Page 26 of Proof Of Life

“When did you have a butt massage?”

“You’ve never been to one of those places? They’re all over Fayetteville.”

“What places? Massage parlors?”

“Fuck yeah. I mean, I didn’t get a happy ending, but she massaged my ass real good. It was life-changing.”

“Where in the fuck was I?”

“Beats me. Probably on rotation.”

“Thanks a lot, buddy. Thanks for thinking of me.”

He laughs at my sullenness. “All I’m saying is, anytime you want to massage my butt, I’m not gonna say no. I’m not gonna let toxic masculinity ruin a life-changing experience.” He tilts his head back and looks up at me. “And neither should you.”

He wants to touch my ass? Fucking have at it.

“I can arrange that. I think it would do us both a world of good to relax some. The stress is going to kill us.” I wanted to bite my tongue as soon as I said it. How could I be so fucking callous?

West turns his head to drag his scruffy cheek across my chest. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Reaper.”

The following week is a nonstop reel of agonizing failures where West struggles with his new prosthesis. Every time he falls, every time his big body hits the floor, my gut churns with anxiety. I pop antacids like they’re candy, but nothing helps.

West is miserable and angry, and obviously in a lot of pain.

And there isn’t a fucking thing I can do to help.

“Stop leaning on your leg and trust the prosthetic,” Riggs insists for the hundredth time.

And for the hundredth and one time, he falls.

My self-control snaps like a dry twig. I can’t take another second of watching him fail. He’s frustrated with himself and his therapist, and with every failed attempt to walk, he’s losing more of his confidence. At this rate, he’s never going to have the hope he needs to succeed.

“I can’t! I’m weak. Just let me lie here.”

I step forward from the background, no longer an invisible bystander, and I crouch down in front of his face.

“What’s weak? Your body? Your mind? Or your will? The only thing I see weak about you is your fucking attitude. You're acting like a damn pussy.” I’m so angry I can feel my face grow hot.

West stops sputtering and whining, and stares up at me in wide-eyed awe. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I don’t need to be excused. I’m sick and tired of listening to you bitch and moan. I realize what you’ve lost. You’re not the only one. But I can’t take one more second of listening to you fucking cry about it.” Wisely, Riggs stays quiet. “I’ll tell you what, if Jennings and Estevez had gone through this shit and said the things you do, you know what you would tell them? You would punch them in the fucking mouth and tell them to man up and stop acting like bitches. Not even Rosie would pull this shit.” I pause to swallow past the lump forming in my throat. “That’s exactly what you would do. Your body is strong. Your mind is strong. Your heart is strong. We just need to work on your piss-poor attitude.”

West is speechless. He just stares, but he’s seething with anger because he knows I’m right.

Apparently, so does Riggs. He clears his throat and orders, “Get up, Wardell. We’ve got work to do and we’re a long way from finished.”

At home, I refuse to carry him up the stairs any longer. He has a leg, and he needs to use it to get his ass where he needs to go. If I continue to baby him, he will never improve, never get stronger. My enabling is going to put him six feet under the ground, and that would kill me too.

He falls plenty of times, just about every fourth step, but at least they’re carpeted. I try to help him stand, grabbing hold of his hips to help him back up on his legs, but West is done with me. His arm strikes out to punch me in the chest.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Of course, I ignore him. “I mean it. Get your hands off me.”

Christ, I’m done with his shit. “I’m about to put my fucking hands all over you in a way you’re not gonna like.” My words hiss in his ear as I get my hands around his waist. “What is your goddamn problem? Why are you so angry?”

“Because I feel like a fucking cripple!” He’s so frustrated and angry he’s on the verge of tears, and he struggles to hold them back.

No more kid gloves. They will only hurt him worse in the end. West needs a heaping dose of tough love. “You are a fucking cripple, now get up.”

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