of us are going around the corner to a neighborhood pub called O’Malley’s. When we roll in there, we take over the joint.”

  And fifteen minutes later, Brenden, Kat, and Carver understood why. Twelve people in wheelchairs, along with a retinue of friends and family, caused quite a stir when they wheeled into the crowded pub, and Barney, the most disabled of the group, had no problem getting the waitstaff to p
ull tables together and clear space.

  “Get us some shots all around,” he cried to the barkeep. “We are the Rollers—and after this win tonight, we’re the High Rollers.”

  “Yeah,” they all said in unison. “High Rollers rule! High Rollers rule!”

  The chant went on, with beer mugs pounding out the rhythm on the wooden tables.

  The cacophony is wonderful, Brenden thought. What an example of disability turned into ability.

  Somewhere during the second round of toasts and fellowship, Barney slid his electric chair up next to Carver. Brenden couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he hoped the coach was denting the Marine’s defensive shell.

  “SO,” BARNEY SAID TO Carver, “I started to ask you before. What did you think of the game?”

  “It was okay,” Antwone said. “Yeah, it was all right.”

  “Okay?” the coach said. “We were awesome tonight, man. Did you see how our guys moved the ball? And how about the three-pointer that Erica hit to win it? I think we were a little better than okay. You know the only difference between our game and the one that you play on two legs?”

  “What do you mean, man?” Carver asked. “The only difference?”

  “Yeah,” Barney said. “The only difference is that they play a vertical game, and our game is horizontal.”

  “What are you talking about?” Carver asked.

  “Well, we don’t jump,” Barney said. “I mean, that’s obvious. But we move the ball with the same kind of precision, and we play defense the same way. I mean, you saw it tonight. Sometimes we were in a man-to-man; sometimes we played zone. And if you think it’s not a workout out there, wait until you try it. The cardiovascular stuff going on when you’re moving the chairs . . . you’re exhausted, man. Did you see how often I had to substitute? Nobody could play forty-eight. Guys are dying out there. You’ve got to keep your lineup fresh. That’s why we have at least ten players dressed for every game.

  “Take a look at these people, Antwone,” Barney went on. “They’re husbands, fathers, and wives. Most of them have jobs, and they’re all working to have a better life. The game is what makes them feel good about themselves. Hey, let me ask you something. When you were back in your neighborhood, and you played on the playgrounds or on your high-school team, isn’t that what the game meant to you? It made you feel good about yourself?”