After a long silence of listening to the leaves skip across the cemetery and the wind whistle in our ears, mother speaks, "We'll get through this." Her voice is quiet and shaky. I'm scared to look up because I know I'll find her eyes red and a shiny with a wet trail down her cheeks.
I don't know whether or not she truly believes what she's saying or if she's just giving me hollowed encouragement. Right now, I don't see how it's possible to get through this. My life is going to be completely different. Just pressing on without my best friend is a tragedy all on its own, but doing so as a plegic . . . yeah, not possible. I don't really care, though. I've lost the heart to care. I'm numb. I don't want to live. I don't deserve to live. I want to die.
A couple of days after I awoke from my coma, some of the Blue Jays came to visit me in the hospital. It was so awkward. I could tell they didn't really know what to say. They just kind of hovered around my bed, patting my legs from under the hospital sheets, and exchanging expressions of get well soon. Tess brought me a picture frame of the Blue Jays' photoshoot. Realizing that I would never be a cheerleader again made me cry. Then she started crying. Then the rest of the girls started crying. It was a mess. I kept hoping Xander would stop by, then I would tell myself it's for the best that he didn't. I didn't really want him to see me like that. I don't really want him to see me now. He's not going to stay with me. We're over. He's going to walk out of my life. I know it. I'll never find someone. I'll never get married being like this. I feel like crying just thinking about it. My chance at ever finding true love is ruined. No one is going to love someone who's handicapped. That only happens in fairytales or Hallmark movies.
Mother moves her hand from my shoulder and runs her fingers through my hair. It's a tattered mess. I hadn't even fixed it since graduation day, not even so much as run a comb through it. I used to spend at least an hour in front of the mirror almost daily. I don't think I've spent five minutes in front of one since the accident. I must look like a wreck, bags under my eyes, flat hair, no makeup. Mom's been dressing me each day since I can't do it on my own. I basically just lie in bed each morning, enslaved within its four-posts, until she comes in to help me. I can't even get out of bed on my own. I can't go to the bathroom on my own either. I have to wear this ostomy pouch, as the doctors called it. It's basically a colostomy bag. I can't believe at my age I have to wear one of these. It's so humiliating! This isn't the life I envisioned for myself. I thought I would graduate high school, go to college, become a professional photographer, move to New York where Xander and I would get married and buy an apartment somewhere in the city surrounded by skyline lights and overlooking the Statue of Liberty.
But now, I poop in a bag.
Mother grips the rubber handles of my wheelchair and guides me away from Aurora's grave. Instinctively, I clamp my hands around the wheels, locking them from within my grip. I can't allow myself to leave Aurora. It doesn't feel right. I don't look up, but I can feel mother's sympathetic eyes stare at the back of my head. I don't want to start crying again; I've done that enough already. I know that' what will happen if I meet her gaze.
After a few moments, I let my fingers slip from gripping the wheels, one by one, finger by finger, until I'm not holding on anymore. Mother waits a few seconds, then gently steers me away. Aurora's grave grows smaller with distance as she guides me toward the cemetery's iron gated entrance.
Aurora. I'm abandoning her. She's gone! I'm never going to see her again. The memories we shared, the laughs, the tears, the bad grades in elementary, the slumber parties, the time she made cookies with Play-doh and told me it was edible, the summer vacations, the holidays, the memories.
I start crying again.
The ride back to the parking lot is bumpy. These wheels aren't made for grassy terrain. From behind me, I can hear mother's breathing; it's labored and breathy. I feel bad she has to push me around. I'm not overweight, but I know I'm not completely weightless either.
Father and August had stayed inside the van. It's this big box-type van made by Mercedes, all black with tinted windows. Father bought it two days after my accident. He basically bought it just for my sake, knowing I wouldn't be able to fit inside a small vehicle anymore. Not with this wheelchair.
Mother pulls me up to the rear of the van and opens the double doors. She pushes a button on the inside and a mechanical ramp unfolds and lays flat on the ground. I grip the wheels this time and propel myself forward, trying to gain enough speed to surmount the ramp. About halfway up, I lose strength in my arms and start sliding back. You know that moment when you lean back in a chair and tip it on its rear two legs, teetering for awhile, then all at once you nearly have a heart attack as you almost fall backwards? That's what happened. Well, almost. Fortunately, mother lunges to catch me just before I fall backward, and helps me the rest of the way up. The ramp hums as it folds back inside the van and she closes the doors behind me.
It's actually really spacious inside. I can fit at least two of these wheelchairs side by side, maybe three. There's this grid pattern built into the floor specifically for locking my wheelchair in place. I just have to line the wheels up with the grid and push forward; the grid clamps around the base of my wheels and locks me in place. I don't even want to begin how much this thing costs. One hundred thousand? Two hundred? Father has recently taken on a few more cases at work; I guess it's because of me.
I stretch the seat belt across my chest. Father stares at me in the reflection of the rearview mirror. He's squinting just a little, and his eyebrows are drooped inward. His forlorned face is to be expected, I suppose. I don't really know what to say to him, so I just look away.
August is sitting next to me. We'd left his booster seat in our other vehicle, so this is his first time riding, as he put it, a "big boy". Normally, mother would've put up a fight, saying he needs to be a year older before we let him ride without it, but with everything that's happened to me, she didn't argue. I can tell she's exhausted. Knowing how much of a burden I am to her, to father, and even to August, saddens me.
August doesn't raise his head from his PSP. That's probably for the best. I honestly don't even know how much he realizes what's going on and what's happened to me. We told him when I came home from the hospital that I wouldn't be walking around much anymore, but I'm not sure how much his seven year old brain can comprehend.
Father navigates the big van out of the parking lot and in the direction of our house. I let my gaze wander from one object to the next out the side window. The sky doesn't seem as blue as it once did. The trees aren't as lively a green as they once were. And the birds don't sound as chipper as they used to.
Big, fluffy clouds form overhead. For a moment, one of them almost looks like Aurora's face. Her smile is just as energetic as it always was, and her eyes big and true. The clouds continue to move, distorting the image, and finally disbanding into smaller particles.
A short while into the drive, mother turns around from the passenger seat. "Have you thought anymore about college, McKenzie?"
I'm taken aback by her question. "I'm not going." My tone is sharp. I don't wish to continue the conversation, so I return my thoughtless gaze to the window.
Mother and father murmur something back and forth. I don't care to listen, so I block them out with an insert of my ear buds, and begin playing music from my phone. Surprisingly, it survived the car crash with only a small chip on the side of its body. As I navigate to my music player, my finger accidentally clicks on the photo gallery icon. A photograph pops up on the screen; it's the one we took on our last day of school. I forgot Aurora had texted it to me. I find myself locked with her image, tracing the outline of her face with my finger. She looked so cute in her pigtails, blue pompoms in hand. I can't believe I'll never see her again. Don't cry, McKenzie. Don't! It won't do any good.
Mother turns around again and starts talking. "Sweetheart, I know things will be different for you, but that doesn't mean you can't live a normal life. Your father and I think
it's best you still go to college, just maybe some place a little closer to home. We'll check on some of the local universities. They may even have a handicap program where you'll be surrounded by other students just like you. Wouldn't that be great?"
I yank the ear buds from my ears. "You're kidding me, right? Mom, look at me, I'm paralyzed! There is no normal living for me. I don't even know what normal is anymore! It's over. My life is over! I'm not going to college. Get that through your head!" She looks at father and frowns, her upper lip disappearing into her lower lip. I jam the ear buds back into my ears and remain silent for the rest of the drive.
When we finally arrive home, I hurriedly unfasten my wheels from the grid and lower the ramp. I want to show them I don't need their help. I'm not a charity case. I can still do things on my own. I'm not completely helpless!
I slap my hands around my wheels and thrust myself forward, unfortunately with a little too much force. I fly down the ramp at a steep angle. My muscles tense up and I freeze. The front of my wheel drops off the side of the ramp and I tumble to the driveway, my head slamming against the concrete with a sickening thud. I blink rapidly, a spectrum of stars floats throughout my vision, and my head throbs.
"Oh, sweetie!" Mother hops out of the van and runs over to me. Father runs from around the driver side seconds later. He wraps his arms around my waist and she grabs my feet. Together, they pick me up and place me back in my wheelchair. All the while, I feel embarrassed, mortified at trying to show them I didn't need their help, when in truth I accomplished the exact opposite. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?" She brushes the messy strands of hair from my eyes and cradles my face.
I jerk my head away. "No! No, I'm not okay. I will never be okay!" I don't wait for her to say anything else. Instead, I shove the wheels in the direction of The Bluff. The wind picks up and slaps me in the face. Black paste covers my palms from turning the wheels so hard and fast. My arms start to ache, but I don't stop. I don't ever want to stop.
I glide across our backyard and into the fairway of the 16th hole. It's almost dusk now. The course is empty. Sprinklers are watering the grass. I don't bother to avoid them; they shower me as I roll through, my wheels leaving tire tracks in the moist turf.
I come to a halt at the summit of The Bluff. The view is breathtaking. Aurora and I always loved coming out here, especially at this hour. We used to lie on the grass for hours talking, gossiping even, and watch the stars show themselves one by one. My heart writhes at the thought of reminiscing. I just want to rid myself of those memories, to rid myself of the pain.
You're just a burden to your family, McKenzie. You're of no use to anyone now. No one wants you around. No one wants the responsibility of caring for you. They're better off without you. You'd be doing them a service by not being alive. After what you've done, you deserve such a fate.
It would be so easy to just nudge myself off this cliff and end it all.
Chapter 14
"Eat it. Eat it!" Aurora shoves the Play-doh cookie towards my face.
I wrinkle my nose at it. "Absolutely not! It smells horrible, like burnt rubber and sweaty feet."
She raises it to her own nose and inhales deeply, her eyelids flutter dramatically. "It smells like a Swiss chocolate factory, as if Willy Wonka himself came and baked it in his own oven." She sets it on the plate next to the others. "This one is mint chocolate chip, this one is M&M, and this one here is oatmeal raisin. Try one."
I turn my face away. "Eww! That's disgusting." Her lips form into a pouty face. "Rora, you can't be serious?"
"It's not polite to disrespect what the chef has prepared."
"Fine, then! You eat it." She hesitates for a moment, then takes a bite from the mint chocolate chip one. It's this sickly green color, and the "mint" chips are these blackish-grey Play-doh rolled into smaller balls on top. She chews for awhile, her teeth sticking to the Play-doh, jaw smacking loudly. Her nose crinkles, the rest of her face displaying how totally repulsed she is by the flavor, and finally spits it out onto a paper towel. I find myself struggling to contain a belly laugh that is halfway up my throat. "So. How is it?"
She wipes the green gloop from her mouth, muttering words of disdained. "That wasn't as good as I thought it'd be." She fumbles around for the next few moments, trying to pick out every last piece from in between her teeth. The nasty looking gloop on the paper towel grows bigger as she picks out more and more. I start to feel sick just looking at it. She jumps to her feet and rushes to the bathroom. The sound of her puking follows. "Ugh! That was terrible. It looked so much tastier in the commercials." I then hear the cabinet door open and close, the sound of her gargling something - mouthwash no doubt - follows thereafter. Then the rush of running water from the sink. More muttering. Then more gargling. After this routine repeats for a short while, she stumbles back into the room rubbing her belly, looking as though she is considering if she should puke, rinse, and repeat once more.
"Bet you won't do that again, huh?" A smirk spreads across my face.
She collapses to the floor with a thud. "Mmm, no."
It's a weird feeling reflecting on your own life. Everything in the moment seems slow, like it will always be there, and nothing will ever change. And then one day you wake up to realize your life has passed you by.
I can't believe I'm considering this: death. No, suicide. But I don't want to live like this! I don't want to feel this way! I can't walk. I can't take care of myself. I can't do anything! I'm no use to anyone.
Would I even be missed? I haven't exactly been the kindest person, or the best of friend. I guess you could say I've been selfish. My family would miss me, for a little while at least, but then they'd get over it. People would move on. I'd be forgotten. I'm not some kind of amazing explorer or a renowned scientist, whose discoveries will live on forever. I'm not an artist, whose work will outlive generations for the next three hundred years. I'm just me. Just McKenzie.
All the parties I yearned to be invited to, the years that I felt were important to keep myself healthy and fit, the countless hours I sat in front of a mirror in order to retain my outer beauty and be in everyone's inner circle, to be the talk and envy of everyone at school. None of that seems to matter now. It's pointless. Worthless.
With a sharp exhale, I slide my fingers over the wheels, and shove myself toward the edge of The Bluff, then in an instant, grip them again, stopping myself. The lip of each wheel protrudes over the edge of the cliff, my feet dangling some eighty feet above car-size boulders. But the only thing I can think about is how beautiful this place is. It's picturesque. A flock of birds soar across the orangey-pink sky, flapping their wings to gain greater height. I wish I could do the same. To fly away, escape everything, escape the pain and the fear, escape the past and the future. Just escape.
I think about Aurora one last time. There's this instinctive feeling that I should pick up my phone and call her, but then I have to remind myself I can't . . . because she's gone. She's the only person I want to talk to right now, the only person who would understand everything that's happened to me.
The base of my wheelchair teeters suddenly. I lean forward to look over the edge of The Bluff; gravel and pebbles slide down the side of the cliff. My weight will soon be too much. It will collapse, taking me with it. It should make for a quick ending, though. Probably painless. I wonder if I'll even feel it.
I rest my hands over my lap and close my eyes, listening to the wind snake across the land. My hair whips around wildly and smacks me in the face, but I don't bother to brush it away. More gravel slips from the face of the cliff. It's weird. I would've thought this moment would be more . . . climatic, I guess. Like, in the movies where someone is going to die it's always like a ten minute ordeal, and there's always somber music in the background, and everyone around the soon-to-be dead person is bawling their eyes out. Realizing there's none of that now makes me wonder if anyone will miss me. I've always believed you had to be this sick, twisted person who was always hateful and u
npleasant in every way in order to die alone. And yet here I am - alone.
Don't.
My heartbeat quickens.
For a split second, it sounded like there was a distant voice veiled within the whisper of the wind. But not just any voice – it sounded like Aurora. Stop it, McKenzie! You know that's not possible. She's dead!
My throat shrinks as I think about her once again. I can't let her go! My heart won't allow me. There's nothing more I want right now than to take her place, to be the one who's dead. It should've been me who died that day!
"McKenzie? Come back off that cliff this instant!" Mother's command rings through my ears. I throw glance over my shoulder and see her, father, and August standing a short ways off. Mother's face is white as a sheet, and August has this scared, confused look about him. I'm not quite sure what to make of father's impassive expression.
"I-I-I can't . . . I can't live . . . live like this. I'm sorry, mom. I'm sorry, dad. August. But I-"
"Listen to me, young lady!" Mother marches over to my wheelchair and drops to her knees. "You are not going to do this to yourself, do you hear me? There are people who love you! You have a family that loves you! And I will not allow you to take that away from us!" She gives my legs a good shaking while she speaks, then stops as if suddenly remembering that I can't feel it.
"I can't live with myself," my voice so soft I'm not fully certain she can even hear me.
"I know, baby. I know. But we'll check you into a rehabilitation facility, where they'll help you get through this as best as they can."
Paraplegic Page 11
