Paraplegic

by Troy Dearbourne

  "No. I'm not that hungry. I think I'm just going to go visit The Bluff for awhile." She bites down on her upper lip. I know she isn't fond of the idea, me being alone on the edge of an eighty foot drop, not to mention, the intentions I had the last time I was there.

  "Be careful!" her tone is low and direct, but I know she'll be watching me like a hawk from the kitchen window.

  Instinctively, I move myself in the direction of my bedroom, then suddenly realize what I'm doing. My bedroom is upstairs. For years I would come home from school, run upstairs to change clothes, and then out to The Bluff to meet Aurora. I guess some habits die harder than others. So for now, and possibly forever, I'm using the guest bedroom as my own because it's downstairs. It just sits empty anyway. The only time it gets used is when we have family over for the holidays.

  There aren't any golfers out on the hole as I push my chair across the fairway. Probably a little too late in the evening. The Bluff feels emptier than ever before. I keep hoping that I'll see Aurora emerge from the treeline on that rickety bicycle of hers like she always did. But it won't happen. It will never happen.

  "Hey, Bestie!"

  My heart leaps with joy at the familiarity of that voice. It came from directly behind me. It can't be. It's not possible. But it sounded just like her! I'm frozen in this chair, too scared to turn around for fear that I might be wrong. What's the matter with you, McKenzie? Turn around!

  Standing before me is Aurora, dressed in her white and turquoise Blue Jays uniform. "Aurora?" I blink rapidly, thinking my vision is deceiving me. She's still standing there. "It's . . . it's you! But how? You're . . . you're . . ."

  "What's wrong, Bestie? Xander got your tongue?" she giggles.

  "No. It's just . . . you're . . . here." It feels hard to breathe.

  "Well, of course I'm here." She leans against the base of the big oak tree. "Where else would I be except right here with my best friend?"

  This can't be real. She can't be real. I reach out and stroke the side of her cheek, halfway expecting my hand to phase right through her like a ghost. But it doesn't. Instead, my fingers slide down her cheek, feeling every crevasse and imperfection in her skin. "It's really you!"

  She gives me a quizzical look and pulls my hand away. "You okay there, Bestie? You're acting kind of strange."

  "I can't believe it. Rora, you're alive!" I have to tell mother and father. I race back to the house, pushing the wheels faster and faster until it feels like my arms are going to fall off. I shove the door open and it slams into the wall causing it to shudder. Mother is at the stove broiling tilapia. "Mom! Mom! Come quick!"

  My storming entrance startles her; she jumps, practically spilling the pan full of liquids in the process. "What? What it is? Are you hurt? Did something happen-"

  "It's Aurora!" Father then dashes into the kitchen, looking just as startled as mother. "Just follow me!" I lead them back to The Bluff. They chase after me, but I'm faster on these wheels.

  When we arrive, I look around for Aurora. The oak tree she was leaning against just moments ago is now vacant. Mother and father finally catch up, leaning over to catch their breath. "Kenzie, what on earth has got you so worked up?"

  I check my surroundings once more, desperately trying to refute what I fear is coming. Aurora doesn't reappear. "I . . . I just saw her. She was here just a second ago. I was talking to her and she was talking with me."

  "Who was?"

  "Rora." Their faces twist into this concerned, heartbroken kind of look. I feel embarrassed and hurt all at the same time. I can tell they don't believe me. I'm having a hard time believing me.

  Mother wipes her flour stained hands on the apron she's still wearing, and then kneels beside me. "Honey, you're going to . . ." she pauses, exhaling deeply. "You're going to have these moments every once in awhile where you feel like Aurora is with you. Maybe you'll spot her face in a crowd, or hear her voice in the wind, but deep down you know it's not her. It's just your mind and heart playing tricks on you."

  "You don't believe me?"

  She sighs heavily. "Sweetie-"

  "Just go."

  "I know you're hurting-"

  "I said go!" Reluctantly, she and father leave me alone with my shattered thoughts.

  Aurora if you're out there. Come home to me. Please, please come home.

  Chapter 17

  Class is worst than I expected. Though, to be honest, I'm not really sure what I was expecting. I've always been so independent; having that stripped from me is something I'm struggling to get used to. Right now, I'm taking a water break from my lat pulldown exercises. Apparently, having a strong upper body is crucial when suffering from paraplegia. Makes sense, I guess; I just never really gave it much thought. My personal trainer, Desiree, told me that if I get strong enough I can perform activities such as getting in and out of bed, driving, and climbing into my chair from a floor position independently, as well as other basic activities. It almost feels foolish to even start thinking about such possibilities; I'm worlds away from being able to achieve any of those.

  "Alright, McKenzie, break's over." Desiree jogs over to me and snatches the water bottle away from my cracked lips. When Desiree introduced herself to me earlier this morning, she said she was originally from the Czech Republic; not that I hadn't already gathered that from her strong European accent. She's this short, yet extremely toned thing with platinum blonde hair and huge blue eyes. Reminds me of, well, me when I was in my cheerleading prime.

  "Over?" I stare at the water bottle in her hand, silently coveting it. "I only had a chance to take two sips."

  "You want those legs of yours back, don't you?" I nod slowly. "Then hop to it! Give me fifteen reps." She pulls the bar down for me. I wrap my fingers around it and begin the routine all over again.

  With each rep, I find myself feeling more and more fatigued. I've only been a plegic for a little less than a month and I've already noticed rapid strength reduction in my upper extremities. During the years I was a cheerleader, I was fit and healthy, but I didn't really focus on strength training, something I'm currently regretting.

  On the final rep, I release my grip on the bar and the metal weights slam on top of the rest. "How many more do I have to do?" I'm not trying to complain, but nevertheless my voice comes out a little childish.

  "As many as it takes until you can push yourself around in that chair without feeling like you need a nap every two minutes." As much as I'd really like to deliver a sarcastic retort, she's right. My scrawny arms need to be sent to boot camp before they're ready to go long distances without needing someone to take over and push me.

  After several more sets, Desiree guides me over to a rack of dumbbells and has me curl five pound weights until I can't feel my arms. I let the dumbbell fall from my grasp and hit the rubber mat below. "Ugh! I'm gonna be so sore tomorrow morning."

  "You'll thank me later."

  I gently rub up and down on my sore arms. "Somehow I doubt that." She hands me the water bottle again, then leaves to help another resident – a man, who happens to be a plegic just like me, except he appears to be on the cusp of regaining his ability to walk. He's positioned in between a pair of parallel bars, using them to support his weight as he slowly moves from one end to the other. My neck suddenly twitches with jealousy and my fists clench in rage. Why can't that be me?

  I throw the water bottle to the ground, filled with new determination to regain my ability to walk, and reach for the dumbbell. That's when I notice a figure lingering twenty feet away. It's that boy again. And seriously, what's with those sunglasses? Does he ever take them off? It's a gloomy, overcast day; it's not the least bit bright in here. But there is something about him, something about the way he's watching me. Creepy.

  I'm just about to roll over there and ask what's his problem when Desiree returns. "That's all for today, McKenzie. As a part of your three days a week regime, you have tomorrow off, but we'll see you again on Thursday. Have fun dealing with those sore arms," s
he gives me a soft punch in the shoulder, which hurt way more than it should have, before leaving. I can feel my bicep throb from beneath my skin. I'm gonna be so sore.

  When I switch my attention back to the boy, he's not where he was just moments ago. Instead, I spot him moving toward the end of the long hallway, his left fingertips draping the eggshell colored wall as he walks. I waste no time in chasing after him. I can barely lift my arms onto the tops of my wheels, but I'm not going to lose him. If I'm gonna be stuck inside this glorified prison, then I'm gonna make it my duty to learn everything I can about those who are stuck here with me.

  The hallway is buzzing with nurses and patients alike. It's difficult to retain sight of the boy. He falls out of view for a moment as a pair of nurses roll a resident on a bed in front of me. But I catch a glimpse of him once again just as he turns the corner. Who is this guy and why is he so mysteriously creepy? And to make it even more mysterious, as I turn the corner, he's gone. He just disappeared into thin air. Great! Just great. Now I have a vanishing stalker to worry about.

  "Might I ask why you're following me?"

  I jump skittishly from the unexpected voice, and spin around on my wheels. The boy is standing there. "I-I. Wait a minute! Exactly who's following who here? You're the one who's been stalking me ever since I came to this place!"

  "And yet here we are – you searching for me. You seem a bit confused, love. You alright?" a faint English accent shadows each of his words.

  "Yes. Wait! No, no I'm not alright. I'm most certainly not alright. It's just . . . you were like, right there . . . and then you weren't . . . and now you're here, and it's just so . . . so-" I stop mid sentence, as he arches a cocky eyebrow. "Why are you following me? And why are you wearing those ridiculous sunglasses indoors?"

  "Do you always ask this many questions, love?"

  "Okay, first of all, stop calling me love. It's weird. I don't even know you." I also find it weird that he doesn't bother to lower his head to look directly at me. He's just staring straight in front of him, totally ignoring my face and looking over my head.

  "Alright, if you insist. What should I call you?"

  I consider telling him my real name, but pretty much the only thing I know about him is his bad taste in sunglasses. I mean, this isn't the 1960s, Wayfarers are so last century. "You can call me Your Highness."

  "Your Highness?" His pale lips fold inward revealing a crooked smile. "You hail from royalty?"

  "No. But I deserve to be treated like a princess."

  "Well, Milady, I, Calix am at your service." He bows, sweeping his hand low in front of his chest. "How may I help you this fine morning? Shall I go fetch us some tea, scour the land for a wish granting unicorn, perhaps construct thou a time machine with my bare hands using nothing more than a toddler's toaster oven and a pair of tweezers?"

  "Hold the tea. Unicorns are weird. But a definite yes to the time machine. I'd be able to get out of this chair if I had a time machine." I utter those last few words a little lower than the rest.

  "Pardon?"

  "Nothing. So, Calix, huh? Interesting name, I guess. You gonna tell me about your fetish with sunglasses or not?"

  He taps the side of his nose and smiles. "All in good time, McKenzie."

  "What? How do you know my name? I never told it to you!"

  Before I'm given an answer, mother rushes from around the corner. "Oh, good, I found you! I've been looking everywhere. I thought you might have wandered off the grounds, or abandoned your class or-" she stops herself and then takes a deep breath. "We're going to be late if we don't leave right away." She gives Calix an acknowledgeable nod before moving in behind me. Without another word, she wheels me out of the rehab center.

  I'm left with one thought constantly crashing my brain.

  Who was that boy?

  Chapter 18

  The entire drive to the Ardenauxs' house I silently beg and plead for some unlikely event to take place that will prevent us from seeing them: flat tire, spontaneous tornado, August breaking out into hives - I'd even be happy if King Kong himself fell out of the sky and blocked the road.

  None of those things happened. Obviously.

  We pull up to James and Parker's house; a quaint, little yellow cottage-style house with sky blue shutters bordering every window, nestled between a forest full of pine trees and a small pond that always had far too much algae to swim in. The memories that I've tried so hard to suppress instantly come flooding back, as do the tears.

  Mother lowers the ramp and guides me down, somehow knowing I don't have the energy to do it on my own. My arms feel as if they're tied to one hundred pound bowling balls; I can hardly lift them on top of the wheels. Maybe that's just a side effect from surviving Desiree's boot camp, or maybe it's because I fear the conversation that's sure to come. Either way, mother continues to push me up to the front door, following father and August closely.

  Everything looks the same: the flowerbed that Aurora and I picked lilacs from every spring, the porch swing we sat on and drank Parker's homemade lemonade each summer, and the maple tree we sat under as the red and orange leaves rained down on us in the fall.

  There's a series of odd shaped stones placed in a sporadic pattern on the grass leading up to the porch. The wheels of my chair climb up the ridge of each stone, then drop off on the other side, repeating the process and making for a very bumpy ride. If I wasn't so emotionally vacant right now, I would probably care. Father curls one hand around the armrest and the other around the wheel, while mother does the same to the other side. With a slight heave, they lift me up and over the two porch steps. August stands to the side curiously watching while sucking his cherry Tootsie-Pop, eagerly waiting to devour the chocolatey center.

  Father rings the doorbell. My heart plummets to my stomach as I hear it ding on the other side of the door. A few moments later, James slowly opens the door. His image is a little distorted from the screen door in front of him, but I don't need a magnifying glass to see the agony that's burned into his face. He forces a small smile, one that clearly displays a lot of effort is required. "Thank you all for coming. Please, do come in." He shoves the screen door back and we enter.

  No. No! I can't do this. I can't! You killed their daughter. You killed her! Why are you even here, McKenzie? How could you have the nerve to show your face here ever again? You don't deserve to be alive. You don't deserve it! You should have never come here.

  James nods at each one of us as we pass through the front door. His gaze seems to linger as it meets mine. I tear my gaze away from his, unable to bear the agony in his hooded eyes.

  Doesn't look like they've changed much around since I was last here. The walls are the same mint and crème color, only a little dirtier from years of being lived in. The beige colored carpet is a bit more worn than I remembered. Over the recent years, Aurora spent more time at my house than I did hers, mainly because we have more space. But the early part of our childhood was spent here in this house.

  A pile of cardboard boxes are stacked in the corner of the room. A few of the boxes are still open and I can see household items and other personal belongings protruding from the open flaps. Are they moving?

  James motions mother and father towards a floral pattern sofa, while he takes a seat on an old, wooden chair; most of their furniture looks thrift store bought. August, still sucking on his Tootsie-Pop, plops down on the carpet, and I roll up next to him. No one speaks for a long while. James exchanges empty glances with mother, then father, then me, but quickly looks away - he can't bare to look at me. I probably disgust him.

  The silence drifts on to an incredibly awkward degree. James sighs uneasily, mother begins to wring her hands nervously, and father just stares at the floor. This is so awkward. Why isn't anyone saying anything? My heart feels like it's trying to claw its way out of my chest. I hear a loud crunch – August has eaten through the sugary layer of his Tootsie-Pop and is now gnawing at the chocolatey center. He appears to be the only one here no
t overtaken by extreme anxiety.

  "Parker should be along in a moment," James finally breathes, then lifts a tray topped with tea and shortbread cookies in mother and father's direction. "Would either of you care for a cookie?"

  "Yes, please," they say in unity, almost a little too quickly.

  Above the TV, there's a picture frame hanging on the wall of James and Parker with Aurora in between them. They all look very happy, cheeks jammed together with energetic smiles on each of their faces. Aurora is dressed in her cap and gown. It must have been taken on graduation day. That's probably the last picture they took with her.

  Parker shuffles into the room wearing a ruby colored bathrobe and black house shoes, taking a seat on the chair next to her husband. Her eyes are nearly the same color as her robe, almost like she's spent the last half hour bawling her eyes out. She looks worse than James. I don't remember her having any gray hair the last time I saw her, but now I see quite a few silvery strands stemming from her scalp.

  Father starts in, "We would like to extend our condolences to you once again. I know McKenzie wasn't able to make it to Aurora's viewing, so she wanted to pay her respects in person," and then nods in my direction, giving me the vastly unwanted spotlight. I have no idea what to say to them. I just sit here with my mouth hung open and this whole deer in headlights look about me, desperately trying to avoid both their heartbroken stares.

  "I'm sorry," I finally manage. My voice is so low I can barely hear myself, let alone anyone else. Parker places a hand over her mouth and turns away. Is she crying?

  James rubs his hand over wife's shoulder – she collapses against him, lowering her head in the crook of his neck. "As I told your father, Kenzie; Parker and I hold no ill will towards you whatsoever. Yes, it's hard moving on without our daughter, but I know she wouldn't want us to stop living our lives just because she isn't here to spend them with us. Recovery will be arduous and we've accepted that reality. Right now we're just taking it one day at a time."