I might enjoy it more in my own home. But we’ll never know.
Matt gets himself a drink while I unpack his sandwich for him. Matt sets his glass carefully on the table, then falls into a chair with a resounding plop.
“Christ,” he comments.
“Are you okay?” I ask him.
He nods. “Yeah, just sort of… sick of it. Sick of it all.”
I know what he means. He’s sick of his body failing him. The same way I’m sick of my brain failing me.
Matt takes a sip from his water. “By the way, I’m sorry about this.”
“Sorry about what?”
He gestures at his cup. “Open water cup. I forgot my water bottle at home.”
I stare at his open cup in surprise. Odd as it sounds, I didn’t even notice it. I can’t believe I didn’t notice it. I always notice everything. A picture can be hanging off in its frame by two millimeters and I would notice it.
That reminds me. I haven’t adjusted my picture frames in a while.
Maybe the Zoloft is actually working.
On a whim, I reach out to put my hand on top of Matt’s. But the second my skin touches his, I feel that familiar panic rising up in my chest. After all, he was just drinking from an open cup of water! I can’t touch him.
So I yank my hand away.
Matt takes the whole thing in without commenting. He doesn’t even seem surprised. He’s used to me by now. He’s accepted that I can’t touch him or be physically close to him. But I do wish it could be different.
Chapter 56: Matt
It’s a few weeks later that Kelly brings me my first wheelchair. It’s not the kind people use in the hospital, but something sleeker with red trim and a single footplate in the center. She measured me for it and asked me questions about the design, which I had answered with complete indifference, knowing I’d never use the damn thing. Who cared if it was red or blue or if it had a rigid or foldable frame?
Kelly surprises me by sitting in the chair and wheeling over to me, in what is apparently a live demo. I know she’s trying to show me that it isn’t so bad, but part of me hates her for doing that. I don’t like that she’s cruising around in that chair like it’s not so bad when she’s able to get up out of it and walk normal at any time.
“Wanna try it out?” she asks me, as she rises to her feet.
I give the chair a sideways glance. “Not really.”
“Matt…”
“Fine, fine,” I grumble. I eye it again, trying to figure out the best way to get inside.
“Let me show you how to transfer,” she says. “I’m basically going to teach you to transfer like you’re a paraplegic, because you essentially are at this point.”
“I could use a walker to stand and then shift over,” I say.
“I think my way will be more practical,” Kelly tells me. “And you’ll still be able to do it if you can’t stand anymore.”
I wince. She says it like it’s an inevitability that I won’t be able to stand anymore someday.
She shows me how to transfer by grabbing on to the side of the wheelchair and shifting my body over using the strength in my arms. Good thing my arms have gotten a lot stronger in the last four years. Even so, it isn’t easy. Kelly hangs onto me the whole time and probably does most of the work.
And then I’m in the chair.
The second I get positioned, my stomach churns. I can’t believe I’m sitting in a wheelchair—my wheelchair. I swore I wouldn’t let this happen.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” I mumble. I lean forward, pressing my face into my hands.
Kelly rushes off to get me a trough. I gag, but I don’t throw up. But I still feel ill.
“I don’t want to be in this wheelchair anymore,” I say.
I start to try to get up, but I can’t. My crutches aren’t within reach, and the footplate makes it hard to get up. At this point, I’m starting to panic and I’m about to hurl myself at the floor. Kelly finally has me grab her around the neck, then basically lifts me out of the chair, back onto the bench.
When I’m safely out of the chair, I wipe sweat off my brow. I can’t believe I had a panic attack from sitting in a wheelchair.
“Are you okay?” Kelly asks me, peering at my face.
“Fine,” I manage.
She looks at me for a minute, then sighs. “I think maybe we need to get you used to this gradually.”
I shake my head. “I can walk just fine.”
“Are you kidding me, Matt?” Kelly folds her arms across her chest. “You can barely walk. You look like you’re struggling with every step. It’s fine if you want to do it sometimes for exercise or bone health, but you should be using the wheelchair as your primary method of mobility.”
I look down at my hands.
“I know it’s hard,” she says gently. “I know you were hoping to stay out of the wheelchair for a while. But it’s not that bad. I think you’ll be surprised how much more mobile you are once you have the wheelchair. How much more freedom you have. I mean, when is the last time you decided not to do something just because you didn’t feel like you could walk that far?”
All the fucking time.
“Think about it, Matt,” she says.
No. I can’t. It’s too soon. It’s too soon.
Chapter 57: Anna
When I get to work this morning, Peter Glassman is waiting for me at my cubicle. He’s wearing his light blue dress shirt that is becoming too small for his slowly expanding gut. Gaps between the buttons are barely concealed by tie.
“Anna,” he says. “My office. Now.”
What have I done this time? I can’t recall any recent executives whose hands I’ve refused to shake. There have been no major incidents. Things have been, for the most part, quiet. Peter hasn’t yelled at me in several months, even though he looks like he’s revving up for something big.
When I get into Peter’s office, I’m horrified by the disarray. He’s got papers stacked all over his desk, and the photo of his family that he keeps there is knocked off-kilter. He’s even got some papers on the floor, and his wastepaper basket is overflowing. Moreover, the two chairs he keeps in front of his desk are completely unaligned. Before I can even sit, I fix the chairs to line them up with his desk. And then I start fixing his picture frame, because I just have to.
“Anna, stop cleaning my office!” Peter snaps at me.
His face is bright red and there’s a new vein standing out in his forehead. I sit down obediently before he has that heart attack I’ve been waiting for over the last four years.
Peter sighs and his face turns a more natural color. He slides into the seat behind his desk and he runs a hand through the withering strands of hair that barely even constitute a combover anymore. “Anna, you have to get rid of those cans.”
Before I can protest, Peter raises his hand. “It’s not negotiable. One of our vice presidents saw your cubicle and said that it was unacceptable. This is not me talking, Anna.”
I feel my pulse starting to accelerate. Just when I thought I might be getting better, this is the worst possible thing that could have happened. I can’t get rid of my cans. I can’t. Peter knows that.
“Anna,” he says firmly. “If you don’t clean up those cans, I’m going to have to let you go. I’m sorry it’s come to this.”
The thought of losing my job doesn’t frighten me. It might actually be a good thing. I’ve explored my options and I’m certain I could pick up plenty of freelance works. I might even make more money doing freelance, and I would never even have to leave my home. Benefits might be an issue, but I’m sure I’d figure it out.
But I don’t want to lose Matt. If I didn’t work here, how would we see each other?
“All right, Peter,” I say. “I’ll get rid of the cans.”
Chapter 58: Matt
I go to work two days every week, and spend the rest of the week working from home. Peter actually offered to let me stay at home more, but I feel like if I d
id that, I’d become one of those weird people who has no contact with the outside world. Especially considering I’m nearly at that point right now.
Work keeps me sane. Even if a lot of people barely talk to me anymore.
But Anna does.
When I hobble into work this morning, I see Anna as I’m heading to my own cubicle. She gives me a huge smile. I definitely wouldn’t call Anna my girlfriend, but we’re something more than friends. We talk on the phone nearly every night. I know all about her parents, her sister, her interests. I’ve never been in her house though. I’ve never kissed her. I’ve never even held her hand.
It’s a complicated relationship.
I’m being incredibly patient with this girl. It helps that I can’t imagine anyone else being willing to go out with me. Girls treat me like I’m either invisible, contagious, or five years old.
“Matt!” she says, jumping out of her seat when she sees me. Some days I’m convinced she might hug me or something like that, but she never does. Don’t laugh, but I fantasize about just touching her. I jack off thinking about us holding hands.
Today I notice that Anna has a pained look on her face. Her face is paler than usual and her eyes are red-rimmed.
“Is everything okay?” I ask her.
She shrugs. “Peter was yelling at me over the cans again.”
Since the episode with Calvin, Anna has managed to rebuild her tower of cans. It’s gotten back to the level of being clearly unacceptable. Sometimes I wonder if I should sit Anna down and have a serious talk with her about the cans.
“That’s terrible,” I say instead.
“He told me I have to get rid of them,” she says, “or else I’m fired.”
I stare at her in surprise. Peter has been yelling about those cans for years, but I never thought he’d give her an ultimatum like that. Despite how angry he gets at her, I know Peter likes Anna and he thinks she’s a genius (which she is).
“So…” She looks down at the cans. “I’m going to bring them home tonight. Well, some of them. Some I might keep in a drawer. And maybe I’ll throw away some of them. Unless…” She lifts her eyes to look at me. “Do you want to take some of them home?”
“Um…” I don’t. I mean, I do and I don’t. I don’t actually want the cans. Who would? I mean, besides Anna. But I do want to take them because I know it would make her happy.
Except how the hell am I going to get them to my car? Carrying a bunch of cans is just not a possibility for me.
Maybe Anna figures that part out, because she says to me, “How about if I put one in your desk drawer? So you can see it and think of me?”
“Sure,” I say, relieved. “Of course.”
I sit down and get to work while Anna dismantles her tower of cans. I’ve got a meeting today at ten o’clock and I have to plan my whole day around it. I know this sounds bad, but I usually start heading to a meeting about thirty minutes prior, because the conference room is all the way down the hall. It would probably take most people about sixty seconds to get there, but it takes me significantly longer than that. I don’t want to worry about having to rush and accidentally falling. Also, I can’t go to the bathroom during the meeting, so I have to go right before. Which means walking to the bathroom—another long trek for me.
Maybe this is what Kelly was talking about when we talked about how I’d have more mobility if I used a wheelchair.
Still.
At 9:30 a.m., I grab my crutches with the intention of heading for the meeting. I thread my forearms through the holes, grab the handles, and plant them on the ground. Except somehow, it’s harder to get up than it usually is. I rock back and forth, trying to gain some momentum. And… nothing.
Shit.
I keep trying to get out of my chair, doing everything I can without risking falling out of my chair onto the ground. I don’t know what’s going on, if maybe the chair is lower than usual or what, but I can’t seem to get up. If I had my walker, I’d be able to get up because I’d have more leverage, but the crutches don’t give me the same stability.
It’s 9:40 now. I need to figure out how to get up and get to this meeting. Even if I missed the meeting though, I’d still eventually need to figure out how to get out of this chair. But how?
I look at the wall of my cubicle. Before I got my cane, I used to sometimes hang onto the walls of cubicles as I walked to keep from losing my balance. Maybe I could grab on to the wall of my cubicle to help pull myself to my feet. Of course, that’s a lot of weight to rest on what is a pretty thin wall. What if it collapses?
I roll my chair over to the wall of the cubicle. I grab the top of it, testing it to see how strong it feels. Not very.
I’ve got to get up somehow. And the crutches aren’t enough. I’ve got to get help.
I take out my phone and locate Calvin’s number. I send him a text message: Could you come help me with something?
A minute later, I am still glued to my chair, and Calvin is standing over me, a concerned look on his face. He’s wearing a blue dress shirt and khaki slacks, and he looks so healthy and athletic. He doesn’t look like someone who needs thirty minutes to walk to a meeting. I really, really don’t want to tell him what’s wrong. But what choice do I have?
“You okay, Matt?” he asks.
I take a deep breath. “I need help standing up.”
“Oh…”
My cheeks burn. “I don’t know why, but I just can’t… you know…”
Calvin nods. “Sure. What do you want me to do?”
I hadn’t thought about it. “I guess… just grab the back of my pants, and I’ll grab onto your neck.”
Calvin leans forward and I put my arms around his neck. I feel really helpless. Then he reaches behind me and grabs onto my pants by the waistband. He’s able to lift me easily, without even grunting. And once I’m on my feet, I’m fine. I grab my crutches and then I’m fine. But I can’t look my former best friend in the eyes.
“Are you going to be okay, Matt?” he asks me. “Will you need my help again?”
I shake my head no. Although the truth is, maybe I will. If I couldn’t get up now, what the hell am I going to do the rest of the day?
I know what I need to do.
I need to call Kelly and pick up my wheelchair.
Chapter 59: Anna
I pack up all my cans in a cardboard box that I find in the supply room. I fill the box to the brim with baked beans and sweet peas. I put them all in there except for two.
The first can I keep is the jellied cranberries. It’s the one that Matt bought for me. It’s my favorite of all the cans, even though it’s not one I would have picked out for myself. It doesn’t speak to me in any way. But it’s a gift from Matt, so that makes it very special. I’m going to put it in my desk drawer so that I can access it any time I need to.
The second can that I put aside is the one I’m giving to Matt. I put a lot of thought into this. I wish I had access to my entire collection to choose from, but this will have to do.
I finally select a can of fruit cocktail. I love the colors in the fruits in the picture, contrasting with the green of the background. It’s my second favorite, after the cranberries.
I decided not to wait till the end of the day to give Matt the can. It’s around three and I see him sitting in his cubicle with his crutches laced through his forearms. He’s rocking back and forth, his crutches planted on the ground. His face is slightly red.
“Are you going somewhere?” I ask him.
He looks up at me, a guilty expression on his face. “I, um… I’ve got an appointment.”
I hold up the fruit cocktail can. “I brought you this.”
Matt puts down his crutches so that he can take the can from me. He looks at it for a moment, rolling it in his palms. “Thanks, Anna.”
He puts it in the top drawer of his desk. Then he looks at his crutches, a pained expression on his face.
“Do you… need help?” I ask him.
Please
say no. Please say no.
“No,” Matt sighs. “I can manage.”
And that’s when I realize that Matt genuinely doesn’t have much time left. This is my last chance to get the prayer right. If I don’t perform it correctly this time, I will have no more chances.
Chapter 60: Matt
Kelly fits me in after I explain what happened to me. Not only does she fit me in, but when I arrive at the therapy center, I’m shocked when I see her standing there at the entrance. I pull over next to her and roll down the window of my car. “I need some time,” I tell her. “I’ll meet you inside.”
“How are you going to get out of your car?” she retorts.
I realize with a sinking feeling that she’s probably right. If I was struggling to get out of my chair at work, getting out of the car is going to be even harder.
“Park your car and I’ll meet you,” she says.
And that’s how we end up practicing car transfers.
I leave my crutches in the car. I have a feeling that I’ll probably be retiring them after today. I can still walk with my walker, but the crutches are just not realistic anymore.
I try to stifle any residual feelings of panic as I wheel my chair next to Kelly as we go to the therapy center. This isn’t awful. It’s actually much better than struggling to walk the distance from the parking spot to the entrance. It’s so fast compared to what I’ve become used to. Until…
I’m wheeling along and all of a sudden, I’m stuck. My chair won’t budge. The small front wheels of my chair have gotten wedged in a tiny little rut in the sidewalk. I can’t move at all. Every time I push on the rims, I’m just spinning in place.
Kelly hasn’t even noticed and is striding forward. “Hey!” I yell. “I got stuck.”
She comes back and sees my dilemma. I’m feeling more and more frustrated. Here I was thinking for a moment that this chair would give me more freedom, and then one minute later, I’m completely stuck. It wouldn’t have even occurred to me this could happen.
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