by Andrew Grey
“I don’t get it,” Todd said, lightly scratching the back of his head. “She used to be fun to hang out with in college. Though come to think of it, she always seemed jealous of anyone else who got close to you.”
“I don’t think I ever noticed that. Maybe there are other things I missed.” He swallowed. “I thought we were friends.”
“I think she guarded your friendship. You were hers, and anyone else had to know that they were less important than she was.” Todd huffed and rolled his eyes. “It was more like being your friend was part of her identity. You were an athlete, and handsome.” Todd grinned.
“Yeah, well. After graduation, she got that job in California. You remember?” Duncan asked, and Todd nodded.
“She got fired after her cheese apparently slipped off her cracker. Corrina told me the pressure of being away from family, a new job, and a whole different way of doing things was too much for her.”
Duncan glided down the sidewalk toward the corner as they talked. Parking was always difficult in this section of town, and they had a few blocks to go to get back to the car. “I was trying to figure out how to put my degree to work and still have time to train, and I figured an online marketing and promotion business would allow me to set my own schedule. Corrina has a similar background, so we talked about doing it together. We even started to set stuff up, but I realized that I was doing all the work and she was only talking about her stuff and never got it done. Nothing was ever finalized. Then I had my accident, and that’s about all I remember.”
They waited for the light to change, and Todd wondered if Duncan wanted some help, but refrained from asking and didn’t just grab the handles of Duncan’s chair. That seemed rude to him, like he was taking away Duncan’s control, like Duncan wasn’t fast enough or good enough to do it himself. He must have heard that somewhere, and it stuck with him.
The light changed color, and they moved into the street. A green Toyota turned right in front of them, nearly clipping Duncan as he crossed.
Todd grabbed the chair with one hand, throwing the other around Duncan’s torso to keep him from going forward. “Idiot, watch what you’re doing!” Todd yelled as the driver sped off. “Asshole,” he muttered under his breath. “You okay?”
Duncan nodded, breathing deeply. “I guess I am.”
“Good.” Todd released his hug, and they continued crossing. At least the rest of the drivers were considerate. Todd let his heart settle back to normal and swallowed to wet his suddenly dry throat. “Some people are real idiots.”
“Tell me about it. That seems to be my life right now. Dealing with idiots.”
Duncan continued on down the sidewalk, growing quiet, and Todd walked next to him, trying to think of a safe topic. He and Duncan used to talk about skeleton and sports in general. Or about guys or cars. But all of that seemed to be things Duncan wasn’t able to do any longer, and he didn’t want to throw it in Duncan’s face. It was so damned unfair.
“What do you want to do after racing?” Duncan asked.
“I really want to open my own garage, but I don’t think that’s going to be possible, at least not for a long time. No one is ever going to loan me money to start a business. I have way too much debt already, and I seem to get more each year.” He wasn’t sure how much longer he could compete, regardless of how sharp and internationally competitive he got. The financials were going to force him to quit.
“I know. I was approaching that same point before the accident.” Duncan paused and turned his chair around. “I sometimes wonder if it was worrying about money all the time that made me lose focus on the track. I filled notebooks with calculations for how I could get the money I needed to continue training.” He spun around again. “It really sucks, Todd. We train and work hard just so the USOC can screw us over and get rich. It’s sickening.” Duncan smacked the arm of his chair.
It was true. The top administrators made millions each year. “But what can we do about it? If we as athletes make a stink, they ban us. If we try to use the Olympics in any way to promote ourselves and try to get sponsorships, we get hauled in and disciplined. They have all the power and make all the damned rules, and squeeze each and every one of us.” There were times when Todd wanted to quit and build a normal life, but he loved what he did, and nothing else gave him that same rush as hurtling down a course at eighty-plus miles an hour on a sled and his wits and reflexes. Maybe he was a little crazy, but he’d fallen in love with his sport the first time he tried it.
“I don’t know. Probably nothing at all.” Duncan sounded as frustrated as Todd felt. “But I don’t think talking about it is going to help either of us right now.” He stopped outside the car. “What I think we need to do is learn the rules so we can try to use them to our advantage.” He turned the chair around. “I know we can’t use any Olympic symbols, but we could use pictures of you if you won a medal.”
“What for?”
Duncan smiled. “I talked with Trevor, and he wants to put together some marketing for the garage. I have a couple of really good ideas. I’m still working on them, but maybe you could come over some evening after work and I could show you, since one of them involves you.” Duncan pulled open the car door and shifted inside. Todd took care of the chair, and soon they were off toward the park.
“One of the people at the hospital suggested I should get a motorized wheelchair. They said it would make it easier for me to get around,” Duncan said as they pulled into one of the parking lots near the ravine.
“Do they get that you’re an athlete?” Todd asked, and Duncan reached across, placing his hand on Todd’s. Warmth radiated instantly from where Duncan’s hand rested on his.
“Obviously not, and it was only one person.” Duncan waited while Todd got the chair in place and then shifted himself into it. “Sometimes people don’t think. I’d rather wheel myself around and get some exercise. It’s what I do. Mom says I should look into wheelchair racing, but that feels like giving up to me. I want to get better and be able to walk again. Then I want to run, and maybe I’ll figure out how to fly under my own power.” He pushed the car door closed. “I want to be the man I was before all this happened.”
“You still are that man and you know it.” Todd met Duncan’s gaze. “You never let anything get in your way when you were racing, and I don’t see that changing. You have to realize that. The chair doesn’t define the man, but the man can be defined by the chair if you let it.” Todd took a second to wonder where in the hell that had come from.
“Are you a philosopher now?” Duncan teased.
“I think so. But you know I’m right. The Duncan Masters I’ve always known is the same person walking along next to me,” Todd said, determined to get Duncan to see that.
“But I can’t walk,” Duncan snapped. “And I might never again.”
“Sure you are. You’re just using wheels. Big fucking deal.” Todd grinned as they started along the walkway. “Come on. I’ll race you.”
Todd took off, hoping Duncan would take the bait. Sure enough, Duncan’s competitive streak kicked in, and soon Duncan rolled right alongside him and slipped past. Todd put on a burst of speed and crossed the open area first.
“I could have beaten you if you hadn’t cheated,” Duncan groused lightly as he coasted to a stop. He breathed a little heavily and sweat beaded his brow, but color dotted his cheeks and his eyes shone in the sun.
“Maybe next time.” Todd motioned, and Duncan continued down the narrow walkway. People passed them going the other way, stepping onto the grass so Duncan could continue. “This is one of my most favorite places in the whole world.” They entered the woods and approached the dormant lighthouse on the bluff alongside the path and the stone bridge with the carved lions on either side of the entrance.
“Olmsted designed this part,” Duncan said. “He’s the guy who designed Central Park. I love this bridge.” They stopped in the middle of the intricate footbridge over the ravine. “It reminds me of some of the
ones in New York. I used to come here as a kid all the time, and I’d imagine that the road was lined with carriages on their way up to the castle.” Duncan pointed in the direction of the huge house at the end of the road. “There were no princesses in my stories. Just a prince who was trying to figure out who he was.” Duncan sighed. “Sometimes I think I’m still trying to figure stuff out.”
Todd snorted and covered his mouth, a little embarrassed. “I think we’re all doing that, and once we think we have things under control, life throws us a curve and we start all over again.” He shifted closer, standing next to Duncan, who took his hand. Todd squeezed his fingers but didn’t dare actually look at him. He didn’t want to break whatever spell seemed to have descended over them. For the moment things were perfect.
Voices approached, and Duncan let his fingers slip away. “This isn’t a good idea.”
“What? Holding hands?” Todd rolled his eyes.
“No. This… anything between us other than friendship.” In an instant, it was like Duncan had shifted ten feet away.
Footsteps neared them on the bridge, voices in conversation that passed behind them and then off and away.
“Duncan….”
“It doesn’t matter.” He turned. “I’m broken, Todd. We can talk about anything we want, but that doesn’t change the facts. I’m in this chair and parts of me don’t work anymore and there’s nothing I can do about it.” His eyes blazed with flame. “I won’t let you throw your life away, or…. I know we haven’t said anything, but things can only be friendship between us. I need to realize that, and so do you.”
Todd knelt down in front of Duncan. “How about you let me figure out what I want.” The longing in Duncan’s eyes drew him closer, like a magnet to steel. Few things were as attractive as someone looking at him as though he were the only person in the world who mattered. Todd continued leaning closer. “Just let go of what you’re so hung up on. How do you know what I want or what’s good for me?”
“I know I’m not much good for anyone,” Duncan whispered, as though he could say the words but was thinking something very different. Todd lightly touched his smooth chin and pressed a little closer. Duncan blinked and backed away, shaking his head. “I….” He tilted his head downward, as if looking for something.
Todd followed Duncan’s gaze to his lap. “I’m sorry.”
Duncan sniffed and raised his gaze slightly. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. At least not on your part.” He seemed to deflate. “You can’t make things work again, and neither can I. No matter how much I want them to.” He blinked, and a tear rolled down his cheek. “I have no one else I can talk to about things like this right now.” He turned away and looked between the decorations in the bridge and out along the ravine.
Todd leaned on the balustrade, figuring now was a time for silence. He would let Duncan talk if he wanted to. But he sat quietly for a long time, and Todd’s impatience slowly got the better of him.
“What did the doctors say about it?” Todd asked in a hushed tone.
“They said that there is the possibility that sensation and some functionality might return. But that was months ago, and nothing else has happened.” Duncan sighed. “I can’t talk about shit like this with my mom. I mean, how am I supposed to have a heart-to-heart with her about my dick?”
Under normal circumstances a sentence like that might have been funny, but this conversation wasn’t usual, and Duncan was hurting deeply. The gravel in his voice spoke more loudly than his words.
Todd rested his hand on Duncan’s shoulder. “You know that isn’t the most important thing in the world.”
Duncan laughed, deep and pained. “Maybe not to you. Yours works. Mine… nothing… for months. I watched hours of porn just to try to see if I could make anything happen. I can’t. It’s like everything is shut off.”
“But can you feel if you touch yourself?” Todd whispered. He could hardly believe they were having this conversation, but if this was what Duncan needed, he’d certainly talk about anything Duncan wanted to for as long as he needed to.
“Yes. But nothing happens.” Duncan sighed and rolled back a little.
“Then it will happen,” Todd said firmly. “I bet there are lots of things that you couldn’t do when you were first injured that you can now. This will be another of them. Your body is still healing and stuff.” He shifted closer and gripped Duncan’s shoulder. “Give yourself some time.” He turned as Duncan looked up at him. “Everything will work out in the end—you have to believe that.”
“But what do I do if it never comes back?” Duncan blinked and bit his lower lip. “Mom told me that being in the chair doesn’t mean that I can’t find someone to love me, but if things don’t work… how can I expect anyone to want to be with someone who’s broken?” He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes.
Todd wondered what he could do to help Duncan see that he wasn’t broken. Or that Todd didn’t see him that way, at least. When he couldn’t think of anything else to say to cheer Duncan up, he asked, “You feel like continuing on?”
“Yeah.” Duncan scrubbed a hand over his eyes. “I think that’s enough of my maudlin attitude. We came out here for some fresh air and sunshine, not for me to throw a wet blanket over everything.” Duncan wheeled himself across the bridge, and Todd followed.
“It’s okay if you want to talk. I’ll listen—you know that,” Todd said, catching up in a few strides.
“I know. But you shouldn’t have to. You didn’t pick me up for the day so I could dump all my baggage on you.” Duncan continued on, rolling down the way until they entered one of the open lawns.
“I picked you up so we could spend some time together and maybe have a little fun.”
“Having much yet?” Duncan sniped, and Todd rolled his eyes.
“Not really.” He touched Duncan’s shoulder to stop him. “Let’s go back to the car.” This wasn’t working the way Todd had pictured it.
Duncan turned around, and they started the way they’d come. “You can just take me home. I know I’m not a barrel of monkeys.” He rolled ahead, and Todd followed, letting Duncan take out his frustrations in the way he propelled his wheels forward.
Once they were back in the car, Todd pulled out, but instead of going back to Duncan’s, he headed downtown. He pulled into a parking space before checking his phone. “Perfect,” he said softly before continuing on.
“What are you doing?”
“You’ll see.” Todd parked near the Oriental Theater and helped Duncan out. “I figured you haven’t had time to see many movies, and I know how you love action flicks. This afternoon they’re showing a matinee of Wonder Woman. I saw it a few months ago—it was amazing. So let’s go.”
Once Duncan was out of the car and on his way inside, Todd noticed the ghost of a smile on his face.
Todd bought tickets, popcorn, snacks, and enough soda to keep them using the bathroom for hours once the movie was over. They were showing the movie on the center screen, and Todd held the snacks, letting Duncan go ahead.
They found a seat on the aisle, and Duncan found a place for his chair. He set the brake, and Todd handed Duncan his popcorn and soda. “I did want to see this, but Mom wouldn’t take me.”
“I’m glad we’ll get to see it together.” He reached over, squeezing Duncan’s hand. Whatever made him happy was a good thing.
The lights lowered, and Todd sat back to watch the film.
“THAT WAS awesome,” Duncan said as soon as the lights came up.
“It was.” Todd took what was left of their snack containers to throw them away and then followed Duncan out of the theater, blinking once they hit the sunshine. “Have you had enough to eat?”
Duncan’s groan turned to a chuckle. “I don’t think I’m going to need my chair to roll home if I eat any more.” At the very least he was smiling, and Todd got him back in the car to take him home.
“Is your mom going to be back yet?” Todd asked.
; Duncan shrugged. “It depends on how annoying my aunt was today. Sometimes she can be nice, but mostly these visits are because she feels obliged to have us over.” He sighed softly. “I don’t know why my mother bothers with her. She treats us like we’re white trash from the wrong side of the tracks. I hate visiting her. Mom tried to pressure me to go, but I already had plans.” He smiled broadly.
“I think I remember her. Your Aunt Sylvia. She came to one of the events with your mother. She looked more like a Barbie doll than a real person.”
“That’s Aunt Sylvia. She’s never been one to shy away from anything… clothes, makeup, surgery—you name it. Not that there’s anything wrong with any of that, but she takes it to such an extreme. Last year she got it into her head that there was something wrong with her eyelids. They were too droopy or something, so she had them done. Now she complains to my mom that she can’t close her eyes all the way.” Duncan chuckled.
“You don’t care much for her, do you?” Todd teased.
“She can do whatever she wants to her body. It’s hers, and she’s an adult and free to make her own choices, but she thinks she should be the one to make everyone else’s decisions too. Mom is going to come home all turned around because Aunt Sylvia will tell her all the things she thinks she and I should do.” Duncan leaned back in his seat. “I want my mom to be happy, and sometimes she’s too danged nice for her own good.”
“Why does she listen to her?”
“She’s my dad’s sister, and I think she holds on to his family to hold on to him. She wants to preserve anything to do with him. Not that I blame her. I miss my dad too.” Duncan turned away. “It’s been a long time, but I still wonder what he’d think of me and what I was trying to do. Dad always supported the things I did, and I wanted to make him proud….”
“I’m sure your dad is proud of you. Why wouldn’t he be?”
Duncan looked at him like he was crazy, then lowered his gaze to his legs. “My dad would want me to fight and rage against being in a chair. But how can I fight what I can’t control? On a run, we train so our bodies know instinctually how to make split-second decisions during the ride that will either save us fractions of a second or cost them. Shifting our weight or raising our head a fraction of an inch can slow us down. All of that is under my control, and a good run is because I made it so. A bad one is my fault as well. I could control that. But my legs will never carry my weight again. There isn’t going to be enough activity through my spine to allow that.”