Page 5 of Doing Life

He wanted his disability check and to function without embarrassing himself.

“It’s kind of nuts, huh?” Brick chuckled, the sound warm and amused. “But whatever gets us through the day.”

“And now you’re a den mother to assholes in crisis.”

Of which he counted as one of three other soldiers who lived in a simple, comfortable ranch house, retrofitted to be accessible and a way to get ready to re-enter society.

He was so fucked.

Brick snorted softly. “DMAC? I like it. Although that’s Dan, not me. I’m totally going to get that asshole a sign.”

“You should. Make sure it has a Braille thing at the bottom.” Though really, thank God for audiobooks while he learned.

“You’ve got it. Here comes the food.”

Please God, don’t let me make a mess. Please.

“Remember. Breathe. If you do something you think is weird, just reset. It’s not the end of the world. And most people are not as into watching us as we think they are.”

“Right. I mean, you have a hook for a hand, right Stumpy?”

“You wish! I’m wearing the fancy flesh-colored arm today. I look like heaven.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He was glad, some days, most days, he couldn’t see much of his own face. Every so often he caught a glimpse in the mirror in his peripheral vision, and he just wished he hadn’t.

Some things nobody needed to see. Nobody at all. He rubbed his cheek, the scars talking to his fingers.

“Just focus on the food, man. On being out and having a good day.”

“Yeah.” He saw the shadow as someone dropped off the food, and he heard the plates clatter on the table. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome!”

He tried not to wince. One of his therapists had told him that it was probably not that people were talking loud because he made them nervous. It was that they sounded loud because he didn’t have the visual clues to go with his hearing.

“It’s okay, man. She’s just being friendly.”

“I know.” He’d thought so. See? He was learning.

“Cool. If I overstep, just tell me. But I know how wild it all seems in recovery.” Brick was a good guy, and he got it. That was what made him special.

“Sure. Okay, where is the food?” They had been working on this together for a few months now.

“The plate is directly in front of you. The sandwich is at nine o’clock. The coffee is above the plate at high noon. And there are fries all around at three and six.”

“Thank you.” He tried his damnedest not to sigh, becausehe wasn’t an asshole. He wasn’t this piece of shit who just sat around and whined.

He really wasn’t.

Fuck, he felt like he was, though.

“You should feel the coffee cup. It has the tiniest handle ever. If I’m going to use my prosthetic I’ll have to be damn careful.”

“Do you think it’ll ever be natural? The prosthetic, I mean. Do you think it will ever feel like yours?”

“It is mine. I picked it out. Tested it. All the things. It couldn’t be more mine.” Brick’s voice was sure and firm.

“Yeah?” He pondered that. Maybe… Maybe he could think about that later.

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