Authors: Colleen Clay
Late
August 2013
The
hallway is crowded as I head toward class. This is the first day of my senior
year at Brookside University and I couldn't be happier. My goal has been to
become a physical therapist and I'm almost there.
I
turn into the hallway and stop dead.
She's
there—looking lost and
scared. I can't believe Morgan Wheeler is right in front of me. She maneuvers
her wheelchair closer to the building to move out of the way of approaching
students. The students just filter past her—no one stops to help.
I
inhale a calming breath. I've never actually spoken to her, although I've seen
her many times from afar. I step in front of her chair. "Ah, you look a
little lost. Can I help you find wherever you're supposed to be?"
She
glances up at me and her eyes widen. She doesn't say anything, so I glance at
the printout in her lap. Her class is located close to mine. I say, "Room
11A. Well, it just so happens my class is a few doors down so I can
personally
escort you there."
In
a soft voice she responds, "Oh, hey, no need. I don't want to hold you up.
Just point me in the right direction."
I
see her looking at my snake tat and I shift my backpack. I'm probably scaring
the crap out of her. I think her parents have been protective of her ever since
the accident. I'm surprised that she's not taking college classes online, since
that's how she finished high school. I know this because I checked out the
yearbook of the school she would have attended and saw a listing of online students
with their pictures. It makes me happy that she's now stepping out into the
world. I'd like to tell her that, but, of course, I can't because it would give
away the fact that I know a lot about her.
I
start to say that she's not holding me up, but she says, "Ah, okay. I'll
follow you."
I
walk ahead of her, but turn around to make sure she's following. She keeps
lifting a hand to her cheek. It's probably a habit to cover some scarring. I've
only seen her up close once before, and that was years ago when the scars were
worse. They're barely noticeable now.
When
we pause in front of the door to her classroom, she says, "Thank you for
coming to the rescue."
Her
words make me sad. I wish I could have been her rescuer years ago. I introduce
myself and reach my hand out for her to shake. She looks at my hand and I see
an almost imperceptible cringe. It makes me wonder if she knows about me, but
that's not possible. She lifts watery eyes to mine and the compassion I have
felt for her all these years slams me in the gut. She says, "I'm Morgan
Wheeler."
Quickly,
she spins her wheelchair around and rolls into the room. I can't leave things
like this so I hasten in front of her. When she pauses, I kneel down. She looks
shocked, but I have to tell her something. "Morgan, if you need anything,
you just let me know." She doesn't respond so I prod, "Promise?"
Slowly,
she nods, and I'm happy to get that response from her. I feel so protective
over her, I don't want to leave. She's a sweet girl and didn't deserve what
happened.
Before
I make a fool of myself, I leave the room and head down the hallway. After
class, like a magnet, I return to Morgan's classroom and make my way to the
back. I'm happy to see she seems to have made a friend.
I
drop onto the vacant seat beside Morgan. "Hello, Morgan Wheeler. How was
psych class?" She looks surprised to see me.
"It was, um…long and boring."
"I can relate. My class was also long and
boring."
I include the red head sitting next to her in
our conversation. "Hello, I'm Tyce Brandon. And you are…?"
"L-Lucy Arnez."
"Seriously. That's your name?"
"Seriously, it is."
This girl is funny and I grin. "Cute
name."
I want to groan when I see Tina approach. She
says, "Hellooo Tyce." Her zombie girlfriends wave at me.
"Hello Tina. How's it going?"
"Great. Hey, are you coming to the party at
Lenny's tonight?"
"You know I'm not into those parties."
Tina gives me a smile that's supposed to turn me
on. She says, "One can always hope. Hey, I'll tell Cindy I saw you."
I want to cringe when she mentions Cindy. I
can't believe I let my libido get me involved with her. Too many beers and her crawling
all over me, ended in something I'll always regret. "You do that."
Tina and her clones finally leave and I turn my
attention back to Morgan. "What's your next class?"
She reaches for her class schedule with one hand
and nervously covers her cheek with her other.
"It's water aerobics. It doesn't start for
almost an hour. Ah, I know where the gym is located."
"Okay. What about your class after
that?"
She glances at the paper again and I can see
she's not happy about that class. "Speech. Room 7, Building G."
"Hey, speech class isn't that bad. Who's
your teacher?"
"Professor Wilkes."
"He's great. Believe me, you'll enjoy the
class." I give her directions and then look at Lucy. I remember seeing her
around. "You were a student here last year, right? Do you need directions?"
"N-no. I'm good."
If I stay any longer, I'll probably look like a
stalker. "Well, ladies, it was nice meeting you. Let me know if I can help
with anything. See you around."
During the drive home, I have plenty of time to
think. It's been two years since I last saw Morgan, and our face-to-face
encounter happened about five years ago. Other than that, she may have seen me
ride past her place on a bicycle before I got my truck at seventeen. From our
meeting today it doesn't appear that she recognizes me. The last time I drove
past her house I was in my truck. I was twenty-one and she was sitting on her porch
in her wheelchair reading a book. She didn't even glance up. As usual, my heart
shredded when I saw her in that chair. It was later that night that I made the
decision to stop driving past her house. There was nothing I could do to change
the past and I'd been torn up by it for years.
The time Morgan and I came face-to-face was when
I was sixteen and she was almost fifteen—when the scars on her face were still
red and irritated. At that time, I was pedaling past her house on my bicycle
and her mom was helping her into their car. I followed them to the grocery
store and stayed hidden behind another car, watching them in the handicapped
zone. I was close enough to hear Morgan arguing with her mother about going into
the store. Her mother refused to let her stay in the car. After they entered
the market I parked my bike and went in, too. While they shopped I walked the
aisles, garnering courage to walk past her. When I reached her, she glanced up and
our eyes met. It was only for an instant because she quickly looked away,
lifting her hand to cover her cheek. After that, I rushed back to my bike and pedaled
away like a madman.
Now, pushing old memories aside, I pull my truck
into the driveway of my house. My mom is in the kitchen baking cookies. She
loves to bake. "Hi, hon," she calls. "How was your day?"
I pause in the doorway. "I saw her again."
My mom almost drops the sheet of cookies.
"You said you weren't going to drive by her house anymore."
"I didn't. She's enrolled in college. I
helped her find her class."
My mom plops the cookie sheet on top of the
stove and looks at me with rounded eyes. "You
talked
to her?"
"Yes."
"And?"
"She's very nice."
"So what happens now?"
"I don't know."
My mom returns her attention to the cookies, but
I know she's concerned about me.
During the first week of school, I make sure to walk
toward my classroom about the same time that Morgan arrives. I joke with her to
keep things light. I want to become her friend, but I'm not sure I can handle
the guilt. When she starts arriving later than usual, I back off; I think she's
avoiding me.
My major in college is physical therapy. I
intend to go on and get my Masters, maybe even a Ph.D., in the field. Morgan is
part of the reason I chose that career.
Against my better judgment, when one of the
aquatic aides calls in sick, I volunteer to help out. I enter the pool area and
see Morgan in a blue bathing suit. She's in the lift waiting to be lowered. I
speak to the teacher briefly and then head for the pool. "Hello, Morgan.
Nice to see you."
She
looks startled and doesn't reply. I slip into the water and give instructions
to the aide that was supposed to help her. He swims away. To Morgan, I say, "Are
you ready to be lowered?"
She
nods.
When
she's in the water, I ask, "Ready to leave the lift?" She nods again and
I place my hands around her tiny waist. "Put your hands on my
shoulders."
Instead
of putting her hands on my shoulders, she folds them across her stomach. Part
of me wishes I had never volunteered to help and the other part wants to enfold
her in my arms. I study her face. She's looking at the eagle tattoo on my pec. "I
got that tat when I was twenty. It's my favorite. The others…" I tell her
the truth. "I was going through a bad time and they seemed
appropriate."
She
sounds very annoyed and asks, "What are you doing here?"
"The
gym teachers are often short-handed and I like to help out. My major is
physical therapy."
"Are
you some kind of do-gooder? Helping gym teachers; helping crippled girls."
Before
I think, I respond, "You've got a big chip on your shoulder, haven't
you?"
"I
don't like pity."
"Do
you think I pity you?"
"Yes."
The
teacher starts calling instructions, so our conversation is cut short.
About
halfway through class, Morgan's hair needs to be pulled back and I unclip the
thick mahogany curls. I suck a long breath. She has beautiful hair that I want
to stroke. While I clip the mass again, she cringes and then starts to shiver.
I take a step backward. "Relax, Morgan. Now you can swim without having to
wipe the hair out of your eyes."
The
class finally ends and while we wait in line for the lift, I chance a question,
"Shall we finish our conversation?"
She
doesn't answer.
I
don't want to be so blunt, but I feel compelled to say, "I don't pity you,
but I think you pity yourself."
She
gives me a stern look. "Whatever."
As
I pull myself out of the pool, I see Morgan glance at me and then quickly back
at the water. I think I'll take my name off the list of substitute aides.
Clearly, I make her uncomfortable.
I know I should just leave Morgan alone, but
there's something so innocent and fragile about her that tugs at my heart. Against
my better judgment, I show up uninvited at her dorm. My heart breaks to see her
in that wheelchair. She's been in it for years and obviously adjusted, but it
doesn't change how rotten I feel about it. Accusative thoughts start hammering
me like a punching bag as I lift away from the wall and watch her approach.
Clearly, she isn't happy that I'm here. If I didn't know better, I'd think she
knows about my role in her car accident.
I want to take her to The Coffee Mug and I've
already come up with a good explanation as to why. Of course, I knew she
wouldn't go alone with me; that's why I asked Lucy to join us.
"Yoo-hoo," calls Lucy.
Her timing is perfect.
Between Lucy and me, we convince Morgan to go to
the coffee shop. For some reason, Morgan's gaze is always sliding to my tats. I
don't know if they scare her or fascinate her. I want to tell her my bad boy
days are long gone, but that would probably make things worse.
When I go to the counter to order our drinks I
see Lucy lean toward Morgan and whisper something. Morgan rolls her eyes and I
wonder what Lucy said. They're both smiling, so that's a good sign.
After I return to the table, Lucy starts telling
me about her favorite
I Love Lucy
show and I go along with the charade
to make Morgan comfortable. It seems to work when she smiles at me. I love her
smile; it's sweet and shy and sexy, all in one package. When I realize the
direction of my thoughts, I jerk them back to reality. The reality of the
situation is that Morgan is in a wheelchair because of my stupid decision all
those years ago. I fight the all-consuming guilt.
I say, "Morgan, I do a lot of tutoring, both
on campus and off. The favor I need to ask is if you'll cover for me and tutor
a ten year old girl in math next Tuesday at four. She's got a high IQ and
already beginning algebra. The reason I'm asking is because I have a job
interview that I don't want to miss." I hasten to add that I'll pay her
the same amount of money that I make.
By her reaction, it's clear she doesn't want to
tutor Kaylee, but I'm persistent. Lucy tries to convince her, too, but she
argues with her friend. I almost grin at her spunkiness. Finally, she says,
"Okay. You've both made me feel so bad I'll do it."
I can't help but smile. The words slip out
before I can stop them, "That's my girl."
The day after Morgan tutors Kaylee, I can't
resist showing up at her dorm to see how it went. I already talked to Kaylee
and she gave me a blow-by-blow account of the tutoring session. Seems Kaylee
got Morgan to loosen up long enough to show off her pink bedroom. I grin to
myself because Kaylee's already taken me on the tour. She uses tours of her
house as leverage to get out of her lessons for a while.
Morgan opens her door and her eyes widen before
glancing at the snake on my forearm. I grin. "So, how did it go with Kaylee?"
Now Morgan is frowning at me as she gives a
quick account.
I ask, "Are you going to invite me in?
Something smells good."
"Microwave enchiladas. But, believe me,
they're not very tasty."
"Well, pop another one in for me."
Morgan looks like she wants to shut the door in
my face, so I push the door wider and lean down, placing a hand on the
controller of her chair and rolling her backwards. She puts her hands on my
chest and pushes. I suck a breath at her touch, but she doesn't seem to notice.
Anger increases the color of her skin and her eyes flash when she rolls away
from me. "Why are you here?" she asks bluntly.
"I came to find out how things went with Kaylee."
"They went fine. She's exceptionally smart and
now has a better understanding of algebra. Now you can leave."
I hear the microwave ding and rather than
respond, I walk to it. Finally, I ask the question I'm not sure I want to hear
the answer to. "Why do you dislike me so much?"
She stumbles over her words, "I-I don't
dislike you."
Now I turn and study her expression, seeking the
truth.
She says, "I just don't understand why you
keep showing up." She looks like she's about to cry. "Look, I'm not
exactly your kind of girl."
Her response angers me and I ask her to tell me what
my kind of girl is.
What she says angers me even more. "You're
a hot guy. You date beautiful women. My looks are just passable. And since I'm
in a wheelchair, you obviously don't want sex. So just tell me what's going
on."
I want to spout out that I think she's beautiful
and courageous, but instead I tell her she has some weird values. The fact that
she thinks I'm so shallow hurts.
Before I rethink what I want to say, I tell her,
"You know, I thought we could be friends. I don't give a shit whether
you're in a wheelchair, whether you're beautiful, or if you're an alien from
another planet. What I saw in you was a woman of character, someone I could hang
out with. I've dated a lot of women, and frankly, I don't give a fuck about the
latest fashion fad, movie star, or hit song."
She blinks and looks astounded, but I don't stop
there, I keep talking. "And do you want to know why I
really
asked
you to tutor Kaylee?" I still don't wait for an answer. "She's a
lonely little girl who needs a friend. Her kidneys are failing and soon she'll
be on dialysis. All the money in the world hasn't found a donor that matches
her biology. Sure, you're in a wheelchair, but pick your poison, Morgan. Would
you rather have the wheelchair or kidney failure?"
Disgusted with myself for speaking so frankly, I
walk out the door. I get halfway down the walkway before turning around and
returning to the doorframe, leaning against it. I wait for Morgan to see me.
Finally, she turns around and I can see tears welling in her eyes, and then she
says something that melts my heart. "Would you like a microwave enchilada
while I eat crow?"
I'm falling for this girl and I know it will
only lead to heartbreak if she should learn the truth about me. When I tell her
I just want to be friends, she rolls forward and says, "Done." I grasp
her small hand that she's outstretched and feel the full force of my guilt.