Page 15 of The Fates We Tame
I look at Lori. “I’m taking a minute to celebrate the tiny miracle that is getting up here before I face the death-defying feat of getting off it.”
Lori claps and cheers for about two seconds. “There you go. We celebrated. Step down.”
I do as she says, but I pick up a little momentum and stumble forward a few steps. “Guess my line-dancing days are over,” I say.
“You line-danced?” Lori asks.
I shrug. “No idea. My brain was restored to factory settings, remember?”
“Funny,” Lori says. “Now the ramp.”
I complete the whole circuit with some version of all the usual issues I’m currently working on. Walking up a steep ramp burns my legs, and I feel like I have to drag my leg the last few inches. My knees continue to turn in a little, but it’s nowhere near as bad as it was at the beginning. There is progress. I can see it. Even better, I can feel it.
For a moment, I almost believe that I can get my life back to normal.
Theo finishes his session the same time as me. His hoodie is slung over one shoulder as he sips from a water bottle. Tattoos cover most of his body; I notice the wordsfear noneare tattooed across his knuckles.
He has some unusual markings over his pecs. They aren’t tattoos, but they are deliberate patterns of raised red lines, like scars.
“Good session?” I ask as we reach the exit at the same time.
“Depends how you define good,” he says. “Feel…weak. Hold this, please.” He hands me his water bottle while he tugs his hoodie awkwardly over his head, then takes it back. “Thanks.”
As I walk alongside him, my limp feels a little more pronounced. It leaves me feeling a little…ashamed. Even though I know he just struggled to move a tennis ball. I feel like I want to beheraround him. The woman I once was.
My therapist would be mad at me. I once told her I needed to get better so my family could move on with the rest of their lives. She told me that my rehabilitation and recovery isn’t about them. That I need to rehabilitate for myself. That I need to accept and love myself.
As I am.
And if they thought less of me because of my injuries, then that wasn’t the unconditional love and support I deserved.
“I don’t know what it is about some sessions, but it just feels like you’ve had the crap beaten out of you when you leave,” I say.
“How do you know what getting…getting…getting the crap beaten out of you feels like?”
“Fair point. I can imagine. And it can’t be worse than Lori shunting me around her obstacle course.”
Theo chuckles.
“Are you going to movie night tonight?” I ask. Once a week, they set up a large screen in the visitors’ room, and we can all go watch it.
“I’d rather poke my own eye out,” he says.
His choice of phrase stings, but I tap my eye patch. “Zero out of ten. Would not recommend.”
“Ah, fuck, Sparrow. That was…insensitive.”
“Better than dancing on eggshells and pretending you don’t see I’m missing an eye.”
He places his large hands on my shoulders, then dips his head a little so our eyes…eye…whatever, meet. “I see you, I see your eye patch, and I’m sorry I was an insensitive jerk.”
Time stands still for a moment. Even though he smells a little sweaty from physio, his proximity is enough to create butterflies in my stomach.
“It’s fine,” I say, trying to brush it off.
“It’s not. But you’re kind, trying to make me feel…less of an ass. Does your physio hurt?”
I shake my head. It’s hard to concentrate on his questions when he’s so up in my personal space. “Not really. I mean, my muscles burn, and my joints can ache, but I like to think of it as the price of getting better. I couldn’t walk when I first got here, so I see the value of progress.”
