Paraplegic

by Troy Dearbourne

  "Yeah. I could've done better, I guess."

  "Cheer up, dear. There's always next time." She walks away without further conversation.

  "Wait. Is that all for today?"

  She turns around only to look over her shoulder. "Yeppers. And by the way, Calix asked me to tell you six o' clock. Bring your family with you." She disappears through the automatic doors of the Center.

  Mother had picked me up from the Center and taken me home so I could shower and change into something nicer than a plain V-neck and sweatpants. After much indecision, I settle on a lavender colored top and a jean jacket to go over it, along with a pair of ripped jeans, and of course my usual Fifties Converse All-Stars to finish off the chic look. Changing garments isn't the easiest of tasks, but I've somewhat learned how to wriggling into pants successfully – unless they're skinny jeans. Skinny jeans are the bane of every plegic's existence!

  A nearly full bottle of Coco Chanel is on my makeup table. The last time I wore it was for Xander. So much has happened since then; so much has changed. The days prior to me being paralyzed doesn't even seem like my life. I reach for the bottle of pink liquid and spray it twice over my body; inhaling its sweet fragrance.

  Mother peeks her head into the bedroom. "Ready, hon?" I nod my head, then follow her out of the bedroom and out of the house.

  My stomach stirs with excitement as I fasten my seat belt. Calix has always been a bit mysterious – I mean, what kind of guy who walks around wearing black shades isn't mysterious? – but that's an attribute I like about him. All day I've thought up scenarios of how tonight will be; I just hope it's as special as I'm anticipating.

  I grow even more nervous as we make it back to the Center. Maverick is standing at the front entrance when we arrive.

  "Greetings noble folk people! What you are about to witness tonight may scare you, it may even question your reason for living, it might even have you wondering why there are toilet paper commercials," he interrupts himself, "seriously, though; why does such a product even need commercials – who's not already buying that stuff?"

  I roll up beside him. "Interesting way to greet someone."

  He rubs the back of his neck, eyes squinting with confusion. "I knew there was a reason Cal told me to bring flashcards."

  I laugh. "So where is he anyway?"

  "Follow me."

  He leads us through the main entrance, then through the therapy room, where he then exits out the side door that connects to the hedge maze. A man and a woman are already standing just outside the hedge maze. They introduce themselves with English accents as Mick and Jessa. The gears in my mind are already in motion, but they answer the thought before I can ask it – they're Calix's parents. I don't know why, but I've never given thought about Calix's parents, or if he even had any.

  Maverick claps his hands together. "No time to chat. Onward!" He leads us through the green archway of the maze.

  The height of the maze walls seem really tall, but I'm certain it's because I'm seated in this chair. Realistically, they're probably only ten feet high, but certainly too tall to see over. The crisp scent of mint leaf wafts into my nose. Maverick strides in front of us, guiding us to some unknown destination. I nearly ask him where we're going, but decide not to spoil the mystery. August rests his hand on my armrest, enjoying the scenery.

  Father and Mick hit it off immediately, as do mother and Jessa. I overhear Mick say he's been a mechanical engineer for fourteen years, his English accent identical to Calix's. Mother explains to Jessa how I became a plegic, and thus, ending up knowing Calix so well.

  Meanwhile, we reach a crossroad deep inside the hedge maze. Maverick looks both ways with uncertainty, then mumbles something that's barely audible. "Now did he say two lefts and a right, or was it two rights and a left? Man, how does that guy navigate through this leafy madness blind?" He turns left and we continue.

  It's difficult pushing these wheels through the moist dirt. I look back at mother, who meets my gaze, immediately realizing my silent question; she grabs ahold of the handles and begins to push me.

  The soft trickle of water flows into my ears. Apparently, Maverick notices it, too; he thrusts a finger skyward. "Aha! We're not lost after all." Didn't realize I had a reason to be worried.

  We round one final corner. From there, the hedge walls spread farther apart, opening up a little bit more. An iron rod table with matching chairs topped with burgundy seat cushions is in the middle of the grassy aisle. Glass plates and silver dishware are set on top of the table.

  Maverick motions towards the table. "Please, take your seats. Dinner will be ready shortly."

  Confusion strikes as I quickly realize there's only five chairs around the circular table. Everyone else claims a seat, leaving me alone in my wheelchair.

  "Wheels." I turn my head. "You and Cal will be dinning in the inner court this evening." Maverick says that with an inviting wave of his hand.

  The chatter of the others steadily grows faint as Maverick leads me a little deeper in the maze. My curiosity is at an all-time high now. Every fiber in my being is screaming for me to ask where he's taking me, but I somehow manage to subdue it.

  The trickling water grows louder, and I immediately realize now where we're heading – to the core of the maze!

  We pass through one final archway. My breath is nearly taken away at what I see. Purple and blue rope lights intertwining with one another are wrapped around protruding limbs of the hedge wall. Rose petals are sprinkled about the grass. And then I see Calix standing with a hand resting on the back of an iron rod chair, a three tiered candle flickering on the table; the antique cement fountain flowing in the background.

  Calix's face blooms into a smile. "You look beautiful, Milady." He trades off with Maverick, rolling my wheelchair up to the table.

  "Calix, this is amazing. Did you do all this?"

  "Mav and myself spent most of the good day preparing this little safe haven. Is it to your liking?"

  "No." His face immediately becomes perplexed. "It's so much more." He then smiles, clearly relieved. "Where did you get all this stuff?"

  "Turns out, that good Jamaican of a bloke is a softy on the inside. I went to him and proposed my desire for tonight's events, and he granted us permission to use some of the musty items in the storage room. Which is why I wasn't able to visit you today. Please forgive me."

  "There's nothing to forgive. This place is perfect. Thank you."

  "For you, Milady, anything. Now, where's that one-eared waiter of ours?" He claps his hands three times.

  Maverick returns, dashing back into the inner court, now with a white linen napkin draped across his forearm. "You rang, sire?" He sports a French accent, which is actually really bad.

  "Food!"

  "Food?"

  "Yes, food. You didn't think I planned this evening solely to listen to that pitiable accent of yours, did you?"

  "Of course. Right away, sire." He darts back through the archway.

  I giggle at their display of antics. "So what's on the menu for this evening?"

  "I think you're going to like it. It's a restaurant found all over the world, enjoyed by billions, and has a beloved dollar menu."

  Wait. Dollar menu? He didn't!

  Maverick hurriedly returns with a circular serving tray held high over his head and a tray stand tucked under his left arm, which he opens up next to our table and sets the tray on top. "Dinner is served!"

  My vision falls across a white paper bag with the notorious "golden arches" of the McDonald's logo. Maverick unravels the end and pulls out a few sandwich boxes from inside, opening them and clumsily using a fork and knife combination to transfer them from the boxes onto the glass plates.

  "Uh oh." Mav glances my way, then spins his head to Calix.

  "What's wrong, mate? Did they get my order wrong? They forgot to put pickles on my sandwich, didn't they? It's always the pickles!"

  Maverick leans in to Calix, trying his best to keep his voice low,
but his efforts are worthless, as I'm sitting two feet away. "I don't think she likes it."

  Calix faces me without speaking for a moment, my own reflection staring back at me in his sunglasses. "You don't like McDonald's? I'm sorry, but this is where our friendship must end," a smirk not leaving his face.

  "No, no. It's not that. I just . . . I just don't eat red meat."

  Calix begins slicing open his cheeseburger with a knife, then stabs a piece with his fork, making loud grunting noises as he chews. "Mmmmm. So good."

  I glance down at my own plate. As low-grade as McDonald's food is, it actually smells delicious. My stomach rumbles in protest.

  "Tell me, Milady, why the avoidance of red meat?"

  My mouth falls open to answer, but no words come out. I've never really thought about it until now. It's just a habit I adopted when I first became a cheerleader. From then on, I didn't allow myself to eat such foods for fear of gaining even a single pound. But why? I guess I was afraid of being treated wrongly and being made fun of – the same way I treated others.

  "I don't really know," I finally manage.

  "Well, now's as good a time as any to find out." He imitates using a knife to slice open the cheeseburger.

  "Well, I don't know how you do it across the pond, but here in America, we act like starving barbarians when eating a cheeseburger – we use our hands." I raise the cheeseburger towards my lips, hesitating before taking a bite.

  "How is it?"

  "This is incredible!"

  He grins. "Told ya."

  Maverick comes back with a water pitcher, filling our glasses. "Is everything prepared to perfection?"

  "I'm curious," speaking with my mouth full, "how'd the two of you manage to pay for all of this?"

  "When Mav ran off on his solo expedition of the mall yesterday, he mentioned discovering a large fountain filled with coins."

  "Oh, yeah! It was sweet." He gets so excited, he nearly spills the pitcher. "People were just tossing them in there like they didn't even care. So I figured if they didn't want them, I'd take 'em."

  I swallow unexpectedly, practically choking on a french fry in the process. "You got them from the fountains?" The two of them nod slowly. "That's illegal!"

  Maverick grows worried. "Oh, no! Cal, I told you something didn't seem right about that whole thing."

  "It's alright, mate. We've prepared for dire straits such as this. Remember, if the cops question us, you're deaf and I don't speak English." Mav nods in agreement, then hurries away.

  I take another bite. "So how'd he get to be all one-eared anyway?"

  "Cancer. By the time I knew him it had spread deep into his ear canal. Doc's did what they could to save him, but they couldn't save his ear."

  "That's awful. And there's nothing more they can do for him, ya know, to make him . . ."

  "Side effects. Those buggerin' pills mess him up, but he's even worse off without them."

  The cheerful glow that's always present on his face slowly vanishes, his head leaning to one side, as if deep it thought. I finish my dinner, not saying anything more.

  "Eight years," he blurts out, seemingly for no reason.

  "What about eight years?"

  "You once asked me how long I'd been admitted here," he waves casually in a circle toward the Center. "Well. There you have it. Eight long years."

  My pulse quickens. Eight years? If someone like him has been here that long, then . . . what's that say about someone like me? "Why so long?"

  He shrugs. "Status quo. Once upon a time, I probably could've applied myself, learned how to live independently with my blindness and ultimately made my way out of this place. But I've long since been stuck in a rut, a rut I don't see myself ever climbing out of. I've grown too dependent on the daily care the Center provides."

  "Haven't you ever considered surgery?" I almost feel stupid for asking such a question considering how things ended for me.

  He shakes his head, frowning. "There's nothing there for the surgeons to repair. My retinas never developed."

  "What about a retinal transplant? I'm sure you could find an organ donor."

  He smiles, but I can tell it's mostly fake. "See the thing is, I've accepted my disability. I've accepted being different in this life, different from everyone else. But you know something?" He leans forward, his voice dropping in pitch slightly. "There's nothing wrong with being a little different."

  I smile back. "Yeah. You're right."

  "I like it when you smile."

  "You can't see my smile."

  "No. But I can feel it."

  From the other side of the hedge wall, laughter erupts. Being enclosed in our own little world, I had forgotten all about our parents even being here. "Sounds like they're having a good time."

  "You're guaranteed a good time when you're with my folks."

  "What about Mav's family? Couldn't they make it?"

  Calix twists uneasily in his seat. "I've never met his family. To be honest, I don't even know if he has one."

  "How's that possible?"

  He shrugs again. "In all the years I've known him no one's come to visit him. Not even once. I came to this place when I was nine. Mav was already here by the time I was admitted. Our first meeting was in the cafeteria; he warned me not to eat the Jell-O because it had been previously used by aliens for a genetic mutation experiment." He chuckles softly. "That's when I knew he needed a friend. He had both ears back then, but he was still taking medication for the cancer. Two months or so later he underwent surgery," he laughs even harder, "then that crazy bugger was certain aliens had taken his ear."

  "The surgeons were the aliens."

  He nods, a grin still on his face. "I didn't have the heart to tell him, so I figured what's the harm in letting him believe such crazed fantasies, eh? Speak of the bugger, where is he?" He claps his hands and waits. No sign of Maverick. He claps again. More waiting. Finally, Maverick stumbles through the archway, out of breath.

  "You rang, sire?"

  "Where have you been? We've been waiting for our dessert."

  Maverick uses the linen napkin on his forearm to wipe his glistening face. "It's a madhouse tonight. Table five complained about the food being cold, table sixteen wanted different drinks, and I'm pretty sure table twenty-three up and left. They didn't even leave a tip!"

  "Mate, you do realize you're not a real waiter, right? And if you want a tip, then bring us our dessert!"

  "Right away, sire!"

  The two of us chuckle after he'd left. "Side effects," we say together.

  Maverick comes rushing back, still panting. "We don't have any desert."

  "No, no, no. Not desert. I said dessert. Dessert! Open your ear, mate!"

  "Dessert. Right. Sorry." He comes back seconds later with a McFlurry in each hand. "Will there be anything else?"

  Calix withdraws a shiny quarter from the inside pocket of his cardigan. "For your troubles, my good man."

  "Cal! Aw, dude! Thanks, man." He strides back through the archway, arms swinging happily. You would think he'd been given a solid gold coin by the sound of his enthusiasm.

  "Ah! My favorite part of any meal." He dips his spoon into the cup. "Wouldn't it be great if we could start off every meal with dessert?"

  "Who says we can't"

  He grins, shaking a finger at me in delight. "I like you, Milady."

  "Don't be dumb."

  I dip a spoon in my own cup, smiling too much to take a bite. My stomach is a fluttering mess right now. If I were capable, my toes would no doubt be dancing excitedly beneath the table. There's something about Calix, something I can't quite put my finger on. A good something.

  "Answer me this, if you can't see, then how do you know that my mom looks lovely? You've said that to her more than once."

  "Ah. Tis a simple answer for that question. I'm forced to visualize the world around me in my own way, including the people in it. In my mind, your mum is a lovely young soul with green eyes and fair skin, flowing aubur
n hair down to her waist. How'd I do?"

  I laugh. "Terrible. Her eyes are blue, not green, and her hair is shoulder length blonde. But what about me? What do you visualize when you think of me?"

  He leans forward again. "Let's find out," hands stretching towards my face. "May I?" He doesn't wait for an answer. I shudder at his cold touch. He gently sweeps his fingers above my eyebrows; the tips of his fingers tickling my skin, down the crease of my nose and over my lips, then outlines the perimeter of my face. A small gasp escapes him, as if someone's just punched him in the kidney. "You're even more beautiful than I envisioned."

  "How could you even know that? All you did was move your fingers over my face."

  "Because I love with my heart and not with my eyes."

  I pull away, needing a moment to collect myself. Calix slowly sits back in the chair, not saying anything. I cringe; I've hurt him, I know it. I don't know what I was thinking. I mean, this is what I wanted, isn't it? Someone who wouldn't care about my disability or how relying I am on others. But so is he. He said so himself. And I don't want to flash forward eight years from now and still be stuck at this place. No matter how much I enjoy Calix and Maverick, I can't allow myself to remain here at the Center forever.

  Calix exhales long and slow. "There's something you should see."

  Chapter 27

  My mind is lodged inside a vortex, eagerly trying to determine what Calix meant; he'd said it with such a seriousness in his voice.

  There's something you should see.

  Should I be worried?

  We excused ourselves from the hedge maze, and to my surprise, Calix led us out with ease. I guess it's true what they say, when you're blind your other senses kick in to high gear. In any case, at times when I felt we were lost, Calix would make another turn and then another, which ultimately led us back to the Center. From there, he asked one of the staff members to take us to the hospital, the same hospital that had performed my surgery. Now that made me worried.

  "Why did you bring me here?" He doesn't respond. Instead, he blows past the marble slab of monetary donors and into the main foyer of the hospital. I struggle to keep up with his pace.