Page 30 of Send It
I rub my hands down my face, “I will talk to him.”
She doesn’t say another word the entire way to town and when we get to the doctor’s office, she follows me in and waits in the chair next to me.
“Colson Raines,” the nurse calls with the biggest grin on her face. “It’s good to see you, how’s your Nana doing?”
“She’s still an asshole.”
Lincoln takes her elbow and shoves it into my ribs, “Be nice.”
“It runs in the family,” she teases. “Wait in here and I’ll go get Dr. Marlow.”
“He’s probably gonna want new x-rays,” Lincoln pipes up. “Could we get them either way? Just to check?”
The nurse nods, “You are probably right but let’s let him come take a look first.”
We wait in silence and every few minutes we make the most awkward eye contact, it’s like she’s over there dying to say something.
“What?” I snap. “Why do you keep looking at me like that?”
She shakes her head, “Colson, you can barely walk. You should’ve come on your own, I can’t believe you didn’t.”
I growl, “Nationals are coming up, Linc. I can’t miss that race. Don’t sit there like you don’t understand.”
“I’m worried about you,” she admits. “If you aren’t riding, then it’s bad.”
I shrug, “I am riding.”
The door swings open and Dr. Marlow struts in with a clipboard of papers, dropping it in front of the computer with a thud.
“Well well well, if it isn’t one of my favorite patients.”
Lincoln’s face lights up and I give him a fist bump, “Thanks Doc. I can’t say that I’m excited to see you.”
He howls with laughter, “The feeling is mutual, kid. That last surgery of yours was brutal. Let me see the leg.”
I hop onto the table and take my shoe and sock off, my scar looking a bit darker than normal in the brighter lighting.
“When are you having the most pain?” Dr. Marlow asks, mashing down on the area around my scar. “Is it constant?”
“Well it hurts when you mash on it like that, fuck!”
“Colson!” Lincoln warns.
“It’s okay, Lincoln. We all know this one doesn’t come without an attitude.”
I growl, “Well I’m here to have my leg checked. I wouldn't be here if it didn’t hurt.”
“Let’s get some x-rays and see what we're dealing with. I don’t think we got any at your nine month follow up.”
Because I didn’t come to my nine month follow up. Or the last part of physical therapy, I think to myself.
I follow the nurse into the x-ray room and do exactly as she instructs before heading back to the room to sit with Lincoln.
“You didn’t come to your follow up appointment, did you?”
I don’t answer her, solidifying her statement.
“You didn’t. You told my dad that you were cleared to ride. You lied to him?”
