Ruined Wings

by Ashley Fontainne

  Once finished, Callie dashed into her room, rummaging through the drawers to find some clean shorts and a t-shirt. She heard her mother walking down the hall. “Mom? Have you seen my running shoes?”

  “Well, someone looks all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”

  “Why did you let me sleep so late?” Callie mumbled while looking under the bed, “Kevin will be here in less than ten minutes! Ugh! I can’t find my shoes!”

  “Baby, they’re right where you left them—on top of the stairs. My, for someone who got a full night’s rest, you sure are antsy. They never affect me that…”

  When her mother's words stopped in mid-sentence, Callie poked her head over the mattress and saw her mother backing out of the room.

  “Wait, Mom. What did you mean by that?” Callie asked, though deep inside her heart, she already knew the answer.

  “Nothing. I’ll go get your shoes.”

  The heaviness in her limbs, the overwhelming exhaustion the night before, and the quiet inside her mind and a night full of good memories of Colton—it all finally clicked. The knowledge infuriated Callie. “You gave me something last night, didn’t you?”

  Squaring her shoulders, her mother stepped back inside. “Yes, I crushed up a Xanax and mixed it with your shake. You needed some rest, baby! I knew it would knock you out and let you sleep without having another nightmare, and I was right. You slept a solid twelve hours—”

  “I…do you have any idea…if I’m ever tested, my reputation will be trashed!” Callie was so angry she couldn’t think straight, words jumbling together as she tried to process the betrayal. “My God, Mother! What the Hell? Dad…Colton…they died because of drugs! You didn’t think it was wrong to slip me some?”

  “Callie Claire! They’re prescription anxiety medication! Stop acting like I gave you morphine!”

  “Drugs are drugs, Mom. God, I can’t believe you did this to me! I’m outta here!”

  Grabbing her purse and phone from the bed, Callie stormed past her mother into the hallway. In one quick swoop, she picked up her shoes then ran down the stairs.

  “CeeCee, stop! Come back here and talk to me. It was for your own good, I swear. You needed—”

  “You have no idea what I need, Mother. You never have,” Callie interrupted while jerking the front door open. “Don’t wait up.”

  Slamming the door behind her, Callie ran to the edge of the driveway, relieved to see Kevin’s car pull up to the curb.

  “Babe, what’s wrong?” Kevin asked.

  “Drive. Right now,” Callie ordered after jumping into the passenger seat. “Red Dragon Tattoo on Seventh Street.”

  Nodding once, Kevin drove toward downtown Little Rock without saying a word. Yanking her damp hair into a messy bun, Callie bent down and slipped her shoes on, mumbling under her breath the entire time. It took three attempts to tie the laces since her hands were shaking.

  “Your mom didn’t approve of the tattoo idea, did she?” Kevin asked.

  Callie glared at him. “Let me cool off or you’ll see a side of me you won’t like.”

  The tone in her voice worked: Kevin never said another word, not even when they pulled into the parking lot of Red Dragon.

  Fuming the entire time, Callie’s heart beat erratically. She couldn’t believe her mother had done such a foolish thing. Callie wasn’t sure what bothered her the most: how her mother deceived her or how much Callie enjoyed the tranquil effect the Xanax had on her frazzled mind.

  Once inside, Callie showed the man behind the counter Colton’s drawing. After slipping him an additional seventy-five dollars above the price of the tattoo when he balked at her ID, she settled into the chair.

  “Aren’t you nervous?” Kevin whispered as the stencil was placed on her right foot.

  “No.”

  “You’re a brave woman. I’m sweating buckets, and it’s not even my skin about to be pricked with a needle.”

  “Ready?”

  Callie nodded once to the scruffy man seated in front of her, both of his arms and neck covered in vibrant ink.

  “This is going to sting, so please don’t jerk. The pattern is delicate. Whoever created it was quite the artist.”

  “Yes he was, and I won’t,” Callie answered.

  The man was right: it felt like a horde of bees landed on her foot, yet Callie never flinched.

  She welcomed the pain because it shut out the anger, guilt, sadness and grief.

  Climbing out onto the roof with Colton’s journal clenched in her hand, Callie settled near his favorite spot where he used to paint. The air was heavy and wet with humidity; the cicadas and other night insects seemed especially loud.

  The blues, yellows, and reds of the tattoo shimmered under the rays of the moon. Her mother flipped earlier, telling Callie she’d defiled her body, scolding her for doing something permanent on the spur of the moment. The conversation went downhill fast and included yet another shouting match about the Xanax incident. Callie had stormed to her room and slammed the door while her mother cried downstairs.

  Staring up at the vibrant moon, Callie let the tears come. She cried for what had been, what would never be, and how the relationship with her mother had soured so fast. Tears raced down her cheeks, dripping onto the rooftop in a steady stream.

  Everything inside her was jumbled mess. The pain in her heart physically hurt. She’d never get a hug or high-five from her father again. He wouldn’t be there at graduation, the first day of college, another meet. There would be no walk down the aisle on his arm, nor would he experience the joy of becoming a grandparent. She’d always been a daddy’s girl.

  And Colton. Dear, sweet, sensitive Colton: the boy with a football player’s body and the soul of an artist. Quiet, shy, and content with having only a few strong relationships besides his immediate family, Colton’s life revolved around art, just as Callie’s centered on sports. He’d always been a momma’s boy. Dad used to tease them when little, saying their chromosomes got mixed up in the womb.

  Colton: the brother she’d been protecting ever since she’d been old enough to recognize he needed someone to stand up for him. He wasn’t wired to do it on his own.

  Now, he was gone, and so was her father.

  Forever.

  The finality of it all crushed her spirit.

  Wracked with sorrow, Callie curled into a ball and wept, chest heaving with great sobs. “Can’t…handle…can’t…deal. Daddy. Colton. Why?”

  Then, the voice she missed more than anything whispered into her ear, “Take, become, and experience, sister. We’ll visit for hours. Promise.”

  “Colton,” Callie choked out while looking around, desperate to see his face yet knowing the voice was only inside her head. “I miss you so much.”

  “Then let me in. You’ll find me by opening your mind.”

  “What do you mean? How?”

  “You’re smart enough to figure that out, Sis.”

  It didn’t take long for Callie to realize what Colton meant. “I—no, no way. I can’t do that! You know that’s not me—not my thing. Didn’t you hear me ream Mom out for slipping me a Xanax last night?”

  “I did. But don’t you recall how much fun we had reliving our childhood?”

  Smiling, Callie answered, “I do.”

  “Then stop being such a worrywart! They’re just prescription anxiety medication, not street drugs.”

  “They aren’t prescribed to me, Colton!”

  “Still afraid to step out of your comfort zone I see.”

  Just like their arguments before, Colton was dancing on Callie’s last nerve. “You did, and look what happened?”

  “Touché,” Colton replied.

  Silence ensued for the next several minutes. The warm, thin tendril reconnecting her to Colton turned cold. The loss broke through her reservations. “What if I get tested at school? All my hard work would be over in a flash.”

  “Then I guess this truly is
goodbye. You haven’t felt enough pain yet to need a way to mask it and let me in.”

  A sob of anguish burst from Callie’s throat. “No, don’t go! I am hurting, Colton. My heart’s ripped out. Our connection is gone! I hear you but I can’t feel you. I don’t know what to do—how to deal with the grief of you both being gone! Mom wants us to go to counseling, but that won’t work because it won’t bring either of you back! I want you both here. I need to wake up from this awful nightmare!”

  “Being awake is the nightmare, Sis. I’ll be waiting. Hurry, Callie. It’s really lonely here.”

  “Where are you, Colton? Heaven? Hell? In-between?”

  A low, ominous chuckle filled Callie’s mind. “Honestly, I’m not quite sure. All I know is its very, very dark. There’s no one around. I need your light to help me find my way again.”

  Wiping the tears from her cheeks, Callie glanced back at the bedroom window. Without really thinking of what she was doing, or how she’d turned into the world’s biggest hypocrite in less than twenty-four hours, she stood and went back inside. Her bare feet were silent while padding down the hallway to her mother’s room.

  Peeking inside, Callie smiled. As usual, she was in a deep, comatose-like slumber.

  The pill bottle was on the nightstand; lid on the floor.

  Creeping like a cat stalking its prey, Callie crossed the floor. Reaching out, she snagged a handful of pills.

  “White Knights, Sis,” Colton’s voice whispered inside her head. “I knew you were smart enough to figure this out.”

  In a flash, Callie was back on the rooftop. She swallowed two pills then leaned back until all the way flat. Staring at the cloudless sky, Callie waited for the drugs to open a gateway so she could see Colton’s face instead of just hearing his voice.

  “About time you joined me. I’ve missed you.”

  “God, I’ve missed you,” Callie answered, smiling as the multidimensional image of her brother’s beautiful face filled her mind. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you when you needed me the most. Forgive me?”

  “Nothing to forgive. You had your life, and I had mine. We simply grew apart. You’re here now and that’s what matters.”

  “I did all of it for you. Getting up early, running through the pain. Every bit of sweat and blood was all for you. I feel kind of lost now, unsure what to do next,” Callie whispered.

  “Let’s not talk about the past, Sis. Embrace the now. Look at the beauty all around you; let it flow over your heart and embed itself inside your soul.”

  “Your creative side hasn’t changed any since you’ve been gone,” Callie remarked.

  “Change is only possible when breathing, CeeCee. It’s too late for me now.”

  “But not for me,” Callie answered, the response directed at herself rather than Colton.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Eight Months Later

  “Novak! What in the world is wrong with you? You got rocks in those shoes or something?”

  “It’s hot, Coach P!” Callie whined between gulps of air.

  “That’s never bothered you before, Novak. Take those sunglasses off. You probably can’t see! Did you forget to stretch? Eat? I swear, it’s like you haven’t run since the meet last year. Your time is pathetic!”

  Her coach was right. During the summer and fall, Callie had scaled way back on her daily runs. She didn’t feel the need to rise at four a.m. to train or run again at night. She tried a few times, yet the drive to succeed and the urge to change Colton’s life disappeared. The lack of desire wasn’t just from losing brother and father either. The Xanax bars she took every night made her more relaxed and less driven. Her grades had slipped, too, and during the day, she was edgier and had zero patience with anyone.

  Tongue loosened from the after-effects of too many bars the night before, Callie snapped. “Get off my back! Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to step foot onto this track? The memories are painful! Last time I was here, my life turned upside down!”

  Coach Patterson’s face filled with blood as he stomped across the lane, stopping inches from Callie’s face. “What did you just say to me?”

  Squaring her shoulders, Callie glared defiantly through the dark lenses at the man she once considered a secondary father-figure. “You heard me.”

  Pointing toward the gym door, Coach Patterson yelled, “Get off my field, Novak. Hit the showers and come back tomorrow with a better attitude.”

  “You’re still pissed at me for going to UALR, aren’t you? Grow up, Coach. Better yet, find someone else to scream at and push to get your big bonus. I don’t need this shit.”

  Anger and a blip of pain flashed behind his eyes. Callie never blinked, even when Coach P’s stubby finger grazed the tip of her nose, nearly knocking off the glasses.

  “One more word and you’re off the team, state record holder or not.”

  The entire track team watched the spectacle of coach and student as they stood toe-to-toe. Callie felt them staring; heard the whispers and giggles. Anger and embarrassment took over so she turned and sprinted toward the fieldhouse before another smart remark ended her career.

  “Guess she ain’t the star anymore,” a teammate muttered as Callie ran past him.

  Though still running, Callie turned, peddling backward while she gave him the finger.

  “Callie, look out!” Coach Patterson yelled.

  She tried to turn around in time, but her muscle coordination wasn’t in full swing. Callie’s legs tangled up with a hurdle, sending her body end over end.

  A loud pop followed by burning pain in her right knee made her scream after landing on the track.

  “Callie!” Coach Patterson ran to her side. “Don’t move. I think you dislocated the kneecap. Russell? Go get the stretcher.”

  Tears of pain streamed down Callie’s face as the entire track team formed a tight circle, everyone murmuring words of encouragement. Someone put a cold towel on her head, and others pressed towels on her elbow, thigh and shoulder to stop the bleeding.

  “I’m sorry, CeeCee. I let my temper get the best of me. I’m not used to you having an attitude, and honestly, I didn’t even think about how being out here would be difficult for you. Don’t you worry—I don’t think you’ve done any permanent damage. We’ll get you to the hospital to make sure. I’ll call your mother and have her meet us there. Okay?”

  “No, she’s at work. Get Kevin, please? He’s in the library, studying. I need Kevin,” Callie answered.

  “I’ll go get him,” Rachel McGovern offered.

  “Tell him to meet us at Southwest Hospital,” Coach Patterson instructed.

  A flurry of activity and noise followed after Russell returned. Callie yelped in pain as her body was lifted onto the stretcher. In minutes, she was spread out across the backseat of Coach Patterson’s SUV, flying down the highway to the hospital.

  Though in pain and fearful her running career was over, Callie worried the hospital might draw blood and test it. Did they do that for a simple dislocation?

  God, I hope not. If they do, they’ll discover I’ve been taking Xanax and then my scholarship will be toast. No, I won’t let them, even if they want to. It’s my body and they can’t make me.

  “You’re a lucky lady, Callie. Very lucky.”

  Callie glanced up at Doctor Brunson who stood next to the bed, his back to her as he stared at the X-rays of her leg. The shot he’d given her to ease the pain and calm her nerves while resetting her knee made her feel relaxed, wonderful, loopy, and slightly dizzy. “How so?”

  “You didn’t fracture any bones so surgery isn’t necessary. You only dislocated your kneecap, not your knee, which means no damage to the peroneal nerve. Recuperating from a dislocated knee takes longer and carries greater risks for future re-injury, especially in athletes. If the peroneal nerve is damaged, some patients suffer from foot drop.”

  “Foot drop? What’s that?” Callie muttered while staring at the t
attoo on her foot.

  “It’s when you cannot lift your foot while doing even normal activities like walking or climbing stairs. The condition causes the toes to drag the ground, which makes running nearly impossible.”

  Smiling, relieved the injury wasn’t a career-ending one, Callie asked, “So, when can I take the brace off and start training again?”

  When Dr. Brunson turned to face her, Callie’s mouth went dry. She could tell from the concerned look he was about to drop news she didn’t want to hear. “It’s a removable splint, not a brace, and you’ll need to wear it for the next three weeks, perhaps longer depending upon how quickly you heal. Also, I’m ordering six visits with a physiotherapist to help you restore movement and function.”

  Callie’s mouth dropped open. “Three weeks? I can’t miss that much time training! This is my senior year.”

  Dr. Brunson’s somber, dark brown eyes stared down with a hint of compassion. “Your Coach informed me of your accomplishments and scholarship to UALR. Here’s my advice, for what it’s worth: sit out your senior year and fully recover before college.”

  Callie didn’t have a chance to respond to the shocking news because her mother burst into the room, looking frazzled and haggard. “Oh, my God! Callie, what happened?”

  “I’m okay, Mom. I just tripped over a hurdle on the track and messed up my knee. Dr. Brunson said it’s nothing.”

  Dr. Brunson gave Callie a stern look before turning his attention to her mother. “Good to see you again, Mrs. Novak, though I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances. Callie’s diagnosis of the injury differs from mine. Though not a major injury, it does require the leg to remain immobile for several weeks and physical therapy to assist in the healing process.”

  “Thank you for the truth, Dr. Brunson. Callie has a tendency to whitewash bad news, especially when it comes to running.”

  “Mom, please,” Callie interrupted while rolling her eyes. “I’m fine.”

  Stepping between daughter and mother, Dr. Brunson continued. “I was just telling Callie she can’t resume training until fully healed. I’m afraid she didn’t take the news too well. Understandable since this is her senior year. However, if she pushes herself too hard or too quickly, I’m afraid permanent damage may be the end result.”