Paraplegic

by Troy Dearbourne

  I quickly sit upright, using my forearms and elbows to army crawl across the foam mats and over to my wheelchair, like a worm wriggling across the earth. As I reach the base of it, I ponder how I'm going to get off this floor and climb up into it. I look back at Desiree; I'm not even sure why. It's not like I need her permission. And I certainly don't need her help either.

  You can do this McKenzie! This is just one small step towards going back to your normal old self. Just take it easy. And don't embarrass yourself. Please, please don't embarrass yourself.

  With slick palms, I lock my wheels in place to prevent it from sliding out from underneath me, then firmly set my left hand on the armrest. I take a moment to exhale before moving on. With my right hand, I place it on the seat. Feeling nervous, I steady myself, deliberately stalling for fear I'll fall back to the floor.

  Desiree moves closer, but I throw my hand up. "No! I've got this." I've talked myself up; can't back down now.

  I put pressure on my palm, hoisting my decrepit body upward to the best of my ability, but it isn't good enough – my ribcage slams into the front of the seat and my knees hit the ground. My cheeks burn with embarrassment. Other residents and nurses standing afar off are murmuring amongst themselves as they exchange glances from one to another and then to me.

  Much to my surprise, Desiree doesn't rush to help me. Instead, she gives me a firm stare, nodding slowly, as if to tell me it's okay and that I should try again. So I do.

  I resume my position, getting a better grip this time. Loud groans unintentionally shoot forth as I struggle to surmount my wheelchair. My waist gradually rises above the seat, perspiration forming on my forehead. Arms shaking, I question if I'll make it, and even considering giving up altogether. But no! Press onward.

  I slap my hand further up on the chrome platted armrest, practically dragging my body with each gaining inch, and finally pulling myself onto the seat. It takes a moment for me to process what I've just achieved. I did it. I actually did it. All on my own!

  Desiree clasps her hands together, almost looking like tears might fall from her eyes. "I'm so proud of you! You've taken a big step today." But that advancement isn't satisfying enough. I want more.

  I return my gaze towards the parallel bars. Although Desiree doesn't stop me as I move my wheelchair in between them, I can tell my boldness is making her uneasy. Calix listens intently, remaining silent.

  Am I crazy for attempting this? Probably. But I'm feeling confident. Why wouldn't I be? I just made huge progress. I climbed up into my wheelchair all by myself. I can do this, too.

  I lean forward and reach for each metal bar; they're cold as I curl my fingers around them. I'm still a little exhausted from the exertion it took to climb into my wheelchair, but I toss such thoughts from mind. My muscles ache as I strain to position myself upright. But when I do, the feeling is . . . perfect. I'm standing. I'm actually standing! For the first time in over two months I'm standing on my own.

  Desiree begins to move closer, but catches herself – stopping abruptly. I give her a reassuring nod, letting her know I'm okay.

  The room starts to spin. My fatigue is trying to get the best of me. I glance down at my feet; it feels like I should be able to run, break out into a full sprint right now. However, I'm not gonna press my luck. I move my hands further down the bars, expecting my feet to move along with them, but they don't. I panic; my whole body falls forward, and I have to shove my hands in front of me to cushion the impact.

  I lay there on the floor, eyes closed, feeling equally as helpless as the day I first became paralyzed. I'm not even sure I want to get up. What's the use? Every time I achieve something, it's ripped from me. Like one step forward and two steps back, I'll never be anything more than a girl and her wheelchair.

  Eyes still shut, I hear the soft thumping of footsteps approaching. I force them open at the sight of Calix's black and gray checkered loafers. He extends his hand in front of my face, a silent implication that I should take it.

  "You can't truly appreciate success until you have first experienced failure." His words are deep. Deep and true. But I don't know how much more of this I can bear. I want results quickly, and I know I shouldn't. Recovery from paralysis doesn't happen overnight.

  I stare at his hand for a long moment, unsure if I want to accept it. I halfway expect him to withdraw it after keeping it out there awhile, but he doesn't. He remains faithful, hand steady as a rock. How is he so . . . so . . . confident? It doesn't even seem like his blindness effects him. He doesn't seem hindered by it in the least. I envy that greatly. There's not a second that goes by where I'm not impeded by these useless legs of mine. Will I ever be as confident as Calix?

  I guess there's only one way to find out.

  I grab ahold of his hand.

  Chapter 25

  It wasn't long after Calix had helped me up off the floor did Desiree decide that we'd done enough PT for today. Can't say I was the least bit disappointed; all I want to do is curl up on the couch with a bowl of chocolate syrup drizzled popcorn and watch any movie starring Leonardo DiCaprio.

  Thunder rumbles softly above as I wheel myself out the front entrance of White Guard, locking my wheels in in place by the curb. I had texted mother a bit ago telling her my therapy session was over and that I was ready to be picked up. She responded immediately, saying she'd be here in ten minutes.

  Behind me, the automatic doors to the Center slide open and the sound of plastic scraping the concrete surface follows. Moments later, Calix comes up beside me, Teddy in hand. "You eat, right?"

  His odd question doesn't phase me; I've heard stranger things come from Maverick. "I've been known to eat a thing or two in the past," my dry tone causes him to chuckle lightly.

  "Well, ya know, food, it's a marvelous thing to experience. Even better experiencing it with two people, don't you think?"

  My mouth falls open just a little. "Why, Calix, are you asking me to dinner?"

  He shifts uncomfortably in his stance, switching Teddy to the other hand. "I, uh . . . well," a short pause, followed by a clearing of his throat, then a sudden surge of confidence in his persona. "Milady, I've known you now for fifty-eight days, a number I deeply wish to see grow, and I think it's time I take you to dinner."

  I feel my cheeks warm. "How could I say–" I stop; mother pulls up in the van, lowering the rear ramp for me.

  She hops out, her short legs stretching to reach the concrete below. "Hey, sweetie! And Calix, always good to see you. How are you?"

  "Better than I deserve, ma'am."

  Mother removes her bronze aviator sunglasses from her face and slides them on top of her head. "Please, call me Trish."

  "But of course. And may I say you look lovely today, Trish." Mother laughs, but I can see she's just as confused as me. Why does he keep saying that? He can't see her, can he? Obviously not. So why does he keep saying that?

  Before I'm able to ask, Maverick comes rushing outside, panting dramatically. "Cal! You looney!" I find it a bit ironic him calling someone else a looney. "You and Wheels here were going to leave without me, weren't you? Don't deny it! I can see it in those black eyes of yours."

  "You do realize these black eyes of mine are sunglasses, right, mate?"

  His words suddenly beg the question; what color eyes does Calix have? I've yet to see them.

  It takes Maverick a good while before he answers. "Yes." He doesn't sound at all convincing.

  Calix laughs at his friends atypical behavior. "Besides, I'm not going anywhere. I was just seeing McKenzie off."

  Mother cuts in the conversation as she moves in behind my wheelchair, guiding it towards the ramp. "It's my baby girl's birthday next week."

  I'd totally forgotten about my birthday being next week. With all the craziness that's happened over the last couple of months, I've not really given much thought to anything except getting out of this wheelchair.

  Mother lowers her head next to mine, rubbing our cheeks together. "I haven't had
the chance to do any shopping, so I thought we could go to the mall and you could pick out a few things. That okay?"

  "Yeah. That'd be great, mom." I guess DiCaprio will have to wait.

  Maverick's shocked look catches my attention. He then cups his hands over both of Calix's ears, shaking his head wildly. "Cal, Cal! They're going to the mall. The mall!" He releases his hold on Calix, then stares blankly at the cloudy sky, shoulders slumped towards the earth. "I've always wanted to go to the mall. I hear they have something called," he chokes over his words, and for I moment it looks as if his eyes are starting to tear up, "a food court!" those final words explode from his lips. "Cal, can we go?"

  Calix looks upward. "What? No, mate. We weren't invited. Ya can't just go moseying yourself into other people's schedule."

  I love how he pronounces the word schedule as "shed-yul"!

  Maverick hangs his head in disappointment, mumbling. Mother shoots a glance at me, eyebrow arched, and I immediately know what she's thinking.

  "You guys should come," I wave them towards the van.

  Maverick spreads his arms wide, as if he's about to give me a hug, but Calix speaks before he has the chance. "That's a very kind offer, but we unfortunately can't do that."

  "Huh? Why not?"

  He takes a deep breath, seemingly stalling in order to choose his words carefully. "My good bloke here is, uh," he feels around for Maverick's shoulder, patting it gently, "isn't fit for the real world just yet; something about . . . mental instability."

  Maverick takes a step back, a look of hurt on his freckled face. "What? No! Cal, I'm fine. I can go."

  "I dunno, mate. It's not the kind of world you're envisioning. It can be brutal out there."

  "Nuh uh! I've watched Andy Griffith plenty of times. People are nice."

  Calix smiles. "Even if that were true, you'd still have to get permission from . . ." he lets the sentence drift.

  Neither of them saying anything more on the subject. I find myself all too curious to stay silent. "Get permission from who?"

  "That jolly Jamaican chap who runs this place."

  "Kuno?"

  Calix nods.

  "So . . . what's the problem? Go ask him?"

  Maverick looks over at Calix with concern. "I can't mess up again, man."

  "Then don't."

  "But I sometimes can't help it."

  "Resist the urge."

  "Urge. Resist it. Okay."

  By now, my neck is starting to hurt from glancing back and forth at the two of them. "Care to share with the rest of the class why the need for such resisting?"

  "Mav can be a bit mischievous at times." He says that with the slightest glimpse of smile.

  "Mischievous? Mischievous how."

  His smile broadens.

  I have a feeling I'm about to find out.

  Maverick doesn't waste any time; he sprints back inside the Center, darting down one hallway after another. My arms soon ache from rolling these wheels forward in attempt to keep up. Calix looks as if he, too, is become weary; fingers draped against the wall to help him navigate.

  By the time we arrive at Jamal's office, Maverick is already standing in front of his cherry oak desk. "I wanna go to the mall!" he blurts out those words with little to no thought.

  Jamal looks up from a stack of papers at the three of us, his circular glasses resting on the edge of his nose. "Mr. Aldridge, you know very well you aren't allowed to venture off the Center's property alone."

  "But I won't be alone. I'll have my friends with me! Please?" He pauses for a couple of seconds. ". . . mon."

  Calix drops his head in his palm in embarrassment at Maverick's attempt to speak Jamaican. "Mate, nobody actually says that."

  Maverick turns around, giving Calix the A-okay sign with his fingers. "Don't worry, Cal; everything's under control. I read it in a travel magazine once."

  Meanwhile, Jamal is looking desperately confused. "Mr. Aldridge, need I remind you of your last few, how should I put it - stunts?"

  Maverick shrinks back just a little.

  I wheel my chair closer to the bulky desk. "Stunts? What'd he do?"

  Jamal stands from his high-back office chair, and moves over to a filing cabinet that nearly rivals his stately height. He inserts a key into the slot, rummaging through a list of sepia colored folders before finally withdrawing one. "Ah. Here it is. Hmm, where should we start . . . mon?"

  Calix merely shakes his head. I can't tell whether he thinks it's funny or not. At least Jamal doesn't seem to have taken offense by it, or if he has, he isn't showing it.

  Jamal reads the file out loud. "March twenty-third: you were caught putting magnesium laxatives in the lemonade fountain in the cafeteria. July fifth: you set off a box of pop rockets in the therapy room. November seventeenth: you were found trying to escape the facility's grounds by hijacking a golf cart; it took nearly forty minutes and nine staff members to catch you."

  Maverick snickers in delight, leaning in close to whisper. "That was epic, epic fun."

  Jamal returns the folder to the filing cabinet, slamming it shut. "I see no reason to grant you a day's leave until your behavior becomes more accountable."

  Calix speaks on his friend's behalf. "What if I were to stay with him the whole time?" he playfully punches Maverick's arm, practically missing. "Keep the young bugger out of trouble, eh?"

  "Mr. West, how exactly do you plan on keeping watch over him?"

  He laughs nervously. "Yes, I see your point. Quite right."

  By now, Maverick is looking more depressed by the minute. Granted, his track record certainly doesn't scream poster child, but considering how I've felt over the last two months while being stuck in this place, I can't fully blame him for wanting to have a little fun from being cooped up here all day every day. Boredom is a slow way to die.

  "Mr. Kuno, my mom is going to be there, too. Doesn't that count for something?" I project my voice in hopes of sounding overly mature. "I mean, she can be his guardian for the day, or something, right?"

  Jamal thinks this over for a long moment. Maverick now has his hands clasp together, like he's silently pleading for permission. This must really mean a lot to the poor guy.

  "Here's what I can do." He tugs on one of the desk drawers, pulling out a unicorn child leash, the kind you strap around the child's back, leash in the parent's hand, to ensure their child can't wander more than a few feet away from them. "If you really want to go, then you must wear this."

  Maverick tilts his head to the side. "You've had that thing in the drawer for how long?"

  Jamal smiles. "I figured the day would come when there'd be a use for it."

  Maverick stumbles over to the leash, yanking it from Jamal's grasp. He loops his arms through the arm holes, struggling to fasten the buckles across his chest. They finally latch together; it looks like it's ten sizes too small for him, but he doesn't seem to mind.

  "It fits!" he pumps a fist in the air triumphantly. "But did it have to be a unicorn?"

  Jamal simply shrugs. "I want you back before sundown. I'm giving you a bit of leash," he stops to relish the irony of his words, "don't choke me with it."

  "Aye, aye, sir!" Maverick rushes out of Jamal's office just as quickly as he'd came, leaving me and Calix to follow suit.

  Outside, mother is leaning against the van where we'd left her. Maverick runs forward, leaps into the air and clicks his heels together. "I'm going to the mall!"

  By the sound of his voice you'd think he was going to Disney World.

  No sooner had we fastened our seat belts and driven out of the Center's parking lot did Maverick initiate a series of nonstop questions.

  "Are we there yet? This van smells funny. You have a DVD player in here! Are we there yet? How bout now? Are we gonna eat? Can we go to the food court? I gotta pee. Are we there yet?"

  Calix turns around from the passenger seat. "Mate, simmer down. We'll be there soon."

  Maverick throws himself against the headrest, humphing lou
dly in distress. He's seated next to me in the middle of the van, while Calix is up front next to mother. I figured she couldn't handle Mav's craziness up front for very long, so I said he could ride back here with me.

  "Oooh, that's so cool! Did the aliens get to you, too?" Maverick points to the ostomy pouch bulging from beneath my shirt. "Did they slice you open? Did it hurt? Did you die?"

  Calix turns around again. "Mav, we talked about this, mate. Try being less weird."

  "Less weird. Right. Got it!"

  I tug at my shirt, pulling it lower. He's no doubt going to keep at it, so I figure I might as well play along. "I not only died, but I drank a bottle of regeneration liquid before they got to me, came back to life, and then blew up their spaceship!"

  He lets out a low whoa, then presses his palms together, bowing before me.

  Mother makes a turn at a stoplight, which I know isn't the correct way to the mall. She quickly informs us we have to pick August up from school. I try not to moan. Why can't that little squirt ride the bus home? He has a house key after all. He's gonna make us go to the indoor playground and spend hours crawling through germ infested plastic tubes. My stomach feels like it's just been dropkicked when I realize the last time I chased that little guy through those tubes was before I became paralyzed.

  A short while later, we pull up to August's school. He's already waiting on the sidewalk by the time we arrive, head hung over his PSP as usual. A look of confusion crosses his face as he opens the side slider door. "What's one eared man doing here?" he raises his small finger in Maverick's direction.

  I roll my eyes. "Just get in the van, shrimpy." He nearly hits me with his backpack as he throws himself in the backseat behind us.

  To pass the time, and to drown out the annoying noises coming from August's video game, I decide to pop in a DVD. Rummaging through the compartment inside the seat in front of me, I grab a handful of movies.

  Maverick excitedly claps his hands together when he sees Marley and Me. "Puppies! Can we watch it? Can we? Can we, can we, can we?"