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Chapter 21

Nick awoke with a start the next morning, realizing he was not in his room. A quick look around told him he was not even in his house. But as he pulled back the cloud-patterned comforter and sat up, the memory of the previous night came back, right along with a splitting headache Groaning, he lay back down in what he had realized was Claire’s bed. He was in Claire’s room, in Claire’s apartment, and now he remembered why. He closed his eyes briefly, trying to fight away the effects of a hangover from last night’s drinking, and then opened them again, turning his head on the pillows to look over to the other side of the bed, which Claire had occupied the night before. But it was clearly morning now, and she was not there anymore.

With a moan, he raised his head, willing his body to sit up again. He could not lie around in her bed all day – she was probably already out in the other room, waiting for him to get up. As he moved, he was distracted by a crinkling sound. Looking down, he was surprised to find a small piece of paper lying on his chest. On closer inspection, it was a note, penned in Claire’s small, round handwriting, and it was actually stuck to his chest with a smiley face sticker. The sticker – and the note – were upside down, he noticed. Reaching down to pick it up, he realized why – she’d put it that way so that he could tip the note up and read it without even pulling it off of him. He had to smile at that. Clever, Claire… real clever. So he did just that, tipping the piece of paper up from its bottom and reading the short note she’d left for him.

Nick~

Jamie came by this morning and we walked to the park down the street. He brought donuts over for breakfast too – there’s still a couple left, on the counter in the kitchen. Help yourself. I’ll see ya later!

XOXOXO
Claire

The smile left Nick’s face as he let the small piece of paper drop. So she was already out with Jamie? Great. Just wonderful. He supposed he should be angry with himself for sleeping late and completely missing her, but he found himself annoyed with Jamie instead, for coming over to get her while he slept, oblivious to it all.

With a heavy sigh, he sat up, deciding he might as well just go. He wanted to get home, take some aspirin for his headache, and crash in his own bed. Climbing out of Claire’s, he hurriedly put on his artificial leg and then pulled on his rumpled jeans, which he’d found laying in a heap with the rest of his clothes on the floor. Before putting his shirt back on, he ripped Claire’s note off his bare chest, wincing as a few hairs came off with the sticker, and started to crumple it up, then stopped. He folded it instead and jammed it into his pocket.

When he had finished getting dressed, he left the bedroom and walked out into the main room of the apartment. In the kitchen, he found his car keys, sitting next to the small notepad she’d used to write his note. Picking up the teal ink pen lying beside the notepad, he scrawled a quick message to her.

Claire,

Sorry I missed ya this morning… heading home to sleep now… catch you later I hope.

Love ya,
Nick

Setting the pen back down, he noticed a white bakery bag lying on the other side of the counter and went over to peek. There were two donuts inside, and he remembered Claire’s note. Help yourself. Shrugging, he reached in and pulled out a jelly-filled one covered in powdered sugar. He bit into it, stopping to savor its sweetness, and then tucked it into a napkin. Grabbing his keys, he walked out of the apartment, shutting the door behind him.

Taking another bite of his donut, he slowly descended down the stairs and went outside, holding his hand up to shield his eyes from the bright morning sunlight. He found his car right where she’d left it the night before, parked next to her Toyota. He pressed a button on his keychain to unlock the doors and then climbed in, tucking his half-eaten donut into one of the cup-holders. He started the car and immediately put down his windows to cool the stuffy interior until the air conditioning kicked in. Then he backed slowly out of the parking space, watching over his shoulder to be sure that he did not bump one of the other cars in the small, cramped lot.

When he finally pulled away from the apartment complex, he drove down the street slowly, eyes trained on the park that was coming up on his right. He’d hardly noticed it before, but now his eyes poured over the green oasis, tucked so neatly in the midst of rows of old houses and small apartment buildings like Claire’s. Located at the intersection of Claire’s street and another, the park stretched across two large lots. It was dotted with tall, leafy trees – good for climbing, Nick thought – and on one end, there was a small playground, at which a few children played while watchful mothers sat supervising on wooden benches. On the other side, there was a large grassy field, perfect for playing baseball in the spring, football in the fall. Several clusters of people played separately on it now - a trio of children stood in a wide circle, whipping a Frisbee between them; a man stooped low, carefully pitching a plastic Whiffle ball to his young daughter, who hovered over a tee-ball tee, clutching a big red bat in concentration. And off in one corner, he finally spotted Claire and Jamie, standing a few feet apart and facing each other.

Lurching to a stop at the intersection, Nick sat and watched as Jamie dribbled a soccer ball between his feet, kicking it expertly from one foot to the other. Then he slid the toe of his shoe carefully under the ball and lifted it up, balancing it on the end of his foot until he brought it high enough to reach down and pick up. From there, he let it fall and caught it on one knee, bouncing it back up again. Over and over again he bounced it off his knee, never missing, never letting it fall.

“Fucking show off,” Nick muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing darkly as he saw Jamie give the ball a high bounce and then duck under it, bouncing it off his head when it came back down. He frowned when Claire clapped and trotted over to Jamie. Nick was too far away to hear what they were saying, but the exchange was brief; then Jamie repeated the trick and motioned for Claire to go back to her spot. She jogged a few feet away from him and turned to face him again. He caught the ball in his hands and drop-kicked it, sending it in a high arc to her. Nick watched as she got under it, just as Jamie had done, and tried to butt it up again with her head. Just as the ball went ricocheting crazily off the side of her head, he heard a honk behind him and glanced up into his rearview mirror to see that a car had come up behind him. The driver was probably wondering why he’d been stopped at the stop sign for at least a full minute.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going,” said Nick in irritation, releasing his foot from the brake and moving it over to the gas. The car took off slowly, and he focused on the road in front of him, refusing to let himself look back at Claire and Jamie, playing in the field like a couple of carefree kids. But he could not miss the unmistakable sound of her laugh in the distance, ringing through his open windows as he sulkily drove away.

***

When Nick got home, he downed a couple of pills for his headache and then headed straight to his bedroom. He stripped back out of his clothes, plugged in his prosthetic leg to re-charge for a few hours, and hopped into bed. He lay awake for nearly an hour, trying to chase away the images of Jamie and Claire in the park, before he finally fell asleep.

Even in sleep, he was haunted by Jamie and his stupid soccer ball… he dreamed he was standing alone in a soccer field, facing one of the goals, before which Jamie stood, guarding. There was a soccer ball lying at Nick’s feet, and he knew he had to kick it, past Jamie and into the goal. Claire was watching… he could see her sitting on a short set of metal bleachers, her hands clasped together in anticipation. He couldn’t let her down. Moving all of his weight to his artificial leg, he pulled his right leg back to kick the ball. He swung his foot forward, kicking hard, but before he even made contact with the ball, his prosthesis fell off, as if it had been effortlessly knocked out from under him, and he flew to he ground, landing hard on his ass with a dull thud. Yards away, in the goal box, Jamie laughed hysterically, while in the stands, Claire looked crestfallen.

Nick awoke feeling ashamed and embarrassed, and it took him a moment to get his bearings. He let out a breath as he pushed back the bedcovers, his body hot and damp with perspiration beneath them. Now he felt stupid. The dream seemed so silly and insignificant, like one a child would have, but Nick could not forget it. It was not the literal dream itself – his leg could not really fall off like that, and when would he ever be facing Jamie in a soccer match? – but the feelings that accommodated it… feelings of shame and unworthiness.

His logical side told him that it didn’t matter… Claire had already proven that she loved him, exactly the way he was, and she and Jamie had broken up years ago. She was with Nick now, not Jamie. So why did he doubt both himself and her feelings for him so much? Why, sitting there watching her and Jamie at the park, had he felt such a gnawing, sick feeling in the pit of his stomach?

There was another side of him that knew the answer to that question. Because, it told him, Jamie is physically perfect. He’s attractive, athletic… he’s got two legs… why would a woman want you when she could have him?

He knew these thoughts were probably ridiculous, but he couldn’t stop them from coming. Seeing Jamie show off for Claire like that had given him a strong desire to prove himself. How, he did not know. Learn to bounce a soccer ball off the knee of his C-Leg? Right. He’d once been fairly athletic, but it was hard to play most sports with only one real leg. He could shoot baskets, or throw a football, but he could not pivot with the agility he’d once had, or run to catch a pass or dribble down the court.

As that thought passed through his mind, he suddenly froze, focusing on one word. Run. That was something he could not yet do – he hadn’t run in over a year – but, according to his physical therapist Susan, it could be done. Up until now, he hadn’t tried, and even this very moment, he had his doubts. He could walk on the artificial limb almost without thinking by now, but running on it? That was an entirely different story. Still, filled with sudden motivation, he wanted to try. Would it be enough to contend with Jamie’s soccer talents? No, but at the very least, it would be a cool trick to show Claire and the guys, next time he saw them.

Physically, he was feeling better – sleep, coupled with the two aspirin he’d taken earlier, had cured his hangover – so he moved to the edge of the bed and reached for his prosthesis. He slid it on with practiced ease and gave it an extra pat. “Let’s see what you can do, huh?” he said, rising readily from the bed. He left his room and went out through the garage, stopping to grab his basketball off a dusty shelf before continuing out into the backyard. He let the basketball fall onto the grass and gave it a kick with the side of his good foot, just to prove that he could. It was not nearly as light as a soccer ball and not meant for kicking, but nevertheless, it rolled across the yard, and Nick remained upright, balancing solely on a foot that was not his own.

Smiling, he strode off through the grass, selecting a wide expanse where there was lots of room to run. Then he stopped and stood there for a moment, hands traveling to his hips as he deliberated on what to do next. It was weird, the realization that he actually had to think about how to run. Once it had seemed so effortless. You want to run? Then run. It was just something he did. But that was before he’d lost his leg, before he’d had to relearn to walk on nothing but a metal pylon where his left leg should have been. Now every move he made that was more complicated than taking a basic step required thought and special consideration, and even simply walking had been that way at first.

Running, though… it was basically just like fast walking, with an added bounce, right? He reasoned that he should be able to do it about like he had in the “before” days – just start walking, increase speed, and take off running. It sounded too easy, and he knew it would probably be harder than that, but he had to try, and that was the only way he knew how to get started.

Sucking in a determined breath, he set off at a fast walk. Taking a few swift steps, he did a little double bounce on his right foot to get him going and swung forward with his artificial leg, kicking his right foot back up as he landed. It felt awkward – more like skipping than running – and he stopped after just a few strides. Still, what he had been doing was more than walking, and he was sure he was on the right track – no pun intended. He took a few steps back to his original spot, ready to try again. He repeated the movements – a few steps, a little hop to get him off the ground, a swing forward, and he was going. Again, it felt awkward, and he was sure he looked foolish doing it, but he did not stop. As he gained speed, the movements began to feel more natural, and suddenly, he realized it – he was running. He was actually running.

Really it was more like jogging… or half-jogging, half-skipping, if you want to be technical about it. But to him, it was running, and he couldn’t have been more thrilled. He slowed down, taking a few steps before he stopped. He was surprised to find himself already winded by the short jog, but he figured that was to be expected – although he kept himself in decent shape, swimming and lifting weights, he hadn’t run in a long time. And he knew that it took a lot more energy to move on an artificial leg than it took to move on two real ones. Add that to the fact that half of his left lung had been taken out in December, and it was no wonder he was out of breath.

He was not going to let that stop him though. He paused to take a few breaths, then set off again in the opposite direction, jogging back to his starting point. The motions were easier that time, and he was sure that, like walking, he would get better at this with practice.

So practice he did.

For nearly an hour, he was out in the backyard, running in short spurts, stopping in between to catch his breath. He tried circling around the yard and found he could not keep running for more than a few minutes at a time before he was completely winded. But that, too, would improve with practice. For it being his first try, he was more than satisfied. He limped back into the air-conditioned house with a flushed face, sweat practically pouring off his skin, and an aching stump within the socket of his prosthesis. But his heart swelled with a sense of pride and accomplishment that made him overlook all of that. To anyone else, it might have seemed a small feat. But to him, it was huge.

Craving a shower to rinse his hot, sweat-streaked body, he headed straight for the bathroom. He shed his sticky clothes and pulled off his artificial leg, setting it aside so that he could wash out the inside of the socket later. He turned on the water in the shower, and within minutes, he was standing under a lukewarm spray, lightly grasping one of the grab bars that had been installed in the shower for support as he threw his head back and let the water wash over him in cooling cascades.

After his shower, he hopped back to his bedroom for clean clothes and, after changing into a t-shirt and shorts, went back into the bathroom, where he rubbed down the inside of his prosthesis with warm water and then dried it carefully. As he put the leg back on, the end of his stump throbbed a little, but he ignored it, figuring that was to be expected after running on it for the first time. But when he stepped forward on the prosthesis, sharp pains shot through the limb, causing him to wince. He immediately took his weight off of the artificial foot and waited a moment, frowning, before trying again. This time, he was expecting the pain, so it wasn’t quite as sharp or as shocking, but it did still hurt.

“Fuck,” he muttered through clenched teeth, wondering what he’d done to himself now. How could a little bit of running have caused all this pain? He considered taking the leg off, but although it would be more comfortable that way, he didn’t want to. He felt helpless without it, restricted to either using crutches – which he hated – or hopping on one foot – which he could only do for so long – to get around.

So he decided to grin and bear it, the way he had in Hawaii, and figured it would feel better after awhile.

It didn’t bother him much for the rest of the afternoon, but then again, he didn’t do a lot of walking around on it either. Instead, he sat around, watching a little TV, playing a little Nintendo, just relaxing. After exerting himself so much in the backyard earlier, he was worn out. But when his phone rang that evening, and he jumped up to get it, the sudden pain was so severe that he knew he couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed the phone and immediately sank down into a chair. He checked the caller ID and smiled through his discomfort when he saw that it was Claire. He punched the Talk button to take the call before his answering machine picked up and took a shaky breath before putting the phone to his ear and saying, “Hey, Claire.”

“Hey, Nick! What’s going on?”

“Not much,” he said dully. “What are you up to?”

“Just wanting to see if you wanna do something tonight.”

“You mean with Jamie? Or just you?”

“Just me,” she answered quickly. “Jamie went to hang out with his older brother who lives down here.”

“Oh, okay,” Nick said in relief, hoping he didn’t sound too happy that Jamie wasn’t going to be around. She always got along well with AJ, Howie, Brian, and Kevin, and he didn’t want her to think he didn’t like her friends. It wasn’t that at all… though he to admit, Jamie did make him uncomfortable. But he figured it was probably more his own mind than it was Jamie himself.

“So what do you feel like doing?” Claire’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Uh…” His eyes traveled down to his artificial leg, which he planned on removing as soon as he got off the phone with her. Yet there was no way in hell he was going to leave the house without it on, so he went on hesitantly, “Do you wanna just come over here and hang out? We could order in dinner, watch a movie…” He waited for her response, hoping she’d agree to a night in.

“Oh sure, that sounds good,” she replied, and he smiled with relief.

“Okay, cool. Just come over whenever you want to, and we’ll order food when you get here.”

“Okay. I’ll be over in a little bit then. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

They both hung up, and Nick stood up, wincing again as weight was put on the troublesome leg. He limped straight to his bedroom, where he did not hesitate in taking the leg off and trading it for his pair of rarely-used crutches, which stood propped up in a corner. He used the crutches to haul himself over to his bed, where he sat down and took his stump in his hands. Lifting it up a little, he leaned forward to look at the end of it. The skin there was quite red, and he was startled to see what looked like an open blister there. He grimaced and sighed aloud. “Great,” he muttered, “that’s all I need.”

Knowing he would not be able to put his leg back on that night, he covered the blister with a band-aid and then pulled a fresh prosthetic sock over the tender stump. Thoroughly discouraged, he hobbled back out to the living room on crutches to wait for Claire. He wondered what to tell her when she got there – he didn’t want to tell her what he’d been doing outside; he wanted to show her. But that obviously wouldn’t be happening now.

He let out another sigh. Nothing ever seemed to go the way he wanted it to.

The doorbell rang. He managed a smile. It was true – in the past two years, almost nothing had gone the way he wanted it to… except for Claire. She was the one thing that made it all seem worth it. Sometimes he wondered what his life would be like if she were not in it. Would he be happy? Or would he be miserable?

Or would he be alive at all?

He tried not to think about it as he rose from the couch and went to the door as quickly as he could on crutches. At the moment, all he wanted was to see her face, take her in his arms, and tell her how much he loved her.

Just that would be enough to make him forget about the stupid blister and the backfiring of his plan and the image of Jamie, bouncing that damn ball off his knee.

For the time being anyway.

***