Mother and father notice my sudden movements. They just stare at me with these blank expressions. I stare back, unsure of what I should say. Right now I feel like screaming and crying for eternity. How could this happen? This . . . this was my last chance, my only hope to ever getting my legs back and it failed! I'll never walk again. Ever again. Ever . . .
My wheelchair is parked next to my bedside. I want nothing more than to see that wretched thing spontaneously combust into flames and burn. I hate it!
I hear mother expel a long sigh. "McKenzie–"
"I wanna die!" I throw my head back against the pillow and stare up at the ceiling. "Please. Please, just kill me. I don't want to live this way anymore. I can't . . . I just can't." The tears have already begun to fall.
At that exact moment, Eric moves into the room, although appearing somewhat apprehensive to enter. His kind eyes sweep up and down my face. I can't bear to maintain eye contact with him for more than a second, so I turn away to hide my tears. "I'm so sorry," I can feel the genuine sorrow in his voice. "The surgery didn't go as well as we'd hoped. The damage done to your T-12 vertebrae was much greater than anticipated. It was just a bunch of bone fragments. We couldn't reconnect it to the rest of your spinal cord even if we wanted to." He pauses, standing there with a look on his face that clearly displays he's completely lost on what to say next. "I'm so very sorry," is all he can manage, then turns his back and exits just as despondently as he'd came.
My pitiful five percent chance has just turned into zero – an ugly, horrid zero. My life is over.
Father slides toward the front edge of the chair. "Baby, we won't stop trying, I promise, okay? We won't! I don't care what needs to be done, you'll get your–" he stops abruptly, and I know it's because he's fully aware he can't promise that I'll get my legs back, no matter how much he might want to say it.
"I'm done," my voice squeaks. "I can't live like this; you have to understand. I'm done."
Mother starts trembling. "McKenzie, don't you dare say that!" she chokes on her words. "You don't get to choose when things end, you don't get to leave us whenever you feel like it, do you hear me?" she says those words with such fear and anguish in her voice, but I know it's only because shes terrified there's some truth to what I'm saying.
"Mom, I'm sorry. I don't want to hurt you or dad or August, but you have to look at it from my perspective, my life – I'm paralyzed! Do you have any idea what that feels like? Do you?" She buries her head between her knees and cups her hands over her ears, but I keep on. "I can't spend the rest of my life living like this. I'm sorry, but I just can't! You don't know what it's like to wake up each morning only to beg for the day to be over as soon as it begins. Every. Single. Day. What kind of life is that? Tell me!"
A hush settles. Mother still has her head buried in her lap, refusing to accept anything I've said; father rubbing her back in circular motions, not having the heart to look at me.
I feel so alone. Nobody knows just how hard it is to live like this. I just want relief. I just want to feel the tickle of grass beneath my feet and the wind ripping through my hair as I run. I would give anything to feel that once again. Just once more.
Footsteps approach from just beyond the doorway. "Whoa! That's a big bed." Maverick is standing at the base of my bed, Calix standing just behind him. "Can I jump on it?"
I wipe my eyes. "Um. No." His inquiry is certainly unusual, even for him.
"I wanna jump on your bed."
"I said no."
"Please can I jump on your bed."
This time Calix interjects. "Mate, give it a rest. She just woke up."
"We're not allowed to jump on our beds at White Guard," Maverick mutters, hanging his head in disappointment.
Calix moves Teddy around, getting a feel of his surroundings. "How are you feeling, Milady? Are you good as new?"
"No, I'm certainly not good as new." I sarcastically imitate his English accent with that last part. The last thing I want to do is talk about it, so I shut down any potential questions that can arise. I'm still having trouble processing everything as it is.
"I see. I'm terribly sorry."
Father deliberately clears his throat to make mention that he's in the room. Calix snaps his head at the sound, obviously thinking I was the only person in the room. I sit up straight in my bed and introduce them. "Maverick, Calix, these are my parents, though you've already met my mom."
Calix waves at the wall, no doubt under the assumption he's waving at mother and father. "Pleasure to meet you. I'm the cheery blind chap who lives at the rehabilitation center your daughter goes to." He then slams his palm on Maverick's shoulder. "And this is my not-so black friend Maverick."
Judging by father's expression, he's clearly unsure what Calix meant by that. I'll fill him in later. "Calix. Yes, I do believe McKenzie's mentioned you. And Maverick, I don't think I've heard about you."
Maverick gets up close to father's face, placing his hands on both the armrests. "Do you believe in aliens?" Father quickly leans back, and I can tell he's trying not to stare at the hole where Maverick's ear used to be. Maverick doesn't give him the chance to answer. "I've seen things you wouldn't believe, man."
Calix draws him back by the elbow. "Ho-ho! Best be careful. Got a bit of an imagination, that one."
A nurse walks into the room next holding August's hand. I hadn't realized he wasn't already in the room, then leaves him with us before tending to other patients in adjoining rooms. I guess mother and father assumed it'd be best for him not to be in the room when I woke up. Considering our argument earlier, that was probably a wise decision.
August studies Maverick's head for a moment. "What's wrong with your ear?"
Calix tilts his head back and moans. "Oh boy. Here we go with another blimey story."
Maverick pounces on the opportunity, ecstatic that finally someone's taken interest in him. "I was once abducted by aliens!" August's eyes grow wide. "Yeah. It's as bad as it sounds. They beamed me up to their spaceship, where they poked me with their slimy fingers and ran a bunch of futuristic experiments on me. But I know what they were truly after," he taps the side of his temple with his forefinger, "this all-encompassing supercomputer of mine."
"Yes. That brain of yours is indeed coveted by all," I hear Calix grumble.
"Quiet, Cal! This fine young man and I are having a very serious conversation."
"You're completely right. I'm sorry I didn't recognize the severity of this subject initially. Shall I go fetch you a tin foil hat to protect that supercomputer of yours?" I can see he's trying to resist a grin, the corners of his lips begging to bloom widely.
"Ya know, that's not such a bad idea. Everyone knows tin foil reflects electromagnetic frequencies." But Calix can't stay straight-faced any longer, he caves and that signature goofy grin of his lights up his face. Maverick just shakes his head, unamused by his humor. "Ha . . . ha . . . ha. Make fun all you want, but when those green little buggers return with a vengeance, I'll be the only one prepared."
"The only thing you'll be is a human baked spud with that tin foil wrapped around your noggin'."
A part of me is telling myself not to encourage Maverick's erratic behavior, but I can't help myself. "I thought you said you lost your ear because of some bug – uh, what was it called?"
"African Assassin Bug," Calix is quick with an answer, the grin still plastered on to his face.
"Yes, thank you. African Assassin Bug."
"I'm a victim of all kinds of nefarious attacks!" Maverick throws his hands up in grievance. "First, the Bug got to me. They tried to take me whole, but I wouldn't have none of that. I was soon thwarted by hundreds, thousands even, all of them buzzing around trying to sting me with their dagger butts."
"Dagger butts, you say?" Calix seemingly can't rid the smile from his face.
"Don't make fun, Cal! It could happen to you just as it did me." He takes a deep breath before continuing. "Anyway, I quickly became outnumbered. They didn't fight
fair, but I should've expected no less. They overtook me. Everything went black and there's a hole in my memory as to what happened next. I awoke awhile later to find myself," he halts from his story, as if struggling to recollect the so called "horror" he experienced. "My ear . . . it was . . . gone!"
Calix slowly claps his hands. "Bravo, mate! That was simply riveting. Maybe we can arrange story time next week as well. Say, three-ish? I'll bring the scones."
Maverick ignores Calix's jesting words. "Then, not more than four weeks later, I awoke one night to a white light bursting through my bedroom window. I leaped from my bed to see what it was and saw this little green man coming for me. Before I knew it, I was on my bicycle trying to flee the neighborhood, but it beamed me up into it's spaceship."
"Pretty sure that supercomputer of yours just morphed E.T. and Star Trek together, mate."
Maverick looks up at the ceiling thoughtfully, as if to ponder the possibility that he may have done such a thing, but ultimately doesn't answer.
August, however, had been standing there with his mouth hung open halfway to his toes. Last thing that juvenile mind of his needs is another juvenile mind feeding him a bunch of fluff. "You're really weird, mister," then proceeds to the closest corner of the room where he takes a seat on the floor and resumes playing his PSP.
By now, mother and father look completely and utterly horrified with a side of confusion. They look to me, as if believing I somehow hold the answer to Maverick's crazed mind. "Side effects," is all I say with a casual shrug.
The chaotic moment had taken my mind off the grieving news I'd just received, and for that short span I nearly allowed myself to forget I would be forever chained to a wheelchair.
I quickly shake such thoughts from my mind, knowing it will only end in tears. I'll wait for when I'm safe at home with doors closed and the lights out before I allow my mind to process everything – at least I'll have a pillow to scream into.
"How'd you guys get here anyway? It's kind of a long walk from White Guard, isn't it."
Calix sweeps Teddy in front of him, inching closer to my bedside. "Your trainer drove us over here in a one of their golf carts."
Maverick practically leaps on my bed in excitement. "Yeah! Golf carts! It's like a car, except it isn't."
Calix pats Maverick on the back. "The poor lad doesn't get out much."
Desiree slips into the room, casually leaning her shoulder against the inside of the doorframe. She doesn't say anything at first; just studies me for a long while, her lower lip tucked inside her upper lip, eyebrows drooped down over her eyes. I get the strangest feeling she knows about the failed surgery, but don't really feel like asking her out loud.
"Come along you two. It's almost curfew." She motions them over with a curl of her finger.
"Aww, but we just got here." Maverick stomps his feet like a child as he moves toward the door, his curly red hair flopping around with his motions.
"The lady's right, mate. And we all know you need your sleep. Can't have you buggin' out on us anymore than you already do." Calix turns to me, resting his hand on top of mine, as if he knew exactly where it would be on the hospital bed. "Cheer up, Milady. Everything will be alright in the end."
"But that's just it, everything isn't alright. Not even close."
"Then it must not yet be the end." For a split second, I thought I saw his eye crinkle behind those dark glasses, almost like he gave me a wink. He swiftly follows Maverick out of the room.
Desiree tilts her head to the side. "He's not wrong you know?" I merely nod my head, wanting to believe it, but knowing I don't have the heart to.
She leaves with Maverick and Calix, leaving the room lifeless. Mother and father are still seated by the window, no doubt thinking about our argument. I don't want to die, but I honestly don't know if I want to live either – not like this.
Mother leans deeper into the chair, looking exhausted as she gives me a sympathetic, yet firm glare. "We'll talk about this later."
Five days later I was released from the hospital. As we arrive home, I avoid going inside our house, straightway heading to The Bluff. I don't even bother to change out of this hospital gown. I need to be alone. I need the solitude.
Before I even make it up to The Bluff, I feel the cold trail of tears sliding between the grooves of my cheeks. I hadn't really been able to cry since being told the surgery had failed – mother and father were with me every moment, and I didn't feel like I could have a satisfactory cry in front of them.
"Bestie . . .?"
"Not now, Rora!" my voice strains with emotion.
Aurora is sitting with her back against the oak tree, ankles crossed. From the corner of my eye, I can see her analyzing me, seemingly in shock that I'm still attached to this wheelchair. "What . . . what went wrong?"
"You promised!" my fingers curl tightly around the armrests. "You told me I would walk again! You said the surgery would succeed!"
"Bestie, I . . ."
"I trusted you!"
She gets up and rushes over to me. "This is just a little bump in the road, a rough patch, but you'll get through it. You'll see." She puts on a little smile.
"No! No, I won't. It's over. Any chance I ever had of walking again is gone." I shut my eyes; the anger swelling inside me is becoming too much to contain.
"Don't give up. I believe–"
"Just go! I never want to see you again. Go!"
Silence quickly falls. My fingers are still clamped down on the armrest of this chair. My chest is heavy. I struggle to breathe through these tears; my throat spazzing with each hard swallow.
The silence continues. By now, I would've expected Aurora to attempt to say something encouraging again the way she always does, but I don't hear anything. Maybe I've gotten through her head once and for all that this is my life, no matter how cruel it may be, and that I'll never walk again.
I expel a deep breath, releasing my grip on the armrests, and then allow my eyelids to flutter open. A part from the lone oak tree, my surroundings are bare.
Aurora is gone.
Chapter 24
The next day physical therapy with Desiree seemed more agonizing than normal. Maybe it's because I know it won't do any good at this point – I'm a plegic for life after all.
When I told mother and father I didn't want to continue therapy, they weren't as keen on the idea. Mother especially wasn't going to allow it. I don't think she can come to terms with the truth. If it weren't for the fact I have to live day in and day out in this chair, I too might be a bit reluctant to accept the truth.
But the truth stares back at me with each tortuous moment that passes, laughing, mocking. These wheels have become my legs – replaced my legs.
Desiree has me lying on my back as she performs a series of leg exercises. Right now, she's extending my leg to and from my chest, alternating legs every few minutes. It's difficult to watch; not being able to feel her touch is still incredibly strange.
I figure it's only a matter of time before I'm told therapy won't help someone as crippled as me. I'll be sent home to lay in my bed, staring up at the ceiling, alone, reminiscing on past times when I had my freedom. My body tenses up at such thoughts. Desiree must have noticed, as she turns to look at me.
"I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?"
"Oh. No. It's just . . ." I pause. "This," then move my hands in a circle, gesturing towards my wheelchair. "All of it. It's still so . . . new, I guess." New and getting old. Fast.
"You're young, McKenzie. You have time to get used to it. And you will. Before long, you won't need me anymore. You'll be able to live life all on your own, completing tasks with such ease you once struggled with. You'll see. Just take it a day at a time."
Her perspective is so positive, like living life paralyzed isn't so bad, isn't that difficult. Obviously, she's never experienced it, because if she had, even for a single moment, she wouldn't be saying such things – she would be begging for relief, a way to escape the unceasing feeling of c
aptivity.
Time passes. Desiree has moved on to ankle stretches where she alternates tilting my toe and heel up and down. I continue resting on my back, holding my phone in front of my face, perusing Pinterest for funny cat memes, while occasionally suffering slight pain from it slipping from my grasp and smacking me square in the face.
Movement appears from beyond my immediate line of vision. I glance past my phone and see Calix standing with his head tilted downward, his black hair falling in front of his dark glasses. How does he always know where to find me?
"Back in the saddle, eh? Knocked down, you get back up. Good on ya!"
"Yeah. Something like that." I don't feel like telling him that I didn't really have a choice. It's either I do this or I spend the rest of my life slowly decaying in bed, like a banana peel.
"How has the morning been for you, Milady? Cheery I hope?" He adjusts his head slightly, no doubt using my voice to locate where he imagines my face to be.
"Well, I haven't beat anyone with a chair yet, so . . . good."
The corners of his lips spread a little in amusement.
Two metal support bars running parallel to one another are positioned over by the window some fifty feet away from me. They're used for those who are on the brink of recovery from mobility impairment. I've noticed other residents use them for such purposes.
A crazy idea suddenly storms my mind – I need to do it!
Desiree looks to see what I'm staring at. "Those are support bars for–"
"I wanna try!" her mouth is left open by my interruption. I know I'm no where near full recovery, or even partial, but there's a strong urge to do it.
"Best wait a few more weeks, dear. Ya know, just until you get a little more strength in your limbs."
"No! I've had it. I'm tired of living like this. I'm tired of feeling like I can't do things. I won't allow myself to be a plegic forever. I won't!"
Paraplegic Page 18
