Paralyzed

by Jeff Rud

  I could see now that Brown’s head had collided directly with my hip. He had fallen straight to the ground. As my teammates cheered my interception on the screen, I could only watch Brown lying there, motionless.

  “I wanted you guys to see this,” Coach Clark said, striding to the front of the room. “Smitty, can you get the lights?”

  Travis Smith, our manager, flicked on the lights and turned off the TV. Coach Clark continued.

  “What happened to that boy was very unfortunate,” he said. “But it was entirely preventable. It was caused completely—one hundred percent—by poor tackling technique. Not just poor, but sloppy and dangerous.

  “Nobody should ever lead with their helmet. It is not a weapon, gentlemen. It is for protection. When somebody tackles like this boy did last night, it can result in a serious injury.”

  Pete Fulton blurted out what everybody in the room was thinking. Or certainly what was on my mind. “Is he okay?”

  “We don’t know,” Coach Clark said. “We haven’t got an update yet. But as soon as we have one, we’ll let you know.”

  The practice that followed was the usual Saturday morning drill. No pads, no hitting. Just a lot of sprints, some light passing and coverage practice. The coach blew his whistle whenever somebody was out of position.

  Still, it dragged for me. My head wasn’t into football. All I could think about was Nate Brown lying there. The rest of uswere able to run and laugh and joke this morning, but what about him?

  When practice finished, I dressed quickly, not bothering to shower since we hadn’t worked hard enough to sweat much. I grabbed a couple of textbooks out of my locker and headed out to the parking lot to wait for Mom.

  A few minutes later, she pulled up in the minivan. The back was full of groceries. Mom’s usual Saturday fall routine was to do the shopping and then pick me up from our workout.

  “Well,” she said as I climbed in, “how was practice?”

  “Okay, I guess,” I said. “We didn’t do much. Saturday’s usually pretty light.”

  “I picked up some of that corned beef you like and some nice rye bread,” Mom said. “Thought we’d have it for lunch on the patio and then—”

  “What about the hospital?” I said. “I thought we were going there to check on Nate.”

  “Well, I’ve got this van full of groceries,” Mom said. “I’ve got ice cream and meat in here that probably won’t keep in this sun.”

  “Can you drop me off there, then?” I said. “I can get home on my own.”

  Mom looked worried. “Reggie, let’s just go home. I can take you to the hospital later if you still want to go. But come home and have some lunch first.”

  “I’m not hungry,” I said curtly. “Just drop me off at the hospital, okay?”

  I immediately regretted the tone in my voice. But I was getting irritated. Why didn’t my parents want me to go to the hospital?

  “All right,” Mom said. “I can come back and pick you up later.”

  “It’s okay. I’ll catch a bus.”

  Mom turned down Commercial, away from home and in the direction of Gower General. She asked me a few questions about football and school along the way. All I could manage were one-word answers. I was obsessed with getting to the hospital and making sure Nate was okay.

  Once we were in the hospital parking lot, I jumped out of the van and headed up the steps to the main entrance. I had been inside Gower General only once before—the time I had broken my leg falling off my bike when I was six. Hospitals still scared me.

  The main lobby was crowded. Doctors and nurses, patients and family members milled about. I spotted the reception desk and waited in line to ask where to find Nate.

  “Can I help you?” said the woman behind the desk. She was about the only staff member not wearing a white coat or a set of green hospital scrubs.

  “Can you tell me how to get to Nate Brown’s room?” I asked.

  The woman looked at her screen and typed Nate’s name into her computer. “Nathaniel Brown,” she said after a few seconds. “He’s still in icu, room three-one-six. Are you family?”

  I shook my head. “What’s icu?”

  “That’s the Intensive Care Unit. It’s on the third floor. But he can’t have visitors unless you’re family.”

  “But I have to see him,” I said. “I need to see if he’s all right.”

  The receptionist’s face softened. She could sense that I was desperate. “I’ll tell you what,” she said. “Take that elevator up to the third floor and speak to the head nurse at the icu station. That’s the best I can do.”

  I nodded and thanked her. I pressed the up button and waited for the elevator. When the door opened, I was staring at a tall orderly in green scrubs. He was standing beside a gurney. On the gurney was a patient with tubes sticking out of his nose, mouth and arm. “Come on in,” the orderly said.

  There wasn’t much room in the elevator, but I squeezed in beside the gurney. The sick man was asleep, and I didn’t say anything to the orderly. I got out of the elevator on the third floor, relieved to get away fromthe man on the gurney. Hospitals creeped me out. I hadn’t been around much serious illness. It wasn’t something I knew about or felt comfortable with. I preferred to keep it that way.

  I found the head nurse’s station and, again, waited my turn.

  “What can I help you with?” The head nurse had jet-black hair, a thin face and friendly hazel eyes.

  “I came to see Nate Brown, er, Nathaniel Brown,” I replied.

  “I’m sorry, but he can’t have any visitors,” she said gently. “Are you a family member?”

  I shook my head. “I’m a friend. Sort of. I was playing football against him last night when he got hurt.”

  “It’s a real shame,” the nurse said. “So young...”

  “Can you at least tell me how he’s doing?” I knew I sounded desperate, but I needed to know right now that Nate was going to be okay.

  “Let me check with somebody. Maybe I can get you an update,” she said as she turned and walked quickly down the hall and around the corner.

  In a few minutes, she returned. Alongside her was the tall redheaded woman that I had seen last night on the football field. The one who had been sobbing beside Nate Brown.

  The woman was staring at me intently. She looked confused.

  “I don’t know you,” she said loudly as she and the nurse approached us. “Are you a teammate of Nate’s?”

  “No,” I said solemnly. “I play for Lincoln. It was me with him on that play...”

  The woman’s face changed in an instant. Gone was the mournful, confused look. In its place was a flash of anger. Her face grew red, and her eyelids twitched.

  “What are you doing here?” she said harshly. “Why did you come?”

  “I came to see Nate,” I stammered. “To see if he’s okay. I—”

  “How do you think he’s doing?” The woman was shrieking now. “This is the Intensive Care Unit. How the hell do you think he’s doing?”

  I didn’t know what to say. “Maybe I should come back some other time.” It was all I could think of.

  “No, no...No!” she said. “Don’t come back. Ever! I don’t want you here. Nate doesn’t want you here. I saw you dancing around after that play. I saw you celebrating. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

  Her words hit me like a speeding train. Everybody had been telling me the accident wasn’t my fault. Now Nate’s mom was blaming me. My legs felt weak. I could hardly breathe.

  “But it was an—” She didn’t let me finish.

  “Get out of here! Now!” she screamed. The nurse with the black hair wrapped her arms around Nate’s mom, attempting to calm her down. She managed to turn her around and head her away from me.

  “You’d better go,” the nurse said to me over her shoulder. “Just go.”

  I turned and walked out of the ICU and into the third-floor lobby. Never had waiting for an elevator taken so long. Tears were streaming do
wn my face, and my chest was heaving.

  chapter four

  I hurried through the crowded main lobby of the hospital, suddenly feeling like an intruder. I was still crying, but I lowered my head so that nobody would notice.

  Outside, I waited by the bus stop. I knew which route to take to get home but now I wished I had let Mom pick me up. I needed to talk to her, to somebody.

  As the bus rumbled down Commercial toward my neighborhood, I thoughtabout what had occurred in the icu ward. It seemed like a bad dream. Had Nate Brown’s mother really screamed at me and told me to get out of the hospital?

  Her words had hurt. Although every-body else had reassured me that what had happened to Nate wasn’t my fault, I was suddenly convinced she was right. I mean, it was me who had collided with Nate. Had it been something I had done that had left him lying in a hospital bed? Did he have tubes sticking out of him like the man I had seen in the elevator? Had I somehow turned my hip into his head?

  And what was it that his mom had said? That I had danced around after Nate got hurt? That’s probably what it had looked like to her. But I had only been celebrating the interception. I hadn’t known Nate was injured. I wouldn’t have danced around if I had known.

  An urge to study the video of the hit came over me. I had to see whether there was something I could have done—or notdone—that would have protected Nate. I made a quick decision and got out at the next stop.

  It was only a couple of blocks back to the corner of Ambassador and Commercial. From there, it was a ten-minute walk to Lincoln High. If my hunch was right, Coach Clark would still be there.

  The coach’s office was located right beside the locker room, at the far end of the Lincoln gym. I was relieved to see through the window that he was sitting at his desk, going over playbooks.

  I knocked on the door. Coach Clark looked up, surprised to see me. “Hey, Reggie,” he said. “Come on in. Sit down.”

  I pulled up the chair across from the coach’s desk. Now I was nervous. I wasn’t exactly sure why.

  “What’s up?” he said.

  “I need to ask you a favor. I was wondering if I could borrow the video from last night’s game.”

  Coach Clark wrinkled his forehead and squinted. “Why would you want that? There’s barely any game to look at.”

  “I need it. To take another look...” The words caught in the back of my throat and I couldn’t finish my sentence.

  “I think I know what this is all about,” Coach Clark said. “But I’m not going to give you that tape, Reggie.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because there’s nothing to see on it. Nate Brown hit you with his helmet. It was a dangerous hit. It wouldn’t have mattered who he ran into. He might as well have been hitting a side of beef.”

  I nodded. Inside, I wasn’t so sure I agreed.

  “But I think it might make me feel better about it,” I pleaded. “I mean, if I looked at it again, I could be sure.”

  “Or you could stare at it all night and see things that just aren’t there,” the coach countered. “Sorry, Reggie. But that’s not healthy.”

  “I went to see him today,” I said.

  “You mean Nate Brown?”

  “Yeah. But I couldn’t...I wasn’t family so they wouldn’t let me in.”

  “That’s pretty standard,” Coach said. “In a few days, maybe you and the other co-captains will be able to go in and visit.”

  Again, I nodded. I didn’t tell the coach about my run-in with Nate’s mother. I was ashamed of it. I had done something to upset somebody whose world was already crashing down around her.

  “I guess I’ll see you later then,” I said to the coach.

  “Okay, Reggie,” he replied. “Listen, try to enjoy the rest of the weekend. Don’t let this bother you. I’ve already told you this, but I’ll tell you again: It wasn’t your fault.”

  Once again, those four words. The way coach said them made it seem so simple.

  By the time I got home, it was nearly 5:00 PM. The sun was beginning to set behind thehouses on our street. Mom and Dad were in the kitchen. Mom was standing by the stove, watching over a stir-fry. Dad was making a salad.

  “Reggie,” Mom said. “We were starting to get worried about you. How did it go at the hospital?”

  “Not great,” I said, slumping into a chair beside Dad. “Horrible, in fact.”

  Mom turned down the stove. Dad put down his knife. “How is Nate?” Mom said.

  “I don’t really know,” I replied. I could feel the tears rising again. “They wouldn’t let me see him. I’m not family.”

  “Don’t take it personally, Reggie,” Dad said. “I think that’s pretty standard for the hospital.”

  I was sobbing now. Mom and Dad looked at each other, bewildered. “Reggie, what’s wrong?” Mom said, putting her hand on my shoulder.

  “Nate’s mom,” I said. “She yelled at me. She kicked me out of the hospital. It was messed up.”

  Dad looked at Mom. “I knew we should have gone in with him,” he said. “Tell us exactly what happened, Reggie.”

  In a couple of emotional minutes, I spilled it all. How Mrs. Brown wouldn’t listen to why I was there. How she accused me of hurting her son and of celebrating afterward.

  Mom and Dad were both quiet for several seconds. Finally Mom spoke. “I’m sorry that happened,” she said. “You didn’t deserve that. Reggie, sometimes stress does strange things to people. If it was you lying there in a hospital bed, I’m not sure I would be acting rationally, either. I’m sure when things settle down she’ll feel differently.”

  I wasn’t so sure. I had seen the hatred in her eyes. I had felt the sting of her accusations. I had never felt so loathed.

  “I’m going to bed,” I said.

  “Bed?” Dad said. “Supper’s in a couple of minutes.”

  “I’m not really hungry,” I said. “And it’s been a crappy day.”

  I climbed the stairs to my room, closed the door behind me and flopped down on my bed. Outside, another group of geese honked their way past our house. I was too tired to get up and check them out.

  chapter five

  Nothing that happened on Sunday made me feel much better than I had the day before. I was still stinging from my experience with Mrs. Brown. I was still really worried about Nate’s condition. What if he never walked again?

  I woke up early Monday morning with a good idea. I could ask Jeff’s dad if he knew how Nate was doing. I knew he sometimesworked on call at Gower General. He’d probably already checked up on Nate.

  I tracked down Jeff at lunchtime. He was in the cafeteria, about to launch himself into a huge piece of pepperoni pizza.

  “Yeah, I can ask him,” Jeff said after I’d put the suggestion to him. “But why don’t you come over after practice and ask him yourself? You can stay for supper.”

  It sounded like a good idea to me. I’d forgotten all about practice until Jeff reminded me. In fact, I realized that I hadn’t thought too much about football all weekend.

  Unlike Saturday’s light session, we wore full gear for our Monday afternoon practice. As I pulled on my pads, I realized it was the first time I had geared up since the incident with Nate Brown.

  For the first half hour, we did calisthenics and conditioning drills. Then everybody on the team ran through receiving and defensive coverage drills to warm up the quarterbacks’ arms. I made a coupleof nice shoestring catches off throws by Lance Turner, a co-captain with me and our starting quarterback. “You got some hands, boy,” Turner joked. “We have to get you playing on the right side of the ball.”

  Once the preliminaries were out of the way, Coach Molloy took the defense to one side of the field. Coach Clark gathered the offensive players on the other.

  “We’re going to run live plays now, boys,” Coach Clark said. “We didn’t get to hit or block much on Friday, so we’ll work on some of that today to make up for it. Hit hard and clean, just like it was a game.”

  No
rmally, I loved anything in practice that simulated real game action—especially when the linebackers got a chance to hit. All of us who played defense felt that our Lincoln receivers and running backs were a pretty cocky bunch. This was a rare opportunity to bring them down a notch or two.

  But by now I was already counting the minutes until this practice would be over.

  I was waiting for the chance to ask Dr. Stevens if Nate Brown was doing any better.

  I did my best to concentrate on each play, though. Coach Molloy had no patience for guys who didn’t pay attention or give a full effort. Three plays in, I saw Dexter Bart, our starting fullback, bursting through the middle of our defensive line. I drew a bead on him and prepared to bring him down with a tackle.

  It should have been a routine play. But something happened. Not physically, but mentally. I moved in to tackle Bart, but for some reason, I couldn’t do it. My legs suddenly went weak. I lunged at him and missed badly. Dexter easily sidestepped me and carried on down the field.

  I heard the shrill whistle. I knew it was Coach Molloy. “Just what the heck was that exactly?” he yelled at me. “Reggie, I’ve seen better tackle attempts from the junior girls’ volleyball team.”

  My ears burned, but I knew I deserved the criticism. I didn’t understand why, but at the last second, I hadn’t been able to hit Dexter.

  As practice continued, I managed to at least make contact with the next few ball carriers that ventured into my zone. But I wasn’t tackling with anywhere near my normal power. “Didn’t you get enough food today, Reggie?” Coach Molloy said. “Better eat your Wheaties tomorrow, son. We got Franklin this Friday. Those boys can run.”

  Coach Molloy was referring to the Franklin Demons, one of the better teams in the city prep league. Franklin was always one of the toughest games on Lincoln’s schedule. We’d have to be in top form to beat them. Right now, I didn’t feel anywhere near top form.