Decoration for Valor

by Joe Cassilly

  On a mannequin’s torso was a black lace bra and panties. “That’s what you need,” I said, “to wear under that boring old nurse uniform to give you some pizzazz.”

  “What difference would it make to you what I wore under my uniform.” It was part statement and part question.

  “Well, not much when you wear white, but I seem to remember a nice royal blue set.” Her eyes grew big and color rushed to her face.

  “You could not have seen them.” She was almost convinced that the dark undergarments had been perfectly visible through the white uniform for everyone at work to see.

  “Actually, I looked up your sleeve one time.”

  “How did you see the panties, then?”

  “I didn’t. I just figured they were a matched set.” She punched me in the arm. “Ow, damn it, are you trying to make me a cripple? If I can’t use this arm, I’ll have to push in circles.” I said this loudly, attracting the attention of nearby shoppers. I looked at a young woman and an older woman who were shopping together. “Please, help me. She beats on me and abuses me all the time.”

  Suzie pressed her hand over my mouth. “Be quiet you maniac.” She spoke to the women, “Don’t pay any attention to him, he’s delirious.” I started laughing and licked the palm of her hand. Then, she started laughing. “I gotta go to the little girls’ room,” she gasped between giggles.

  “I know or you’ll wet your pants.” She went to the ladies’ room. I decided to use the opportunity to empty my leg bag. I found the men’s room. I tried the door to each stall but I could not get the chair through any of them. So I rolled up to one of the sinks and laid my leg across it. I fumbled with the clamp for a while before getting it to release. A guy came in and gave me a curious stare before going into one of the stalls. It was embarrassing, but I thought, what the hell. I would never see the guy again and it was the store’s fault for not having accessible bathrooms. I finished draining it into the sink and left.

  We asked for men’s clothing and were told it was on the second floor. There were escalators in the center of the floor, but we were directed to the elevators in the far corner. The pushing was starting to tire me. When we got to the men’s section, we were approached by a salesclerk that I just knew I was not going to like. There was his shoulder length brown hair that curled up smartly where it hit his shoulders. While I tried to ignore the nauseating power of his cologne, I looked at his clothes. Somewhere in this department stood a naked mannequin while this guy pranced around in its clothes. Everything matched too well. He walked to within an inch of me and looked directly at Suzie’s face. “Good morning, Miss, may I help you?”

  He was looking beyond me. I was trying to get over the shock that I did not exist. He was making a point of ignoring me. I coughed. “I’d like to look at pants.” Still, the clerk looked past me. I suddenly realized how weird I looked in my plastic collar, short buzzed hair, and black fingerless gloves with my crippled fingers showing. The clerk launched into a spiel about a sale that the store was running, but he was looking at and talking to Suzie. It was becoming painfully obvious that he was not going to acknowledge me.

  “I want to see some khaki pants,” I said louder.

  The clerk asked Suzie, “What size does he wear?”

  “I don’t know what size he wears,” she spat through clenched teeth. “Ask him.”

  As the clerk turned and walked down the aisle, he said over his shoulder, “Those pants are down here.” The path through the racks was too narrow for me to get through and I felt sure he knew that. My face burned with the humiliation and the muscles in my neck grew taut. I wanted to scream after him but my brain would not come up with a response. I turned the chair and pushed as hard as I could for the elevator.

  § § § § § §

  Suzie started to run after Jake, but she turned around and ran all the way back down the aisle to the clerk. She grabbed his lapel and screamed, “YOU, asshole.” Suzie ran to the elevator, but when she got there, Jake was gone. She went to the escalators. As she stood there riding down, she could see Jake pushing through the “Intimate Apparel” section. At the bottom, she ran for the revolving door, planning to meet him on the sidewalk.

  § § § § § §

  I pushed passed the stacks of boxes to the exit to the loading dock. I did not see the sign that said “Opening Door Will Sound Alarm.” As I hit the crash bar, a loud bell went off. I pushed across the dock to the steep ramp. It was a mistake. I picked up too much speed and the incline threw my weight forward onto the front wheels. When the chair hit the alley, one of the front wheels struck a small pothole. The chair jerked violently sideways and flipped. I put out my hand to try to protect myself, but the glove tore away and my hand slid across the surface of the alley. I hit the concrete and rolled out of the chair. The breath had been knocked out of me.

  I rolled onto my back, trying to suck in air. I rocked from side to side to sit up. Then, I scooted backwards to lean against the wall. I had torn a big patch of skin from my hand and I laid the flap of skin back over the cut and pressed my palm against my chest to hold it in place. “Goddamn this shit,” I screamed. “Why, God, why are you screwing around with me?” My face was covered with tears and mucus. To emphasize my frustration, I hit the wheelchair as hard as I could. “You stupid piece of junk.”

  Suzie came walking around the corner. When she saw me, she broke into a run. “Are you okay?” she asked, kneeling beside me.

  “This was a dumb idea to come here. I should have just stayed in the hospital,” I muttered. She took Kleenex from her pocket and wiped my face. Then, she noticed the blood on my shirt and pulled my hand so she could look at it.

  “Oh, Jake,” she said with compassion. At that moment, the security guard, summoned by the alarm, looked out of the door.

  “You folks need some help?”

  “Please,” said Suzie. The guard walked down the ramp. He set the chair up and put the cushion back into it.

  “Can you get back in it?” I shook my head no. The guard told Suzie to grab under one of my arms and under my knee and he took the other side. They lifted me into the chair.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “My uncle is in a wheelchair,” said the guard. I nodded. “If you want a store that’s easy to get into and a darn sight cheaper than this place, go left at the street and it’s in the next block.”

  “Thank you,” said Suzie.

  “Look, son,” said the guard, “don’t lose heart. You got a real pretty wife here and you both will get through tough times.”

  I started pushing the chair. It cheered me to have the guard think that Suzie and I were married, and more so because she did not correct him. I had hit hard on my ribs and shoulder and my hand was throbbing. Every push brought pain, but I was not going to ask for help. We got to the curb. I just sat there staring at the eight-inch drop. Another wave of helplessness broke over me and tears started down my face anew. Suzie took the chair off the curb and across the street. We found the store, which was called “Rebel Country.”

  “Stop a minute,” I asked of Suzie, who had been pushing since the corner. I wiped my face with my shirtsleeve. Suzie then realized that I had been crying again. She stepped beside me and gave me a hug, but in doing so, she pulled my face into her breast. I wrapped my arms tightly around her waist. Then, I started laughing. She was startled by my sudden change of mood. She stepped back and gave me a quizzical expression.

  “What?”

  “I was thinking that I would smother in the expanse of your bosom.”

  “You are absolutely insane,” she said, blushing as she realized where my face had been.

  “I know, but it’s all I’ve got going for me.”

  We bought a jacket, jeans, shirts and a pair of cowboy boots. Then, we went to lunch. I marked this in my memory as the first meal that I had eaten outside of a hospital in over five months. I ordered pizza and beer; I was relieved that they did not card me. When we got back to her car, I just fell from
the chair into the front seat.

  As she pulled from the curb, she asked, “Where to now?”

  “Are you going to stay over until tomorrow?” I asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “I would like to get a motel room.”

  “Jake, I’m still married and I’m working through a lot of emotional stuff with the divorce. I don’t want to confuse our relationship.”

  “It isn’t that. I just don’t feel like going back to the hospital, but I need a place to lie down.”

  We got a room. I was very sore and exhausted. I struggled from the chair to the bed. Suzie lifted my legs onto the bed. My eyes closed.

  20

  Motives

  I started dreaming, only, this time, the sequence of events was different. This time, I got to Jim. I knelt beside him. The shooting had stopped. I wrapped my arms around my friend and gently rolled him over. I looked into the gaping, bloody hole. I dug a first aid kit from a pouch on my belt. I stuffed gauze pads into the hole. “Medic!” I screamed. It echoed from the trees in the forest.

  The little voice inside my head kept telling me that this was wrong, that this was not what had happened, but I ignored it. I wanted to see how it would end. The “doc” ran up to me. He quickly examined the wound and felt for a pulse.

  “He’s dead,” said the medic, “nothing you coulda done.” I laid Jim back, sat in the mud and pouring rain and started crying. The phrase, “nothing you coulda done” kept rumbling through my ears. It woke me up. I laid there with my eyes shut. What about Jim’s mom and dad? Where is he buried? Had they heard how he died or would they want to? The thoughts crowding my head made me dizzy and I had to open my eyes.

  The room was lit only by the sunlight seeping in around the heavy drapes. Beside me, Suzie lie sleeping. I quietly got off the bed. I left the collar lying on the table by the bed. I went to the curtain and peeked outside. The sun was low over the building next door. I guessed it was about 5:00 p.m.. I went into the bathroom. I washed the dried blood off my hand. I pulled off my shirt. A large bruise darkened my shoulder and rib cage. I sat there staring into the mirror.

  I did not know how long I had been sitting there grinding thoughts through my head and sifting my emotions before Suzie came walking in. She pulled my chair back from the sink and sat in my lap. “Am I too heavy?”

  “No.”

  “Nasty bruise.” She took a washcloth and ran cold water on it. She tenderly wiped the bruise and then my forehead and cheeks. The softness of her hand on my shoulder and the coolness of the water stirred me from my thoughts, but still I kept staring at the man in the mirror. She looked into the mirror and asked, “Why are you sitting in here?”

  “Thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “Thinking that I could not get out of that car, or cross the streets, or get in that store. Thinking that today that clerk treated me like shit, like I don’t exist because I am in this wheelchair.”

  “Come on. You’re just having a bad day.”

  My jaw drew tight and my voice became bitter. “When your legs don’t work, your fingers won’t do what you want them to, and you have to piss through a tube, everyday is a bad day. It doesn’t make any difference how hard I work to get out of there. I’m better off in that damn hospital, because I can’t get around in the outside world.”

  “You don’t mean to say that.”

  I jerked my eyes from the mirror and looked into hers. “Why? Why can’t I say that? Afraid I’ll mess up your psychological self-help program. If ‘Jake is doing all right’—when I’m smiling and doing fine— then all those other cripples that haunt your dreams are out there somewhere smiling and doing fine too. Isn’t that it?”

  Her hand left my shoulder as if I had caught fire. She brought her hands to her face and sobbed deep wracking sobs that shook her body. She struggled to get up but I wrapped my arms around her shoulders and pulled her firmly against my chest. After awhile, she took her hands from her face and put her arms around me and laid her head on my bruised shoulder. I knew she was still crying, though; I felt each tear drop onto my skin.

  “Look, I am incredibly frustrated, but I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  There was a long silence. “The dream was driving me crazy,” she said in a hoarse voice. “I asked to work nights because I was afraid to go to sleep, afraid it would wake me up. I’d be alone and I’d lie in the dark and see the dream even though I was awake.”

  I shivered.

  “I thought that I was going mad. I mean, nurses work in emergency rooms and operating rooms and see things as bad, if not worse, all of the time. We’re not supposed to be bothered by that stuff, but it got to me. I didn’t think other medical people would understand. They would say I wasn’t cut out for this work.” I looked into the mirror; her eyes were closed and I felt her draw a long slow breath. “One night at work, I heard you crying. I asked what was wrong but you didn’t answer. I saw you were having a bad dream. I realized I wasn’t the only one it had made crazy.”

  It made me smile to be called “crazy” and I thought for the first time I had more than a physical disability.

  “I didn’t know if I could help you or if I even wanted to. Then, there was Christmas Eve and those killer blue eyes shining in the dark. I was so lonely that holiday, I wanted so badly to mean something to someone, to feel a hug.” Her arms tightened. “Or a kiss. When we talked after your mother’s visit, there was something positive. I knew that if you made it, if I helped you, my dream would be over. Since I’ve been coming to see you, I haven’t had that dream. But if you get depressed, then I can’t come see you anymore.”

  “Why?” I tried to keep my apprehension from sounding.

  “It’s all I can do to deal with my own head. I don’t have enough strength to pull you up out of your depression and I can’t risk letting you drag me down.” She ran her hands up my neck and massaged the back of my head. I watched us in the mirror, me sitting there in a wheelchair with this very pretty woman sitting in my lap.

  “I am sorry for what I said.”

  “Why? You’re right. I feel better now that it’s all been said. I never told anyone about the dream. What I want to know is how you knew.”

  “It was what you said about me helping you with your bad dream. That kept bugging me and then I figured that was the reason that you would drive all the way down here to see me.”

  “What you figured was that I must be crazy to hang around with some cripple,” she said as she leaned toward me and placed her lips next to my ear. “Sweetie, we gotta work on that low opinion you have of yourself. Do you think you can’t be attractive without your legs?”

  “I can’t figure some woman driving to the store to buy damaged goods.”

  “I knew you didn’t know anything about shopping for bargains. I had a man with two strong legs and a lying, hateful heart. You’ve got it all over him. Flat on your back, you did more to make me feel good about myself and make me realize that I’m special than he ever did.”

  “But I am confused. Am I your patient, your friend, or your therapist?”

  “Couldn’t you be all three?” The room was quiet for a few minutes. She turned to look at us in the mirror. “You feel better?”

  “Look, I am glad you come down here, but you’re not being fair. You can’t expect me to just slap on a smile ’cause you come walking in the door.”

  “That’s not what I expect. I know this is tough for you. Today was awful, but you have just begun your rehab, you will learn. Just please.” She took my chin in her hands and turned my face toward hers. “Please don’t give up on yourself. Promise me.”

  “I’ll try.” She shook her head no, indicating that that was not enough. “Okay, I promise.” She gave me a hard hug. “You know, I haven’t had a hug like that since I said good-bye to a nurse on a helipad in Vietnam.” I tilted my head and kissed her—a long kiss. I licked her lips and her mouth opened. When we stopped for air, I asked, “I hope this is th
e right way to say,” I began, pausing to make sure I wanted to say what came next. “…I love you.”

  “I love you too, but don’t go too fast.” She stood up. “I’m getting too heavy for you.”

  “What? A wiry woman like you, heavy?”

  She glanced in the mirror and saw the smile brighten my face, but she knew it was an ornery smile. “What?”

  “Royal blue, right?”

  She pulled out the front of her sweater and looked down. “You pervert, how do you know?”

  “Come on.” I started backing the chair out of the room. “You gotta help me with an experiment.” As I pushed out of the bathroom, I explained that I was tired of being told by the hospital staff that I could not do this or not do that. “They don’t let you move ahead or try anything if it’s not on their schedule. If you ask to do anything new, they always ask, ‘How many months have you been here?’ just to see which pigeonhole you belong in.”

  I put the collar back on. I swung the footrests of the chair off to the side and slid my rear end off the seat until my knees hit the floor. Then, my butt dropped and hit my heels and my knees cracked loudly.

  “Ow, ow, ow,” said Suzie, “doesn’t that hurt?”

  “How can it hurt? I don’t have any feeling down there.”

  “But that doesn’t mean that you can’t hurt yourself.” I pulled myself forward until I was lying on my stomach. “Okay, now slide my legs apart.” When she had done that, I did a push-up and tried to get up on my knees, but my legs slid backwards. I laid down, rolled over, sat up, and threw my legs so that my feet were against the wall. Then, I rolled back over. “Okay, let’s try it again.”

  This time, I got up on my hands and knees. I steadied myself. I strained against the collar so that I looked down between my arms and along my body to see my legs bearing my weight after so many months. I looked over at the motel room chair and asked Suzie to slide it over in front of me. “Put it so that the seat is under my chin and then hold on tight and don’t let it move.” When the chair was positioned, I quickly lifted one arm and put my forearm on the seat. I steadied my self, then the other arm. I lifted. I was kneeling up. “Slide the chair closer.” Unfortunately, my hips went backward and I ended up sitting on my heels again. Suzie moved the chair and I went through the exercise again, but this time I went off to the side. I fought the impulse to express a profanity. Third time was a charm.