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Hell yes, it does. Things that used to come so easily to me take conscious effort now. I can’t even bend down to tie my shoes yet. I can’t get any exercise until the doctor clears me, and there’s no telling how long that will take. I’ve always been able to rely on my body, and now there’s nothing but darkness and confusion when I try imagining what the future holds. Right now, the best I can hope for is having a nurse with me to help with things even a child can do on their own.
And all because I was freaked out and panicking during the game.
“It’s not easy,” I agree, staring out the windshield. Somebody’s coming out, using a walker to support themselves. I’m not that bad off, but I might as well be.
“One thing I’ve always admired about you is the way you never sit back feeling sorry for yourself even when things are tough.”
I have to settle for side-eyeing her since I can’t turn my head with this damn collar on my neck. I’m so sick of this thing, I can’t describe it. “Am I in such bad shape that I need a pep talk like that?”
“You tell me when you’re finished feeling sorry for yourself.” She’s out of the car before I can respond, and the way her lips twitch tell me she’s feeling pretty proud of herself for that one. I won’t ruin it by arguing.
Besides, I sort of need all my strength and focus to get through this session. I already know it’s going to hurt, since it always does. Even simple actions like tipping my head to the side or bending forward while keeping my head level are practically impossible and painful as hell. Everybody keeps telling me I’m making progress, but I sure as hell don’t feel like I am. I only feel pathetic and weak and useless.
And every day that passes without substantial improvement is like coming one day closer to the inevitable, finding out I’ll never play again. I don’t know what I would do if that’s how it turns out. Mom wonders why I’m in such a hurry? That’s why. I need to get better, because I need to play. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do, the only plan I ever had for my life. Everything else, I figured I would take care of as it came up. But hockey was always at the center of everything.
What now? Where do I go? What do I do when I’m not prepared for anything else after being single-minded for so many years?
I’ve seen players from all different sports after they’ve had to retire much earlier than they ever figured they would. I’ve seen what that can do. How it can wear a person down until they aren’t even a shadow of who they used to be. They’re haunted. Haunted by the past and by a future that will never come true. Is that what I have to look forward to now? And what if it is? What do I do then?
“Right on time.” My therapist is a good guy. He means well. But right now, I don’t feel like returning his smile as we enter the center. “Ready to do some work today?”
“Doesn’t matter if I’m ready or not.” He gives me a good-natured laugh, then directs me to a chair while Mom hangs back, leaning against the wall. Now, she can look as worried as she feels without me seeing it. She won’t have to pretend to be positive and hopeful for my sake. And I don’t have to pretend I’m feeling positive just so she’ll feel better.
“You know the drill. Let’s start stretching you out.”
He makes it sound so easy, but then this used to be easy for me. Now, I have an hour of pain and frustration to look forward to. An hour of feeling useless.
But who am I kidding? That’s how I feel every minute of the day.
And there’s no end in sight.
So, I grit my teeth and go through it anyway, because I’ll be damned if I give up.
33
HARLOW
Idon’t know what I expected when I received the invitation to the party at Ash’s house today. From what I understand, he only moved back in a few days ago – I guess he couldn’t stand living with his parents anymore, but then I can’t imagine moving back in with mine, either. Even for the reason he did. He’s spent years being independent, calling the shots for himself.
In other words, he must’ve been in a pretty big hurry. I’ve spent the past few days hoping he’s not taking it too fast. It’s barely been six weeks since his injury. He could end up hurting himself even worse if he pushes himself too hard.
There are plenty of cars parked at the curb, and the sounds of laughter coming from the backyard when I ring the doorbell. I haven’t seen him since that day, lying in the bed after a doctor told me they weren’t sure whether he would ever be able to play again. I guess that’s why I’m so nervous and twitchy as I wait for somebody to open the door.
“Hey!” Before I know what’s happening, Ash is hugging me — gently, professionally, if there is a professional way to hug somebody. “I’m glad you came! I was hoping you would.”
He holds me at arm’s length and laughs softly. “What’s the matter? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I sort of feel like I have. The ghost of the Ash I used to know and thought I would never see again. He looks terrific, strong and energetic.
“Come on in. I don’t know if you got the chance to meet my parents at the hospital, but I’m sure they would like to meet you.” I must look terrified, because he laughs gently before leaning in to murmur in my ear. “Don’t worry. They don’t know anything. You’re just the team therapist.”
Well, that’s good to know. I wouldn’t want to find out he started blabbing with a bunch of painkillers in his system.
Most of the team is already here, including the players my eyes immediately search for. I can’t help it. It’s reflex at this point. They’re out by the pool, chatting near the grill, while a man I recognize as Ash’s dad flips chicken and burgers. Ash’s mom wanders around making sure people have what they need, while a girl who can only be Amy loads the dishwasher. She takes after their mom the way Ash is almost a mirror of his dad.
“I told them I don’t need any help, but they ignored me.” There’s fondness in Ash’s voice, though, and I could cry at the sound of it. I’ve been getting conflicting reports the past several weeks – Soren told me during one of our sessions that he couldn’t get Ash on the phone, and worrying about him was starting to affect Soren’s gameplay. The same thing was true of several other players who were shaken up after what they saw and what they heard at the hospital.
But it seems like all of that is in the past. I fix myself a plate and greet the people I recognize before heading out to the back patio. I can’t help it. It’s like there’s a magnet pulling me toward them.
