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Lean On Me
Braden
“I’vegotyou.Leanon me if you need support.”
I glance at my brother, whose arms are outstretched, ready to grab me if needed. My mother is waiting at the top of the stairs while my father trails behind us. I appreciate everyone’s willingness to help, but I’m going to do this myself. Ihaveto. I’m going to make these stairs my bitch.
With a deep breath, I carefully position my walker sideways on the first step, then check to make sure it feels solid. With my other hand, I grab the railing, and with the support of both the railing and the walker, I step onto the first step. Another deep breath in and out, then I take on the second step. Staring at the porch above me, I muster all my determination, reposition the walker, and make my way onto the porch. My brother cheers and loudly claps his hands.
“Nice job, little bro.”
I hate the fact that his praise feels good. That it reminds me of being a kid and all the times he’d cheer after I nailed a new skill when he was teaching me to play baseball.
“Thanks,” I mumble, slowly—at the pace of a fucking snail—making my way into the house.
My parents cleared out the small office downstairs and have a bed in there for me. At least it’ssomeprivacy. But I expect I’ll be spending most of my time on the couch. My mother is insisting that she won’t be going down to the restaurant much so she can be here with me, but my brother has made it clear that he’ll be here too. He’s still in the process of finding a job, so he’s been reminding me he has all the time in the world to annoy the living hell out of me.
“This way,” he says, guiding me to the couch like I haven’t lived here for eighteen years. My mom set up a nest of pillows and blankets on the chaise part of the couch.
As I lower myself onto it, I breathe out a sigh of relief. My muscles are shaking and I feel like I just ran a marathon. We used to run five miles in training for cross-country each year. Not sure exactly why I gave up cross-country, I enjoyed it. At the time, I said it was because I didn’t want to miss out on time with Maia and my friends. Now I’m not so sure. I kept playing baseball throughout the years because I played with Nick and Vince. Vince and I both decided not to play last year. Me, so I could be there for Maia, and Vince, because he wanted to learn more about his dad’s business.
“Mom stocked the house with your favorite snacks, I’ve got some of your favorite movies—what Nick told me, at least—and I’ll move your PlayStation down here.”
“The hell you will,” my dad says to my brother.
I close my eyes and rest my head against the couch. I don’t want to deal with this.
“Why can’t he have video games?” my brother sasses.
“You think I want him sitting around playing video games and living the high life like he didn’t just drive drunk, crash his truck, and almost destroy his life and everyone else’s in the process? By all means, let’s reward him for that!”
“Hank,” my mother chastises. “Cool it.”
“All I’m saying is, he shouldn’t get off so easily. Sitting around, playing games, being waited on—”
“You’re right. I mean, he can barely move, is in pain all the time, and has to deal with all the relationships he’s fractured, all while learning how to walk normally again. God forbid you let him play a video game,” Brent challenges.
“You don’t understand. You haven’t been here—”
“You’re right, I haven’t. Maybe that’s part of the problem,” Brent says.
“Can everyone just shut up?” I say. I’m tired of fighting, and it’s the last thing I need right now. “Video games, no video games, I don’t care. Either way, I’m going to spend the next several months feeling like shit. I don’t need everyone yelling at each other on top of it.”
I open my eyes in time to see my mother walking over to me. “He’s right. And he just got home. Video games and everything else can be dealt with later. Today, let’s adjust. Can I get you something to eat, honey?”
I glance from my dad to my mom, afraid to ask for anything right now.
“Hey,” my mom says, looking me in the eye, “tell me what you want.”
“Sandwich—whatever kind is easy to make. Maybe some soup. My throat still feels raw sometimes.”
She kisses the side of my head. “I’ll be right back.”
My dad sighs but says, “I’m glad you’re home. Get settled. I need to run down and check on a few things at The Pit. I’ll be back soon.”
He walks into the kitchen and after they exchange a few quiet words, my mom gives him a kiss and he leaves.
Sometimes I don’t understand their relationship, but for as mad as my dad gets and as annoyed as my mom is with him about that, they never seem mad at each other. Or at least they don’t seem to stay that way.
