Finding a Voice

by Kim Hood

  Things had been strained between us the last few days. He still wasn’t smiling and I had been too distracted with trying to come up with some sort of plan to ask him many questions. I wouldn’t let him down though. Besides, where else would I go?

  I was in before Chris. He was a bit late. I put my head down and tried to calm the jumpiness of my stomach. Nothing seemed right anymore. My feelings were playing chase with my thoughts and it all seemed mixed up together. I was angry with Mom but I was sad about her too. I was sad for Chris, but I was scared too about actually taking him to the conference. Did I know what I was doing?

  It had seemed so simple last night. Get Chris on a train. If it was so the right thing to do, why wouldn’t my stomach stay still? Was I truthfully trying to help Chris – or was I using him as an excuse to escape myself?

  Flo wheeled him in and I looked up, giving him as much of a smile as I could muster.

  ‘He’s been ready for lunch since this morning, I’d say. Every time I say your name his face lights up,’ said Florence. ‘He wasn’t happy about our holdup waiting for the microwave to be free.’

  Chris didn’t seem to be smiling now though. He was looking at me with furrowed brows.

  ‘Always glad to see you too, Chris,’ I said, trying to feel like I meant it.

  Florence left and I pulled out the book that Chris had been reading.

  ‘No,’ he indicated with his head.

  ‘I don’t feel like talking today, Chris, if that’s okay.’

  He didn’t answer that.

  So lunch was quiet, both of us reading, as Chris ate and I turned pages. When he was finished eating, I put the book down.

  ‘Anything you want to say today, Chris?’

  ‘Yes,’ he indicated.

  I took out the battered cards from my backpack, and laid them out. H O M E S A D Chris slowly spelled. Home. Sad. Tears came to my eyes and then when I looked at Chris, there were tears in his eyes too.

  The medicine ball had been thrown at me again. There was only one thing I could do. Chris couldn’t be clearer in his plea for me to help him.

  ‘That’s it. We’re going.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Looking back, I would not be able to believe that I headed out of the door of the SE wing without a single thought as to where we were going. But that’s what I did. I just started walking, trying to manoeuvre Chris’s chair as quickly as I could with his arms waving frantically in front of me.

  It was only when we were in the main building that my heart began to race and I began to think of where we were going – if we made it out of the school.

  I looked at my watch. We had about fifteen minutes before the end of lunch. There wasn’t much time to inconspicuously stroll out of the school without being noticed. And it wasn’t like Chris’s big blue beast of a wheelchair helped us to blend in. As soon as Flo walked into the little room where Chris and I had shared lunch for two months and found Chris not there, the search would be on.

  The hallways were much easier to get through than they usually were when I wheeled Chris to and from art though. It was a nice day, and most people were still outside. The farther we got from the SE wing the louder my heart seemed to beat. I sped up, expecting at every turn to be caught. We went around the last corner before the main door so fast Chris’s chair was nearly on two wheels.

  And nearly ran right into Sarah. Who I had been trying to avoid for two months.

  I hadn’t exactly not seen her all that time. It was a big school, but not that big. But when I had seen her, I had suddenly become very busy looking in the opposite direction, pretending that I hadn’t seen her.

  Now I couldn’t avoid her. There wasn’t even anyone else in the foyer. And I couldn’t think of a worse time for it.

  ‘We’re late.’ I blurted the first nonsense that made it from my brain to my mouth.

  ‘Oh, well,’ Sarah was out of words too. ‘Anything I can go to with you?’

  ‘No … it’s an appointment,’ I managed before going on.

  I practically ran outside into the bright sunlight.

  We had to get far away quickly. I headed to the city bus stop two blocks away. The only bus line that I knew from here was the one that went to my suburb on the edge of town. I knew the buses ran every twenty minutes at this time of day, but I didn’t know how often the wheelchair-accessible buses ran. All I could do was hope that a bus came soon and hope that it was a bus that Chris could get onto.

  I found out right away that pushing Chris’s chair in the school was a whole lot easier than outside. Some of the sidewalks had sloped sections to get on and off, but they were not always where I wanted to cross the street, and I had to backtrack a couple of times. I had to be careful when we came to dips and uneven bits as Chris’s chair threatened to tip.

  It seemed to be ages before we were at the bus stop, but when I looked at my watch there were still a few minutes before the end of lunch hour. I pulled the little levers to put the brakes on Chris’s chair as Flo had taught me to do when I started to go to art class with him.

  I hadn’t said a word to Chris since leaving our room. Now I looked at him and gave a shaky smile. His face was drained of colour and his eyes were wide with fear. His arms and legs were still moving wildly.

  ‘It’s okay, Chris. I know what I’m doing,’ I tried to reassure him, even though it was a complete lie. ‘I hate that group home you live in. I’d cry every day if I had to live there.’

  He was banging his head to the right repeatedly, ‘No.’

  ‘I’m listening. No more group home.’ Seeing how upset he was helped me to calm down. ‘Home sad’ was the first real communication to me about how he felt about his own life. I was doing the right thing. Sure it was crazy, and I didn’t know what we were doing, but anything had to be better than seeing Chris so unhappy.

  I kept looking at my watch. The end of lunch bell would be ringing now. Where was the bus? What if it didn’t come soon? I would give it five minutes and then I would have to come up with another plan.

  But sure enough, the bus did barrel down the road in two minutes – and it was an accessible one, as I could tell as soon as the doors opened and the hiss of the hydraulics lowered it to sidewalk level.

  I tried to appear casual as I went to drop the change for two fares into the fare box.

  ‘You don’t have to pay. Disabled companions go free with a Disability Card,’ the bus driver said, covering the change slot.

  ‘Oh … yeah. I forgot,’ I fumbled.

  He didn’t ask to see Chris’s card; I supposed it was pretty obvious that he met the criteria, even if he didn’t have a card.

  I managed to flip one of the front benches up and was trying to figure out the straps to secure the wheelchair, but the driver came back to do that. He was slow and methodical in tightening everything and checking it again before returning to his driver’s seat. Several people let out loud sighs of impatience with the delay. So much for being inconspicuous.

  I glanced at Chris, wanting him to reassure me, but his eyes were turned down.

  I looked around. Nine people. Not many people, but nine people who could identify us when the alarm bells were raised at school. There wasn’t a chance that they would not notice us – well maybe the woman way at the back that didn’t look up from her book, but certainly none of the rest.

  Through all of this I was thinking. The conference did not start until tomorrow. I was still hoping for some miracle there, some sort of great place to go. In order to even have a chance to find Chris some better options, we had to disappear long enough for me to think through a plan.

  There was only one option that I could think of. My cabin. We could go there to hide out until I had a plan. It would be tricky to get along the river bank, but it could be done. I knew every obstacle almost by heart. And who would look for us there? I didn’t think very many people even knew it existed, and if they did, no one would guess I would bring Chris there.

  Just i
n case though, I rang the bell two stops before the one closest to my house and even after we were off the bus I pointed Chris’s chair in the opposite direction and started to walk that way until I was pretty sure there was nobody to see us. The houses along this stretch were set back from the road, with meandering expanses of lawn and surrounded by big cedar and spruce trees. Besides, there were no cars in any of the drives. The people who lived in these houses that backed onto the park along the river were probably mostly in offices downtown at this time of the afternoon.

  My heart didn’t stop thumping until we reached the almost hidden path that lead down to the river. There were dozens of these paths, most of them ending at the river bank. Nothing distinguished my path from the others, but I knew it with my eyes closed.

  As soon as I steered Chris’s chair off the road onto the path, I realised that it was totally different negotiating the path in a wheelchair though. I had never thought of the path as narrow. Sure, the ferns brushed my arms as I walked through in places, and I pushed through bushes in spots, but the path was never lost. Now though, Chris’s chair only made it a few feet before hitting a barrier of leaves and branches. I pushed until his chair stopped moving forward, then went to the front of his chair and pulled until the branches gave way. I would just get us out of one tight spot and then we would come to another.

  Even when we were on a relatively wide spot, the ground was treacherously uneven. Roots lurched out of the ground at unpredictable angles, threatening to launch Chris onto the ground. I had to inch his chair forward, ready to run to whichever side his chair threatened to tip over to, in order to set it back on four wheels.

  It was exhausting. I was dripping with sweat by the time we reached the river bank. Well, by the time I reached the river bank – with Chris in tow. I had not had a chance to check in with him since we got off the bus. He was literally just a package until we could reach the cabin and I could pull out the cards so that he could let me know what he was thinking.

  I just had to keep going. By the time we got to the river, I was realising how difficult it was going to be to get us to the cabin. This is where the path ended. It was only another kilometre or so downstream, but it was a tricky kilometre. I had always skirted along the riverbank, holding onto branches to swing around places where the trees came right down to the water. There was no way I could do that with Chris.

  In the end I took off my shoes and socks, rolled up my jeans and waded into the water pushing Chris’s chair. The bed of the river was full of big, rounded stones covered in green slime. It was very slippery, but at least the handles of the wheelchair gave me some stability. Still, the chair itself was not very stable as it bumped along into big holes and crevices between the stones.

  The water was freezing, but I didn’t even feel it once we started down the river. Just like on the path, I would push Chris’s chair until it was truly stuck, and then I would go to the front to try to pull it out. Chris himself did not make it easy. He was flapping in panic. The river was pretty shallow, and his feet were well out of the water, but I imagined it must be pretty frightening to have no control, as your vehicle careens down a river.

  ‘Almost there, Chris. Sorry about all this,’ I said, trying to give him a big smile, which probably ended up more like a grimace. Chris had a look of terror pasted on his face. We were almost there. Just one more bend and we would come to the little sandy beach. I found some more strength to push him around the bend without getting stuck once. Just one final push and we would be there.

  I’m not sure what happened next. One minute I was standing up, relieved that we had made it. The little beach was just ahead. The next minute I was down in the water. And Chris and his chair were on top of my right leg. Pain shot through my leg when I pulled it out and scrambled upright, but I barely noticed that in my panic to get Chris’s chair out of the water. Somehow I managed to pull Chris, still strapped securely into the chair, onto the beach and then right the chair again. He was soaking wet, but at least he seemed otherwise all right.

  It was only when I went to push him from the beach, across the little field to the cabin that I knew that I was not all right. My leg just wasn’t working. I couldn’t stand on it. I tried again. Shooting pain.

  There was no choice though. The sun was almost behind the trees now. It would be getting cold soon. I had to get Chris inside and dried off. It was hard to stop from screaming with the pain. One, two, three. I concentrated on counting the steps to the cabin. I had pushed through pain before; at least this pain was tangible.

  Sixty-one, sixty-two, sixty-three. We were there. But for the first time ever I did not feel the usual relief of arriving at my safe place. Instead cold, sharp fear gripped me. What had I done?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  I managed to get Chris into the doorway of the cabin before collapsing on the floor beside him. I was feeling faint and shaky, but I knew that I couldn’t give in to the feeling. I had gotten Chris into this mess and now I was the only one who could make sure that things did not get worse.

  The first priority was to get him warm and dry. I was glad for the large pile of sticks and logs beside the fireplace. At least my anger at Mom over the last two days had motivated me to spend time doing jobs around the cabin. Besides foraging for the pile of firewood, I had aired out the blanket I kept there and had nailed an old board over a window whose pane of glass had completely fallen out. I had looked around the place in satisfaction yesterday when I was done.

  Now I was seeing it through Chris’s eyes – a tiny, decrepit cabin that should be knocked before it became a hazard. Boards missing from the floor, no toilet – even if I had been able to help him onto it – no heat, no stove or fridge. There was a scruffy old armchair and an old wooden table with a rickety chair. In the corner was an ancient single mattress, full of holes where mice had chewed it, on a rusty spring bed frame. It was a wreck of a place.

  It would be better as soon as we had a fire going. I couldn’t stand on my leg anymore, so I used my good leg and my arms to crawl crablike to the fire place and I got a small fire started. I avoided looking at Chris while I slowly fed small sticks to the flames, nursing the fire until it gained strength and I could start adding bigger logs that started to throw out a bit of heat. I didn’t begin to know how I could make this up to Chris. At least he was calm, with his head hung down and his eyes averted from me.

  I dragged myself over to him and holding onto his foot-rest, pulled his chair close to the fire. Every movement shot new pain through my leg and made spots swim in front of my eyes. I didn’t care though. I had to get Chris warm. Then I dragged the blanket off the chair and pulled myself upright enough to tuck it around him as best I could, fighting the nausea that washed over me in waves.

  ‘Are you okay now, Chris?’ I finally asked him. He didn’t look up at all.

  ‘I’ll get the cards out, okay?’ I tried. ‘I know you’re scared, but we’re going to be all right.’

  I gave his shoulder a squeeze, wishing I knew this was true.

  We needed the table for the cards and I couldn’t move Chris from the fire which was just beginning to throw a little heat. So I was going to have to make another trip across the floor to pull the table near. Each foray was harder than the last. My leg was on fire. I needed to let Chris talk though, more for me than for him. Without his voice I felt utterly alone and scared for the both of us.

  It wasn’t until I had the table and the rickety chair pulled over that I realised my book bag was still on my back. Everything in it was soaking wet, adding to the weight. I had been dragging not just myself, but several kilos of books, across the floor. All of this without shoes and socks, which were probably floating down the river now. I definitely wasn’t thinking straight.

  Finally I was on the chair. The cards were also soaking wet. I had to carefully peel them apart. The ink had run, but I could still read them when they were laid out in front of Chris.

  ‘Right. Now. Talk to me.’ My voice came
out sounding small and shaky, just the way I felt.

  Chris would still not even raise his eyes to meet mine.

  ‘Please, Chris!’ I pleaded, blinking back the tears that were threatening to come. ‘I can’t do this without you.’

  He still didn’t move.

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t even have a chance to tell you my plan. Or to ask you.’

  I paused again to see if he would engage with me. He wouldn’t.

  ‘I couldn’t let you stay in that house. I have to find you people that care about you and that can help you really talk. It wasn’t supposed to go this way …’ my voice trailed away. Now that I was saying it out loud, the whole idea seemed ridiculous. What way was it ever supposed to go?

  ‘It’s just that … I’ve never seen you cry. It’s usually me.’ I looked up at him again.

  All of the air rushed out of me. This was not right. Chris’s head had snapped back and his whole body was rigid and shaking. His eyes rolled back to reveal white, and frothy red foam was appearing at the corners of his mouth. He was having a seizure!

  ‘No, Chris, no!’

  Mr Jenkins had told me that this could happen. It did happen to Chris every couple weeks or so, but I had been lucky enough not to have seen it. Mr Jenkins had told me to record exactly when the seizure started and to make sure there was nothing around him that he could bang into and hurt himself. But that was all – because the next step was to call someone for help. There was special medication for him if the seizure lasted for more than five minutes. That was why it was so important for someone to start timing the seizure.

  But who was I going to call to help here? My phone! I searched through my bag, frantically feeling for it. After what seemed like ages I found it, but it was dead. I tried to turn it on three times, but the water had obviously ruined it.