Page 6 of Forging Chaos

“Sorry, bro.” Gunnar slides up against my side. “I won’t even pinch you this time. Or tickle you. Maybe.” He wedgeshis shoulder under mine and locks an arm around my waist. We’re about the same height, so it works okay. After a few days lying in a hospital bed, I’m weaker than I want to admit, so I give him my weight and hop up the few stairs to the apartment door.

I use the roller to get down the hall and then rely on Gunny again to get up two flights of stairs to our apartment, which I realize I’ll have to leave every morning for PT. “How is this shit going to work,” I ask the room at large.

There’s an uncomfortable silence as my brother and cousin shift their weight and stare at their backpacks. They need to get to class. Mom walks in the door carrying the football uniform I forgot I was wearing when they rushed me to the hospital. Someone stuffed it in a clear plastic trash bag, which is probably where it will stay. I'm not sure what happened to my pads or helmet. I guess I have to return the jersey to the athletic department. That’s a problem for another day.

“What do you need to get comfortable, Odin?” Mom sets the bag on the ground and looks around the apartment. There are a lot of cardboard boxes stacked all over since Wyatt is moving out, but the place is otherwise not too messy—for once. Typically, Mom is full of jokes and comments about our filthy kitchen and toilets, but today, she wrings her hands together and stares at me, her eyes shiny, like she’s trying not to cry.

You and me both, Mom.

“I’m just going to bed,” I say, testing out the knee roller on the apartment carpet. I glide my ass to my room and am glad to see I fit through the door pretty easily. From there, I quickly hobble into my bed; once settled, I realize I didn’t set myself up with water, snacks, or anything. “Can you bring me my cookies, Mom?”

I’m 22 years old, asking my mother to bring me a box ofcookies. But she does it, smiling. She sets the tin on my nightstand along with a glass of water and a clementine. I know we don’t keep fresh fruit in the apartment, so this is clearly pity fruit. “Isn’t this for your snack later?” I reach for the cookies but point at the orange.

She smiles. “Your father can bring me another one. He likes visiting my chambers.”

“Gross, Mom.” My parents are always making weird sex jokes about her judge’s office.

She ruffles my hair and kisses the top of my head. She reaches into her pocket and sets a few pill bottles on the nightstand. “I’ll call around four if I don’t hear from you that you took these, okay?”

I nod and adjust the covers. I hear her talking softly to Gunnar, and then I hear the apartment door close. I’m alone. I cuddle the tin of cookies to my chest like it’s a throw pillow. Did Thora really come to the hospital to give me shit about a group project? I guess she at least brought me some cookies. I stare at the phone number on the lid of the tin. Should I thank her? Or give her shit for being a jerk about schoolwork?

I decide to send her a text.

Me

Hey

Thora From Class

Sorry. Wrong number.

Me

It’s Odin [deer emoji]

Thora From Class

Oh shit. Sorry! How are you? I’m so sorry I was such a jerk yesterday. There you were in the hospital after surgery, and I was bugging you about class. Don’t even worry about it. I’ll write the paper and put both our names on it.

I stare at her message. It’s not like I ever care much about my classwork. Under ordinary circumstances, I’d happily take credit for her work and be done with it. But nothing is ordinary anymore. Before I can think too hard about it, I write back:

No way. I can’t have you putting my name on something I haven’t even read. What if you do a terrible job?

Thora From Class

Okayyyy well…are you going to be able to work on it? From the hospital?

Me

I’m home now, actually. And I no longer have football practice eating into my spare time, so…

Thora From Class

So?

Me

So why don’t you come over? We can work on it this afternoon when my pain meds wear off, and I can think clearly.

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