Alive Day

by Tom Sullivan

  Carver shrugged. “It was everything,” he said quietly. “The game was everything. It was going to be my way out of the hood. It was how a short guy felt tall. It was the thing that gave me the confidence to join the Corps and marry my wife.”

  “Okay,” Barney said. “Then if it was the game that gave you all of that confidence, why should you have to give it up? Have you decided where you’re going to live when you leave the hospital? We’d like to keep you up here, but you’re probably going somewhere else.”

  “Back to California, man,” Carver said.

  “Oh, La-La Land,” Barney said a little sarcastically. “Well, wherever you live in the state of fruits and nuts, you’ll find a team. Not as good as we are, I’m sure, but there’ll be plenty of wheelchair hoopsters anywhere you choose to start a new life in California. When you get settled, call me. I’ll give you all the information you need about how to order the right chair, along with a list of all the coaches and teams in Southern California. You know, Antwone, with your background, you might just have the makings of an Olympian.”

  “Olympian?” Carver said. “Olympics? What do you mean?”

  “The Paralympics,” Barney said. “Every four years, just like the regular games, and just as competitive. We have a couple of guys from our squad that are hoping to make the U.S. team. It’s pretty awesome, man. Pretty awesome.

  “Listen, I’d better make sure that none of the guys get into any trouble over too many beers. See that pouch on the side of my chair? Reach in there and get one of my cards. Remember, I’m not just the coach of this team; I’m a brilliant accountant if you ever need my help.”

  Carver took a card, and Barney held his eyes. “I want to tell you something before I go, Antwone. I believe sports is the best way for anyone to prove they can make it back in the world. The competitive stuff that you get involved with on a basketball court or in wheelchair tennis or any other game can create a big-time feeling for a person about what’s possible. I know society can be pretty cruel, and a man in a chair has to figure out how he’s going to make it in the world; but when you watch these people out here tonight and consider how they’re living their lives, I think you have to feel that anything can be achieved if you want it enough.

  “Okay,” Barney said, smiling, “I’ve bent your ear too much already tonight. But there’s one more important truth I want you to think about.”

  “What’s that?” Antwone asked.

  “Out here we have three classes of players, based on their disabilities, right?”

  Carver nodded.

  “And then there’s me—a quad—and across the table there’s your friend, the doc, who’s blind, with a beautiful wife and family. Here’s the real deal, Antwone—the bottom line. Everybody in life has a disability. Some disabilities seem to be more complex or more profound than others, but everybody has the same choice: you can either live life fully, or you can live it feeling sorry for yourself.”

  Barney said good night and moved his chair expertly away, using his blow stick for steering.

  ON THE RIDE HOME, Carver was quiet, but as they got close to the hospital, Brenden couldn’t help it. He had to ask.

  “So how do you feel, Antwone, about what you saw?”

  “I’ve got a lot to think about,” Carver said seriously. “This stuff is pretty heavy on my head, but that dude Barney is really cool. And he said some things to me that, well, that are really right on.”

  “Like what?” Kat asked, exercising her prerogative as Antwone’s new best friend.

  “Well, he talked about how everyone has a disability and that we all have a decision to make about how we’re going to live.”

  “Do you think he’s right?” Brenden asked, hoping.

  “Maybe,” Carver said as they pulled into the driveway. “Maybe.”

  A HALF HOUR LATER, Antwone Carver was alone in his hospital room, lying on his bed and studying the ceiling.

  Could life really have meaning? he wondered. Do I really have a chance to be worth something to Darla and to myself? These guys might be right. Maybe I need to find out.

  Taking a deep breath, he picked up his cell phone from the bedside table and dialed. When Darla answered, he said, “I love you, Darla. Please come to Seattle.”

  chapter nineteen

  Darla Carver couldn’t go back to sleep after Antwone’s call. Hearing her husband say he loved her didn’t surprise her. She knew how much he cared for her, but his invitation for her to come to Seattle as quickly as possible surprised her.

  She went to the kitchen and made a cup of tea, sat in the living room, turned on the lamp, and wondered, What does this mean? Has Antwone had a change of heart and wants to save our marriage? Is he telling me that he’ll be coming home to San Diego to be with me? Has the therapy he’s been going through with Dr. McCarthy and the rest of the medical staff made a difference in his perception of himself, and of us as a couple?

  Her brain was spinning, but she knew that she wouldn’t get the answers until she was with Antwone. So at three in the morning, she called United Airlines and made reservations to go to Seattle two days later. She expected to be there for a while this time, and she knew she would have to talk to the principal at her school, who had told Darla that if she needed to go be with her husband, he would find a substitute for her until she came back. Then she did something that was uniquely Darla: she went to her closet and busied herself deciding what she would pack and what she would wear when she first saw Antwone.

  HER MARINE HUSBAND WAS also sleepless after their phone call. For Antwone, the major question was how he and his wife would find their way back to being a normal married couple again. He decided that he would take the advice Dr. McCarthy had offered and read some of the materials he’d been given, along with looking at the videos the doc recommended.

  He shook his head in the dark, realizing that the men and women he had met tonight were pretty amazing. Again the blind psychiatrist had been right. These remarkable people deserved his respect, just like his fellow Marines. Carver was glad to know that Dr. McCarthy would be with them to help them through the awkwardness of a new beginning.

  As he thought of Darla, he longed to be with her, to touch her, to hold her and kiss her. And in a real moment of clarity, he understood that again McCarthy might be right. There is much more to love than sex, he thought. And what he felt for his wife was total love.

  He felt as though he was waking up from a bad dream, and for the first time since he was hurt in Iraq, he felt hope. There was a glimmer of hope out there with Darla, and Antwone Carver was beginning to believe it.

  BRENDEN AND KAT HAD caught the last ferry home, and while Kat dropped off the babysitter, Brenden took Nelson for a walk in the dark. Day or night, it didn’t matter to Nelson—or to Brenden, for that matter. Brenden was impressed that the big dog could guide him as well in pitch-black darkness as he could in the brightest sunlight. In fact, Brenden had noticed that the big animal seemed to be even more alert and more sensitive to issues of danger when they worked at night.

  They never went very far on these evening walks; just enough for both of them to stretch their legs and for Nelson to take care of business. Brenden knew it wasn’t particularly professional, but he was elated with the way Carver’s encounter with wheelchair basketball and the people who played it had gone. Whatever the coach said had certainly affected the young Marine, and Brenden felt that he would be able to make substantial progress in their future sessions.

  WHEN HE ARRIVED BACK home, Kat was still awake, and she surprised him when she said that he had a phone call.

  “Who was it?” he asked.

  “My new best friend,” she said. “Corporal Antwone Carver.”

  “At this hour of the night?”

  “That’s right, Dr. McCarthy. Your patient wanted you to know that he called his wife and asked her to come to Seattle.”

  Brenden cheered softly, careful not to wake the kids. “That’s great,” he said. “Reall
y terrific. It means he’s beginning to invest in progress. Kat, we really have a chance to get this guy back on his feet—I mean, his wheels.”

  Kat laughed as she took off her makeup. “Great choice of words, Mr. Sensitive. But I know what you mean. It is terrific, Brenden. You’re a great doctor, a great husband, and I love you. So now that I’ve removed all the war paint, give me a kiss.”

  Brenden leaned forward and kissed his wife, first on the eyes, then on the mouth.

  Holding her face in his hands, he said softly, “You have a beautiful face. It’s perfect.”

  “You can tell that?” she asked.

  “You bet,” he said. “I love to look at it every day.” His fingers traced along the line of her cheek and down her neck and then began to wander, taking in the full beauty of her woman’s body.

  A FEW DAYS LATER, Brenden met with the medical team that had been working with Antwone Carver. His occupational therapist and physical therapist were present, along with the attending physician—not Dr. Jonathan Craig. There was also a career placement counselor, who would help Carver in his post-hospital adjustment, and a Marine captain, who would help navigate the complex paperwork necessary for Carver to begin to collect his well-earned disability compensation.

  Brenden had called the meeting because he wanted to be able to act aggressively to facilitate Carver’s discharge from the hospital if his time with the Marine and his wife gave him the confidence to believe the man was psychologically prepared to go home. Everyone in the room was delighted to learn that the psychiatrist was hopeful there had been a major breakthrough, and they all signed off, leaving the decision completely up to Dr. McCarthy.

  Now the Carvers sat across from Brenden: Antwone in his wheelchair and Darla on a chair she had pulled up close to her husband. Brenden heard them hold hands and felt their nervousness as they began the conversation. He also sensed that they were looking at each other and not very often at him. That’s fine, he thought to himself. That’s exactly where I want their eyes to be—on each other and on their path to a new life.

  “First of all,” he said, “Darla, I am so pleased to meet you. Antwone told me you were beautiful, and even a blind guy can figure out that he was right.”

  He could tell she blushed.

  “Thank you, Dr. McCarthy,” she said. “As long as Antwone thinks so, that’s all that matters.”

  Brenden heard Carver laugh quietly, with more than one note.

  “You see, Doc?” he said. “I told you how special she was.”

  “Yes, you did, Antwone, and because of what you told me, I want to suggest to both of you that love is the most powerful force any of us have in life. It can conquer any adversity, and I believe it can overcome any obstacle. Darla, if it’s not too personal, please tell me how you feel about Antwone.”

  The young woman was direct, and Brenden was very pleased.

  “He’s my heart,” she said without hesitation. “He’s everything I want in my life. Antwone”—now she spoke directly to him—“I believe the doctor’s right—that love can overcome anything, any problem. We can work at it together. That’s what a marriage is all about. Isn’t that true, Dr. McCarthy?” she said, looking for support.

  “I said it was,” Brenden told her, “and I meant it. Antwone—and I can understand this—has been focusing on the issue of sex, but I’ve tried to reassure him that couples can enjoy their sexuality, even with major spinal cord injury.”

  Carver spoke, and Brenden was delighted to hear what he had to say.

  “Doc, you know those videos you told me about? I mean, the couples with”—and he said it appropriately—“couples with disability involved in making love? I watched the DVDs, man, and they were, you know, they were real encouraging. Darla told me she saw the same ones.”

  “I did,” Darla added. “I know it may be different,” she said, and she looked right at her husband again, “but I’m excited to find out. I’m excited to be with you, Antwone—to be your wife again, to be your lover.”

  Something in Darla’s manner broke the emotional dam wide open, and Antwone Carver began to cry. Darla put her arms around him, and Brenden sat still, letting the feelings flow between them without interruption.

  After a little while, Carver said, “I guess maybe I’m back in the game, Doc. I guess maybe I’m going to try.”

  Brenden reached across the low table between them and shook the Marine’s hand. “That’s what I was hoping for, Antwone. That’s what our time together has been all about. But before we start getting your papers together to get out of this place, I do want to talk to you about something else, if that’s okay.”

  “What’s that?” Darla asked.

  “Well,” Brenden said, “Antwone and I have skirted around this subject, but now, with the two of you, I’d like to explore, at least in general terms, what Antwone might consider doing with the rest of his life. I mean his professional life. Have you considered that?” Brenden asked. “Have you given any thought to your future?”

  “Not really . . . ,” Carver said and then chuckled. “Even though you tried to push me to do it.”

  Their shared laughter gave Brenden confidence in Carver’s continued path toward psychological healing.

  “Well,” Brenden said, “the thing is, with Darla working as a teacher, I think it’s important, both economically and for your self-worth, that you begin to consider what you might want to do with your work life. You know, Antwone, in our time together some things have become really clear. I’ve figured out that there are three things you really care about. Darla is number one.”

  He heard the two young people hug each other again and waited a beat.

  “And then there’s basketball. That might be number two. And we can’t forget about the Corps. When it comes to Darla, frankly, Antwone, I’m not really worried anymore, because I’ve felt the love between you and I know it’s special. And talking about basketball, I think the other night you got a taste of a new game.”

  “Yeah,” Antwone said. “The coach dude had something really interesting to say. He told me that when—what do I call them?—I mean, when normal people play the game . . .”

  “That’ll do, Antwone,” Brenden laughed.

  Carver went on, “When normal people play the game, it’s a vertical game. Up in the air, you know? Above the rim. But when wheelchair people play, it’s a horizontal game. What he told me was that I just have to get used to playing a different game.”

  “So how do you feel about that?” Brenden asked.

  Carver laughed again with more than one note. “It’s cool, man,” he said. “Those guys can really play. You were right. They really can play hoop and rock.”

  “So,” Brenden asked, “what about the Corps?”

  “Listen, man,” Carver said, “that’s all over with. What are they going to do, create a brigade of wheelchair guys like some kind of Special Forces unit or something?”

  “No,” Brenden said, “but you know, Antwone, I had an interesting conversation yesterday with the recruiting office out of San Diego, and I learned something really exciting. The Corps is now employing wounded vets to sell young people on joining up.”

  “That doesn’t make sense, man,” Carver said. “Why would they hire shredded guys to talk young dudes into becoming Marines?”

  “Because,” Brenden said, “if some kid meets someone like you, and you’re telling them that the Corps is a great life and that being a Marine is about the best occupation a person could have, how can they ever say you’re wrong? Wounded Marines are the best poster boys for the service, and when I told this recruiter—here’s his name and number, by the way . . .”

  Brenden passed a card across the desk to Carver.

  “When I told this recruiter about your background, he was really interested in you.”

  “Interested?” Carver asked. “In me? Why?”

  “Because he told me that the Corps is looking for people who commit to it. They believe that their training a
nd the way they develop loyalty and esprit de corps is exactly what lost kids are looking for.”

  “You mean like family,” Darla said.

  “That’s right, Darla. Like family. Antwone has told me a couple of times that the Corps was like his family, along with you, of course.”

  “I believe that,” Darla said. “You know, Antwone, when you put on the uniform and I looked at you, so handsome, all spit and polished, I could almost see the pride coming out from inside you.”

  “I guess it’s true,” Carver said. “The pride, I mean. I really do feel it.”

  “And it’s still there?” Brenden asked. “In your heart?”

  Carver tapped his chest. “Yeah, it’s in here, Doc,” he said. “Right along with Darla.”

  The woman leaned forward, and Brenden heard her kiss her husband lightly on the cheek.

  “So when you get home, will you promise me you’ll contact this guy?” Brenden asked.

  “Okay,” Carver said. “I’ll talk to him. We’ll see.”

  “Dr. McCarthy?” Darla asked. “When can Antwone leave the hospital?”

  “As far as I’m concerned,” Brenden said, “he can leave today. I met with your team this morning, Antwone, and they said as long as I’m comfortable releasing you, you can get your stuff together and check out this afternoon.”

  “For real, man?” Carver exclaimed, excitement in his voice.

  “For real, Antwone. You know, you’ve been physically ready to leave here for quite a while now. We just had to get this other stuff together. So here’s what I think. I told you when we first started down this road that as far as I was concerned, you were a hero—a hero to me, a hero to the Corps, and a hero to your country.”

  “And to me,” Darla said. “To me first.”