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“Do you have a jar?” I ask excitedly.
“What kind of jar?”
“Like a mason jar or something like that.”
“Check the kitchen,” he tells me and I go hunting for my prize. After searching through about three or four cabinets, I find what I am looking for. Taking a detour to the office, I grab a couple of pens and paper and rush back to the room, plopping on the sofa. I hand him a couple sheets of paper and a pen, leaving myself a few sheets and a pen.
“What are we doing with these?”
“Well, I thought it would be a nice idea for us to put things that we want to do in the jar and once a week we draw from it and do the activity. I brought two jars, one for active stuff and one for in-home relaxed things. So, use your pen and paper and get to writing.” I put thought into each thing I write down, keeping in mind of the limitations for Joseph. He has been across from me writing just as much as me and I wonder what all he has on his paper.
Thirty minutes later, we have a good amount of things written down for both jars, so we cut our paper and fold them and stuff them in the opening. Once that is done, I pass it to Solo for him to pick something for us to do today.
“This is definitely something you put in; it says make a bucket list,” he says. I jump up and go back to the office to grab a couple of notepads and head back to the living room. I hand him a pad and sit on the sofa with mine, and we begin to write.
“It’s too quiet in here,” he says. “Lion-O, play some music,” he says out loud and Anthony Hamilton’s unique raspy voice filters through the hidden speakers. Only Solo would have his voice activated system named after a popular 1980’s cartoon.
“I can’t think of anything else,” he says on a sigh. “Can we add to it?”
“Of course, we can.”
“Ok good. Can I see your list and I let you see mine?” he asks like a shy little boy, so of course I say yes, and we switch lists. The first thing I see on his list is walk again and tears burn my eyes. I honestly couldn’t care less if he walks again, he is a wonderful man in every way possible, but I know that he wants to walk again so I want that for him.
We chill out the rest of the day laying on the sofa while he reads Sonja B’s newest release O’Rourke to me with that baritone voice of his. I fight to stay awake, but his voice is so relaxing it is hard not to. Tomorrow is back to work, and he will visit the construction site for the first time since the accident. None of us wanted him to go but he said it was time for him to face it. There wasn’t much left to salvage of the original house, so they tore it all down and started from scratch. All the houses were triple checked, and structural engineers were brought out to make sure the houses were sound, after the investigation of the house that collapsed on Joseph showed that it was not an accident but deliberate sabotage. Jabarri is still searching and trying to go through all the cameras he could get access to anywhere near the hospital. The houseboat that he was held in was gone when Solo’s brothers went back to where he was found. Whoever took him left no traces and vanished like a ghost.
The next day we are up and getting ready together, and we look like an old married couple. For someone who has never had to use a wheelchair until recently, Solo has adapted very well. He needs very little assistance taking care of his daily needs. Before I can get myself together, he is dressed and ready to go. I finally get it together and head into his home office for my video chat with T.
“For some reason the ingredients that I brought back from Africa will not mix with our current formula. If we can’t figure out a way to fix it, we are going to have to scrap this addition to our line,” T says through our video chat.
“I can’t determine what the issue is like this. I will get a ticket and come home so we can work on it together.”
“I have a better idea; T, why don’t you fly here and bring the ingredients with you? If you want your wife can come too,” Solo says from the doorway. “I am on my way to the work site I will see you in a few hours. With a quick kiss, he is out the door.
“Well, I guess you better call Angie and pack a bag, and I will see you soon.”
Joseph
It feels weird being back here after my accident, I used to love coming to work. Putting something together that other people love with my bare hands made me feel like I was making up for all the deaths that were a result of my actions when I was active in the military. Being a part of someone’s dream coming true made all the sore muscles and frustration worth it, but today it does not give me any good or peaceful feelings at all. Even if I regain the use of my lower half, I do not think I will ever come back to work again, but if I don’t come back where does that leave me? What do I do with my life? I went straight from high school to the service following in Josh’s footsteps, left the Marines, and immediately went into business with my brothers.
The first step is to walk again and then I can decide if I want to come back here or do something else with my life. Sitting at home doing nothing isn’t an option. My team greets me, asking me if I am coming back or when am I coming back, and I don’t have an answer for either question. They update me on the progress of the project, and they have kept on target and will probably complete this phase ahead of time. Although I am happy to see the guys, I am ready to go back home and be with Joy, but I do not want to distract her from her job, so I endure being here a little longer. But that answers one of the questions I had: I won’t be returning; there is nothing here for me anymore. Just as I am getting ready to wheel myself into a tree, Asher comes over to me.
“Come on, let’s get you back home. You look like you want to run into a burning building rather than remain here. We told you you weren’t ready to come back; maybe next time your hardheaded ass will listen to someone.”
“If you think I am going to listen to you, you have been sniffing your blueprint ink without proper ventilation.”
“Why don’t you wheel yourself home if you feel that way?”
“I’d probably get there faster in this wheelchair than you would in a car seeing as you drive like Mr. Magoo!
“Those are fighting words and you know it! We’re squaring up when we get home.”
“I mean to make it easy on you. But I am telling you now when my paralyzed ass whoops your ass, I’m telling everyone!”
“Seeing that your old cripple ass will never beat me, I see no need to worry.”
“Wow it’s like that huh? We both know I could be a quadriplegic and still beat your ass! Let’s go home so I can clear up these delusions you seem to be having!”
We talk shit all the way home and I am grateful that he did not treat me with kid gloves. I feel like myself for the first time since coming to this god forsaken place.
