Lindsey saw us drive in and hurried over to the house. She could barely control her excitement when I reported what the doctor said. “Just think! You could be walking soon! I’m so excited!” She threw her arms around my neck and hugged me.
“It’s not that easy,” I warned her. “There’s a fifty percent chance it won’t work at all. And there is a smaller chance that I could get the pain but no benefit.”
“That won’t happen!” She glared at me. “Stop thinking like that!”
I grinned at her.
Things got worse at the Anderson house. It seemed as though Lindsey’s step dad took a greater interest in our relationship and in his stepdaughter. He had never been as interested before and that was fine with Lindsey. He was a kind, patient man who loved her and her mom. Now, Lindsey thought, with her mom pushing the buttons, her step dad was finding things that they had to do as a family. All that meant was Lindsey could not spend as much time with me as we had grown accustomed to. When she did come over, her eyes came alive again while we talked about the treatments, about Meckler’s Disease and our future. However, she clouded up again when it was time to go home.
Instead of spending every day and weekends together now, the Andersons had squeezed her time so tightly that she and I barely had two days together and then only until 8:00 p.m.
Just before school ended for the summer, Lindsey lost a chess match to someone that she had beaten every time in the past. She told me she was not as sharp as when we had time to play each other. The chess club members stopped coming to my house because Lindsey asked them to stay away. She wanted uninterrupted time with me since it was so rare anymore.
I decided to talk to the Andersons. My parents encouraged me in that and even arranged an appointment with Lindsey’s mom and dad. I plucked up my courage and wheeled over to their house one evening at the appointed time. My heart knocked in my chest because this was a very unusual thing for me. I was used to confronting people when I was angry and I needed that to fuel my words. I could not be angry with the Andersons and so I had very little to go on except conviction.
I knocked on the door and Mr. Anderson opened it. He motioned for me to come in. I wheeled into the house, feeling the tension. Mr. Anderson directed me to the living room and then sat down on the couch next to his wife. She had come from the kitchen and was wiping her hands with a towel as I wheeled into the room. We sat in the living room, Lindsey’s mom and step-dad on the couch, Lindsey and I on the other side of the room.
Lindsey sat down next to me, slipped her fingers into mine, and squeezed. I suddenly felt more confident. The conversation was stilted and awkward while we tried to get comfortable. At last, I cleared my throat and began. “I don’t know if you remember much about me when you first moved here, but I was a lot different then,” I said by way of preamble. “I hated the whole world because I felt that my life had been taken away from me. I didn’t care who I hurt because I’d allowed myself to get angry at everything and everyone.”
I took a deep breath. Lindsey’s fingers felt good, secure, and comfortable in my hand. “I don’t know if you remember those days.” I looked up. To my surprise, they nodded. They did remember them.
Lindsey’s mom said softly, “Lindsey came home from your house crying that first week.” Her pain-filled eyes were a shock to me. The memory still hurt Lindsey’s mom.
I looked at Lindsey in surprise. I saw the truth in her eyes. Instead of hurt or anger now, I saw love. My heart swelled. Her look told me that she believed in me, trusted me, and knew that my being here tonight would make a difference. I hoped so. It was a lot to live up to.
I looked back at her mom. “Why did you let her come back?”
Mrs. Anderson shrugged, a tiny smile played at the corners of her mouth. “She’s quite independent. She grew up differently than most girls. She insisted that you were the one who was hurt, not her. She insisted that she was crying for you, not because you hurt her.” I saw the memory of pain in Mrs. Anderson’s eyes.
I looked at the soft, delicate, wonderful hand in my hand. “I wouldn’t have gone back to school, Mrs. Anderson, if not for Lindsey. I could not believe her courage. For the last five years I’ve been trying to live in the kind of courage that she demonstrates daily.” Tears trickled down my cheeks. It is a terrible thing to find out about the pain you have caused others to endure. I pressed on, “I’m not as good at telling you what I feel as I am at feeling it. I’m sorry. And, I’m so sorry for the pain I caused both of you and Lindsey back then.” I dabbed at my face.
Lindsey handed me a Kleenex. I looked up in time to see Mrs. Anderson wipe something from her cheek. “I made a mistake at the Prom. Maybe those boys were not going to hurt her, but I could not take that chance. It was a freak accident that wouldn’t have happened if I wasn’t in a wheelchair.” I spoke bitterly now. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect her! I would gladly give my life for her, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson. I promise that!”
Mr. Anderson put a hand on his wife’s arm. She looked at him. It was his turn to speak. “Linda and I appreciate all that you have been through,” he said kindly. “We believe that you have had a very positive impact on Lindsey, uh, after the first year.”
He took a deep breath. Now the bad news: I steeled myself and Lindsey’s fingers tightened in my hand. “There’s no doubt that she has gone beyond the call of duty to help you.” I felt suddenly chilled. That did not sound positive. Lindsey felt it too. “We think it is time that she opened up her horizons a bit.” His voice became earnest. They had discussed this at some length. This was rehearsed and thoughtful. “Lindsey has been rather sheltered in her relationships. We think that she needs some time away from you so she can get her bearings and get a different perspective.”
“Mom, what are you saying?” Lindsey had promised to let me talk but neither one of us expected this. She addressed the question to her mom because she guessed Mr. Anderson had simply been elected spokesman.
Her mother swallowed. She looked at me. “We’re not saying that you haven’t been a good influence lately, Jimmy. We just think Lindsey needs to have other experiences.” She looked at her husband for help. It wasn’t going as easily as they had hoped.
He cleared his throat. I could feel Lindsey’s hand tightening in the same way that it was kneading my shoulder that night at the prom. I tightened my fingers back trying to warn her to stop and let them finish what they had to say. “All she’s known is the distance between our house and your house, Jimmy,” he said. “We think that she’s been tied down a little…” He looked at me. “Can you understand what we are trying to say?”
I nodded once. I did understand. It made sense that Lindsey had made up her mind before seeing more of the possibilities and opportunities that lay ahead of her.
The girl next to me rewarded me with a frown for capitulating. I could feel through her fingers that she was getting ready for battle. Her heart was pounding in her fingertips, so I knew she was not as calm as she looked. She lowered her gaze for a moment as she tried to form her response.
“When dad died, and we lived alone for two years, I learned a lot about myself,” she began.
I settled back in the wheelchair. As tense as the moment was, I knew I was about to learn something about Lindsey and that excited me.
“I was nine when he died. I realized how short life can be.” She squeezed my hand. I knew she was thinking of the blood clot too. “My dad loved me, but he was never happy with his life. It was inside him…”
She saw the look on her mother’s face and added quickly, “…nothing could make him happy because he wasn’t happy down here.” She pointed to a spot mid-way on her chest. “I don’t want to live for tomorrow—always hoping for something that will make me happy. I am determined to live each day to its fullest, because I might not have another.” She wiped a tear from her cheek.
I was awe-struck. Lindsey’s approach to life suddenly made sense; her hunger for learning, her happiness, and her desire
to include others in that life. All of these things were an outcome of her desire to live each day to the fullest.
“I have been happy, mom. I’m not afraid that I’m missing out on life. I have lots of friends. I’m doing what I love to do. I’m happy.” She looked at her mom.
Mrs. Anderson swallowed hard. She drew a breath and looked at her husband. She was wavering in her resolve. I could see it and so could Mr. Anderson. He met her gaze and raised a single eyebrow. Lindsey’s mom turned back to her daughter. “I know that seems true now, honey, but you don’t know that for sure. You have nothing to compare…” she lost her train of thought as Lindsey reacted.
Lindsey’s fingers tensed. I knew I was about to experience something I’d never seen before. She was going to erupt and I could not stop her.
“I haven’t been tied down, mom! I’ve never been as free as I have the last few years.” Her mom started to interrupt but Lindsey plunged on, “It’s only been recently, since the accident, that I’ve been tied down!” She broke into tears from the sheer effort of trying to make her mom and step dad understand. “I’ve been very happy, mom. I love Jimmy! I love living next door to the Turners. But since the prom it seems like I’ve been trapped and restricted and tied down by some invisible fear.” She choked up and could not continue.
“Don’t you talk…” Mr. Anderson started to reprimand Lindsey but his wife put a restraining hand on his arm.
“We’re trying to do what’s best for you! Don’t you see that?”
“I can’t see anything but your fear,” Lindsey replied. She spoke simply, honestly.
The Andersons looked at each other. Finally Mrs. Anderson spoke. “I know this is difficult for you, Lindsey and Jimmy. We want you to break it off; we really do.” Her face revealed the inner turmoil she felt.
My heart caved. I did not think it was going to keep beating. Lindsey’s hand was so tight in mine that my fingers hurt. She was shaking and sobbing. Her mother looked determined and her step dad was poised to intervene if he had to.
There was nothing more to say. I did not know how to salvage this discussion. It was clear from the start that they were ready for me and had already determined the outcome. Lindsey was sixteen, and she was their daughter.
I started to uncurl my fingers from Lindsey’s hand but she refused to let me go. Tears slid down her cheeks as she tried to regain her composure. When she was able, she spoke softly but I heard new strength behind her words.
“Mom, dad, I know you are scared and that’s why you decided to try to break Jimmy and me up.” She looked at her mom. I glanced over and saw her brows knit in concentration. “I’ve lived in fear before and so have you. I cannot believe that you have forgotten everything we learned then. I will never forget the things my father taught me. He didn’t mean to teach me those things but he drummed them into me from the time I could understand.” She took a breath. Her fingers tightened in mine. “I’m going to say something to you that comes from the bottom of my heart. I want you to know that I use it now because I am as scared as I ever was when my father was drunk and mean.”
She took another breath. “O’Reilly’s rabid rabbits are raging tonight.”
Her mom’s face showed confusion and then went white. She got off the couch and rushed over to Lindsey. She was crying before she got there. She and Lindsey grabbed and clung to each other as if the world was collapsing around them. Mr. Anderson looked at me dumbfounded.
Mrs. Anderson repeatedly brushed her daughter’s hair with her hand. She kissed her fiercely and looked at me. With tears in her eyes and wet streaks down her face she said, “I’m sorry, Jimmy. I’m so sorry.”
Waves of relief threatened to overwhelm me. Mr. Anderson looked like he wanted to get out of the nut house.
It was a long time before Mrs. Anderson went back to the couch and patted her husband’s arm. “I’ll tell you later,” she said. She looked at Lindsey. “Let’s get the men something to drink, okay?”
When the women came back from the kitchen with cokes Lindsey looked at me with red-rimmed eyes that had never been so beautiful. Why is it that girls look so much better than boys do when they have been crying? It is probably because we do not have much practice at it.
We sipped our cokes and tried to think of a topic that might be mutually interesting. I did not want to get into an emotional discussion. “Has Lindsey told you about the surgery?” I asked conversationally.
Mrs. Anderson visibly tensed and then forced herself to relax. “Lindsey’s told us some things,” she said cautiously.
I babbled for a while about the arrangements and the hopes we had for a full recovery based on the testimonies of the people I had talked to. Only after I told her about the chance for me to walk again did I feel like it was disconcerting to her but it did not really register. Lindsey and I talked while they made smiling faces in response.
Lindsey tried to interject a little humor in because she saw the tenseness too. “Don’t worry, mom. I’ll still be faster than he is.”
I laughed.
Finishing the cokes was my clue to leave. The Andersons allowed Lindsey to walk outside with me. She bent down for a goodnight kiss. We talked and held hands for a few minutes. I wheeled home thinking how pretty, smart and caring she was; and how lucky I was.
Later that night, I realized that I had spoken of my hope and future in glowing terms but all they could see was their daughter’s disease. That explained their smiling faces without genuine joy. It wasn’t because they were upset that I might get better. They were upset that Lindsey might never have the future that she desired—and deserved.
Lindsey once again had permission to be with me. It was grudging, Lindsey thought, but the restrictions were off. She had fully recovered from her injury. She threw herself into catching up on the work she missed at school. Her junior year was ending and she had a lot of catching up to do.
I loved glancing over at her as she studied. She seemed serene. She loved knowledge. She had just begun talking about going into psychiatry when she graduated high school. I thought she would be the best psychiatrist anyone could have. I could not help but admire her with every breath I took.
Just before I left for Brazil Lindsey came over. I could see her eyes were red from crying. My heart lurched inside me. I did not need bad news before I made this trip. It was possible that something had flared up because of injury to her spleen or there was some news about Meckler’s disease that was terrible. I steeled myself for the worst. I was frightened enough. I found myself fearing she had lost her optimism.
“Sorry,” she said when she saw me looking at her eyes. “I’m happy, that’s all. I’m not worried.” But she broke down and leaked fresh tears. We were alone so I pulled her onto my lap and rested my chin on her shoulder while she regained her composure. Her hair was in ponytails, one on each side.
“You are a little worried, though, aren’t you?” I asked when she stopped crying.
She denied it by shaking her head. Her ponytails slapped me on both sides of my face. I reached up and turned her face toward mine.
Her kisses were soft and sweet. Neither one of us had ever kissed anyone else. I could not conceive of kissing another girl—except my mom and that was different! Lindsey’s kisses were special, mood altering kisses. I could not stay upset or hurt or angry when she kissed me because she knew exactly how long to kiss depending on where I hurt or how happy we were. I cannot explain it. Moreover, when it was over, it was not over. Her kisses lingered long past the time she went home. I could feel her breath on my cheek, her lips against mine and sometimes I went to sleep tasting those kisses. This kiss was sweeter, tenderer, more filled with love than any other kiss I had ever experienced. Her kisses came straight from her heart to my lips and shot electricity through my body—the parts I could feel. Think of how intense kisses are when you can feel them in your feet! I could not, so the kisses that should have gone to my feet piled up in my stomach and chest and lungs and fingertips! Oh how I
loved kissing her!
When she pulled away, she got up and sat down across from me. She looked into my eyes. “I believe in this,” she said. “I believe with all my heart that it is going to work for you. Last night I laid awake thinking how wonderful it is going to be to stand with you and hold you in my arms…” her face contorted but she managed to quell the tears. “But it doesn’t matter to me Jimmy! It doesn’t matter. Standing, lying, running, walking…it is all the same. I’m content just being with you.”
We held each other for a long time.
It was hot in Tennessee the afternoon we left on Continental Airlines from the Nashville airport. I dreaded the long hours and the inconvenience. We changed planes in Miami at 5:12 p.m. After a three-hour layover that seemed endlessly long, we lifted off and crossed the South Atlantic Ocean. The trip was night travel and we tried to sleep. My mom and dad sat next to me and did what they could to make the flight more comfortable. A flight attendant took an interest in us and brought us everything we needed. It helped.
We landed at 5:00 a.m. in the morning just as the sky was getting light without a visible sun in it. It was going to be a scorcher in Sao Paulo so we were grateful to get to our hotel with minimal delay. A forty-five-minute taxicab ride to the center of the city, which had sprung to life, brought us to the Tryp Campinas hotel. I could not wait to tell Lindsey about it. The lobby was magnificent. The floor was marble and all desks, counters, and walls were made of the same type and grade of marble. A huge white marble staircase rose from the center of the lobby to a balcony above where alcoves for private meetings gave people a view of the lobby below and a view of the awakening city outside. Our room had two king-size beds and was equipped with handicapped facilities better and more modern than any I had seen in the States. I was only going to be in the room for a day to rest up before transferring to the clinic a block away. I was too excited to rest much so I wandered around looking at the sights. People were friendly and seemed more at ease with handicapped people. By noon, I was exhausted and ready for sleep.
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