Paraplegic

by Troy Dearbourne

  I can't believe how forgiving he is. I don't deserve it. I hate myself right now! I don't even know who I am anymore. My entire life has been a waste, always thinking of myself and no one else. And look where it's gotten me, stuck spending the rest of my days in this chair, like a baby confined to its crib. But I can't let my selfish actions control my life any longer. I need to change. I will change.

  I raise my chin and boldly stare into their eyes. "James, Parker, I can't take back the life I stole from you. Aurora was more than just my best friend, she was like a sister to me. And she was taken from this world far too soon. I know I'm to blame. Your kindness means the world to me and I can never repay what you lost, but I give you my word, I don't know how, but I will change. I will spend every waking moment making sure my carelessness doesn't hurt anyone ever again," my voice croaks with emotion. "I will make sure Aurora's death is not in vain!"

  Parker gets up from the chair and rushes into the other room, sobbing as she exits. No one breathes a word for a moment. Was it something I said? Was I too forward?

  We're back to silence again. James looks as if he's trying to process my words. I don't know how much more silence I can handle. There's too much pressure. My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it throb in my ears. I think everyone's expecting me to say something else. Was what I said before not enough? What else can I say? What do I do? I think I'm gonna be sick.

  James gets up from the chair and stumbles over to me, buckling to his knees in front of my wheelchair. His eyes are glassy. He curls an arm around my neck and draws me in, resting his chin on my head. "I'm so glad to hear you say that. And you should know, Aurora loved you like a sister, too." My heart practically splinters at those words. I can feel the teardrops fall from his eyes onto my head.

  I whisper into his ear, "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

  "I know you are child, I know you are."

  We stay and talk with James for a few more minutes. Light conversation, not wanted to make our visit more wearying than it no doubt already has been. There's a portion of me that feels incredibly relieved. I didn't know how this whole visit would go. I kind of expected them to come running out of their house with a butcher knife aimed at me. I know the Ardenauxs aren't that way, but still . . . it's over now. I can breathe again.

  Before we leave, James tells us that they'll be moving out of town in a couple of months and heading west; though, not entirely certain where their destination currently lies. My guess is there's too many memories within this old house, not to mention having to pass by Aurora's bedroom each day. I don't blame them for wanting free of such bondage.

  James sees us to the door. Mother wraps her arms around him, whispering something in his ear before they part, then father does that man-hug-slash-handshake thing where they first shake hands then wrap an arm around the side and slap each other on the back a couple of times. August runs over and hugs James' waist, screaming gleefully as James picks him up and tosses him upward.

  Maybe my eyes are deceiving me, maybe it's a shadow, or the way the sunlight is refracting off the windowsill, but for a moment, a split-second, a smile, a genuine unforced smile spreads across James' face. I think he's going to be okay.

  Door hinges creak from over my shoulder. I turn around in my chair to see Parker with her head between the door and its frame. She whispers loud enough for only me to hear, "It's your fault, your fault she's dead."

  Death.

  It's starting to sound better and better. Maybe I should have shoved myself off this cliff the last time I was here. Would've saved me the vexing grief of knowing that Parker blames me for Aurora's death. I mean, I am to blame. I can't deny that. I was just hoping that after seeing how James was so understanding, almost fictitiously so, that maybe Parker would be, too, and all would be well.

  But all isn't well. And I seriously doubt it will ever be.

  It's like a big rock is sitting on me, pressing harder and harder on my fragile bones. I'm practically drowning in self-loathing and acute depression. It seems like each time I take a step forward to accept my new life and all it's unwanted friends, I'm slapped with something that sends me back two steps. And the process repeats.

  I'm not even sure I even want to exert the effort to get my legs back. It's nearly an impossible feat, and even if I do everything by the book: go to all my classes, stretch my lower ligaments daily, and even undergo surgery, there's still no guarantee I'll ever walk again. So why even try?

  Pine needles crunch nearby. "Why so sad, Bestie?" Aurora sits on her knees beside my wheels.

  "Sad? Why so sad? Are you kidding me? My life is in ruins. I'm a total freak!" I sigh in frustration. "But you wouldn't understand."

  "I dunno, I can be pretty understanding sometimes."

  I glance down at my wheels. They're such an ugly sight, a sight I'm slowly getting used to.

  "Try me," there's a slight urge in her voice.

  "We visited your parents today. It went horribly."

  "What happened?"

  "Your dad extended the kindness I don't deserve. Your mom did the opposite."

  "What'd she say to you?"

  I turn away and face the horizon. "Basically said everything's my fault. And what makes it worse is she's right. I don't even know what I was expecting. Going into the whole thing I wanted to be forgiven, and when that happened I knew I didn't deserve it. But then when I wasn't forgiven the only thing I wanted was to be forgiven. Does that make sense?"

  She rests her hand on my knee. It's a painful reminder knowing I can't feel it. "Just give them time. They're good people, you know that. They once told me you're like the second child they never had. They'll come around. You'll see."

  "Yeah. Maybe."

  But I wondered. What if they never come to the place of peace? What if James harbors negative feelings towards me that he hasn't yet displayed? What if Parker isn't the only one who feels I'm to blame?

  What if.

  Chapter 19

  Desiree wanted me to work arms again. I said if I had to pick up another dumbbell again my arms would literally fall off and that she would have to sew them back on. She didn't find my drama queen act the least bit amusing, but nonetheless she agreed to allow me to change up my routine. Though, what she had in mind wasn't much better.

  She grips my toes with one hand and caresses my heel with the other, gently moving my foot up and down. Doesn't sound that bad, right? Like, who in their sane mind would ever turn down a foot massage? Well, the demoralizing aspect is the fact that I can't feel it, and watching her little hands move around my foot poking and prodding at my skin with her fingers is just another reminder of how much feeling I don't have. You can't even enjoy a foot massage, McKenzie. Add that to the evergrowing list of things you can't do.

  "Is this really necessary?" I try not to sound ungrateful, I know handling people's feet isn't the most pleasant of jobs, especially for those who have really smelly feet or some sort of weird foot disease or something. Fortunately, my feet are adorable. Or at least they were before I lost the ability to use them. If I were to be honest with myself I would say they're kind of pale and shriveled looking; a slight blue hue to them. I haven't even painted my toe nails since the accident.

  "Yes, it's necessary. Stretching the foot muscles can sometimes awaken some of the nerve endings that have become dead from lack of use."

  "Um. You do realize I was in a car wreck, right? My spinal cord was shattered. Got it? Shat-tered. I don't think some TLC to my little piggies down there is gonna do too much."

  She chuckles lightly, the kind of chuckle someone does when they feel they know more than the person talking, who actually thinks they know more than them. I know, it's confusing. "Perhaps. But if you are able to eventually regain your ability to walk, your nerves will be alive and healthy, and further recovery will be that much quicker. I heard you are considering surgery, no?"

  "Yeah. We're looking into it. First have to find out if I'm even a candidate. I mean, I would assum
e I am. Not sure what else I'd have to do to be one; spinal shattering pretty much says it all."

  "Well, I wish you luck."

  "Yeah. Thanks."

  Desiree repeats the massaging process on my other foot. I can't bare to watch any longer, staring at something I can't feel – it's just weird – so I pull my phone from the belly pocket of my hoodie and check Twitter. I've had nearly two dozens new followers in the past day alone from people I don't even know wishing me a fast recovery and stuff. I guess most of them were students of Stardust High, or maybe from friends of friends who went there.

  As I scroll through the comments, Aurora's profile icon pops up. I click on it and it takes me to her Twitter page. Her profile picture is of the two of us last winter. We went ice skating for her birthday and later sat down for a drink of hot cocoa. She wanted a picture of us. We're wearing these stupid looking hats on our heads, the kind that have the floppy flaps that droop low over your ears. Hers is green and black checkered pattern, while mine is bright pink in color. I remember thinking they looked so hideous, like something an Eskimo would wear, but she loved them. So I bought her a pair as a birthday present and then one for myself.

  Her Twitter wall is filled with tweets from people expressing their grief and heartache over losing her. I don't recognize most of the usernames. One girl in particular left a comment about how much she appreciated all the times Aurora helped her with her science homework, and that she would never forget the kindness Aurora extended to her. I keep scrolling down the list. There's a lot of them. Hundreds upon hundreds of comments. I never knew Aurora was so . . . popular. I mean, she was never an outcast, but I never knew she had such a connection with so many people. It's like she had a whole nother side of her, another life, one I never knew of.

  Desiree stops digging into my feet for a moment. "Do we have to keep doing this?" I sigh with mild irritation.

  "No. There's a pair of dumbbells over there that look pretty lonely. Maybe they need a friend?" she smiles coyly.

  "Ugh! You're killing me here."

  "Tell ya what. Why don't we do some different leg exercises in the swimming pool. That sound like fun?"

  "Fun's a bit strong of a word." She glances over at the dumbbells again. "On second thought, pool sounds great!"

  The Center has designated lockers for boys and girls. I didn't have my swim suit with me, so Desiree gave me one of the rehab center's to use, and then helped me change into it. After I put it on, I look in the mirror. It's this black one piece that augments every flabby piece of skin on my body. It feels like its been suction cupped to me. Overall, it's just plain ugly, though my opinion of my own physical appearance isn't exactly at an all-time high.

  Desiree gets behind my chair and pushes me toward the solarium. When we arrive, its packed with residents, some using the pool for rehabilitation purposes and others for recreational. The pool itself is huge and divided into three sections: one for swimming laps, another for personal training exercises, and the last one simply for relaxing.

  Desiree stops for a moment, allowing me to take in everything. The walls surrounding us are made of blue tinted glass with structural beams running upward, slanting as they near the ceiling. It's very sunny in here and quite hot; the glass acts as a greenhouse, warming everything inside of it. The water is very clear and looks inviting.

  Desiree lowers her head next to mine. "How bout I introduce you to Harvey?"

  "Harvey? Who's Harvey?"

  She moves me over to this white mini crane that's mounted into the wall of the pool. Instead of having a claw on the end of the crane, there's a seat there instead.

  "McKenzie, meet Harvey!"

  I stare at the crane chair for a moment. "Um. Hi?" Why was I not expecting Harvey to be anything but a living, breathing human being? "Why do you call it Harvey?"

  "Harvey Steel was the man who invented this mechanism. Naturally, the name Harvey caught on rather quickly. It's used for plegics, such as yourself, who are unable to swim." She places my arm around her neck, then skillfully maneuvers me over to the crane. I fasten the seat belt around my waist to prevent me from floating away in the pool. "Ready?"

  I give her a thumbs up. "Ready."

  She presses something on the touchscreen computer and the crane shudders to life, humming as it lifts me up and over the ledge of the pool, then lowers me down. The rush of water lapping over my skin feels wonderful. It stops automatically; the water level about chest high. Desiree jumps in the pool next and continues with my leg exercises.

  "Fancy meeting you here." I look up and see Calix treading water about ten feet away.

  "Oh. It's you. What are you doing here?" He's still wearing those dorky glasses.

  "Oh, ya know, same as you. Chilling."

  "Chilling? I wouldn't call it that exactly."

  A squeaky-voiced boy, about Calix's age, calls for him from pool's ledge. "Cal. Um. Are you - are you sure there's nothing in this water? Is it safe?"

  Calix turns around. "It's fine, mate. Just jump in."

  The boy hesitates. "I don't know, man. What if I catch some sort of disease. You know one in three people contract Shigellosis during their lifetime." He points at himself, then Calix, than at me, as if mentally tallying us. "Dude, that's three people right here!"

  "Mav, you know I don't understand it when you talk medical to me. English, man. English!"

  "You don't wanna know. Trust me. It's bad. Very bad. I'm talking coming out both ends kind of bad."

  Calix chuckles at his friend's hypochondriac attitude. "Place your fingers over that crooked nose of yours, close your eyes, and jump in."

  The boy moves from side to side uneasily on the ledge. "Yeah. No. I think I'll play it safe this time. But next time I will, okay?

  "Yeah, next time. You tackle it next time, mate." Calix swims closer, resting his elbows on the ledge beside me.

  "So what was all that about?"

  "He's just a bit jumpy, that's all."

  I study his scrawny figure beneath the roused waters. "It's Calix, right?"

  He raises his right hand to his forehead in a salute. "At your service, Milady."

  Milady? He's taking this whole royalty treatment pretty far.

  I turn to Desiree. "I'm feeling a bit tired. Can I take a fiver?"

  She narrows her eyes in suspicion. "I suppose I could use a drink. Five minutes," then climbs up the cement stairs and exits the pool.

  Calix is now resting his pointed chin on the tops of his forearms, the sloppy waters occasionally splashing him in the face and getting his glasses wet, though he doesn't seem to notice. "Couldn't wait to be alone with me, eh?"

  "Don't flatter yourself. We were interrupted yesterday; you never told me how you knew my name."

  He lifts his boney shoulders in a shrug. "I overheard your trainer use it. Figured it was your name, so just went with it. Educated guess, really."

  The squeaky-voiced boy suddenly shouts with joy. "I did it! I did it!" Calix and I swing our heads in his direction. I expect to see the boy waist deep in the pool, but in actuality, he's merely dipped his big toe in the water. Literally. One toe.

  "Good on ya, mate! We'll make a Michael Phelps out of you yet."

  The boy backs a safe distance away from the ledge, doing some sad rendition of what looks to be a happy dance.

  "Dare I ask what's his problem?"

  "Problem? Hmm. That is indeed a good question. I blame Animal Planet. He's certain that the African Assassin Bug, indigenous to, you guessed it, the swamps of African, is bent on flying halfway across the globe just to lay eggs in his brain. Although there is high potential to such an event, I would say the truth to his problem, as you put it, lies primarily with Naramin."

  "Naramin? Who's Naramin."

  "Not a who, but a what. It's a pill used to alleviate extreme dizziness." We look over at the boy again; he's still dancing around the pool deck, arms alternating in an up and down motion. "The side effects, however, are interesting, hence African. Assa
ssin. Bug."

  Wonderful. Mother and father have checked me into a mental institute. I'm doomed.

  "Why does he need to take dizzy pills?"

  "Look closer." I do, squinting to focus my vision.

  "What exactly am I looking for?"

  "Look on the side of his head." I do, then notice something weird about his facial features.

  "Oh my word! He only has one ear!"

  He lays a finger over his lips. "Shh! Don't let him hear you."

  "And why's that?"

  "Side effects, Milady. Side E-ffects." It was in that moment the boy halts from his jig and darts over to us, his feet leaving wet footprints on the pool deck.

  "Cal, are you talking about me again? You're talking about me, aren't you? I'm not crazy. I'm not!"

  "Whoa, mate. Calm down. No one is saying you're crazy."

  "I have a very good explanation for only having one ear. The Bug got to me. They got to me, man! They got to me. One minute I'm peacefully asleep curled up under the safety of my favorite Snoopy blanket, and the next minute they're all over me; using their hairy little legs to burrow into my brain. If I hadn't operated as soon as I did, I might not be here talking to you right now. They may have taken my ear as a souvenir, but I shall be avenged!"

  Calix tilts his head my way slightly. "See. Side effects."

  I struggle to find a reasonable response. I come up with nothing. "Um. Wow. That, uh, that sounds dreadful." Before I know what else to say, Calix introduces us.

  "McKenzie, meet my best black friend Maverick!"

  Maverick glances down at Calix quizzically. I find myself just a puzzled over his statement. "What? Dude, I'm not black."

  "What! How are you not black?"

  "Um. Let me think about that – cuz I ain't!"

  Calix shrugs quickly. "In my defense the name Maverick could go either way."

  I take this moment to interject. "How could you mistaken his ethnicity? His skin is clearly white."

  The two of them pause. "Oh . . ." Maverick draws out that word. "You haven't told her?"