SIDEKICK

Chapter One: Reincarnation?

CHAPTER ONE:

Reincarnation?

My eyes snap open.

There’s bright light streaming in through the window, and I block my hand against the light. This is when I look at it.

Wow. Has my hand always been this tan?

My stomach growls and my hand go to my rumbling stomach.

Man, I’m hungry.

I’m in the mood for waffles.

I pull my blankets off, and prepare myself to get out of bed. I see my feet touch the floor, and I propel myself up.

And that’s when I fall. Hard, face down.

“Ouch…” I mumble though the carpet. Weird. My voice is low and husky. Has it always been this husky?

There are footsteps getting heavier outside of my door. I look up, just as a hairy, bear-looking man rushes in.

“John!”

Wow, that’s my name? It’s nice.

Simple.

The large man kneels down beside me as he flips me onto my back. His touch is strong, but gentle. His eyes are brown and watery as he looks down on me in his thick beard.

“What were you thinking, John?” his deep voice sounds hurt, worried. “You know you’re supposed to call for me when you wake up.”

My mouth seems to work without me thinking about it, “Sorry George.”

George. My father?

I look at him carefully, his strong face and wrinkles, all his facial features. I see the $50 note sticking out of his pocket.

No.

He’s my foster father.

He pulls me into the sitting position. He lets go and gets up.  I’m unsteady, and I wobble. My hand grabs the corner of my bed sheet and I’m somehow stable again.

Weird.

Something rolls towards me, George pushes it from behind.

Realisation hits me.

“Ah.”

He comes around and kneels down. My arm reaches over his shoulder as he wraps his arm around my waist.

“Ready?” he asks.

I nod.

George lifts me, grunts as he drags me. He props me down in my wheelchair and heads out the door.

“You okay to get changed yourself?” he calls from beyond the room.

“Yeah,” I reply.

I turn my wheelchair around and took a good look at my room. It’s pretty small, green paint is cracked and peeling on the walls and my bed... is small.

Really small.

There’s a desk in the corner with a mirror hanging above it. I wheel over to it, and finally see what I look like.

Pretty average.

I run a hand through my hair. It’s dark, short, and I notice that my nose is pretty straight. Brown eyes.

Not bad for a cripple.

I see a cardboard box on the end of my bed.  There’s a pile of clothes in it. I pull on a red shirt and awkwardly pull down my sweats and replace them for loose jeans. My finger pops through a hole at the knee.