Paraplegic (COMPLETED)

Chapter 13

Two Weeks Later . . .

Confinement. I now understand the true meaning of the word. Unable to venture out on my own. Unable to be free. Unable to walk.

How could this happen to me? Me!

I once stood tall at the top of the cheer pyramid, but now . . . crippled. All I want to do is cry—cry until the tears run dry, then keep crying. I can only sit here, confined to this chair like a slave to its master. It feels weird—not feeling. Every time I look down at my legs it feels as if I should be able to move them. Instead, nothing.

I can't even wiggle my toes!

Aurora's grave is before me. I cringe every time my vision passes over her headstone. Worse than cringe; more like violent shudders. It still doesn't feel real. She was with me and I was with her just a few days ago. She can't be gone!

There was a funeral three days after the accident. I wasn't able to attend—obviously. The doctors wouldn't release me from the hospital until just yesterday. The last time that I saw Aurora's face was just before the accident; her young, petrified face. That image—her face—it's burned into my mind. She was so scared. I can still picture the fear that was in her eyes when we were helplessly tossed around the car. I jerk my head, hoping to shake loose the memories from my mind. It doesn't help.

The autopsy report showed that she suffered extreme head and spinal injuries. I don't know to what degree; the doctor's were deliberately vague, but they said the tree limb sailed through the windshield and penetrated her torso. My body trembles at the thought. I weakly combat the welling tears, but quickly give up the fight—they cascade down my cheeks. I feel nauseous, enraged, shattered, and desolate all at the same time.

It's your fault she's gone. Your fault! Why did you do it? You knew better! It was just a text message; a stupid, stupid text. You didn't need to answer it. She would still be here if it weren't for you!

It's been two weeks since the accident. The doctors told me I was lucky I made it out alive. I don't feel very lucky. They said that my T10 and T12 vertebrates were shattered in the crash, resulting in paralysis from the waist down. They went on to tell me that it wasn't likely that I would ever walk again. I don't remember the conversation very well. My mind was still foggy and I was jacked up on morphine, but they said there is a less than five percent chance that I will ever get my legs back. Funny, I remember that part quite clearly. I would say that was the worst day of my life, but that doesn't even begin to describe it. I woke up from a four day coma to find that I'm not only paralyzed, but I'm responsible for my best friend's death.

WHY DID YOU DO IT, McKENZIE!

I lurch forward, feeling the slimy sensation of vomit slide up my throat, but I swallow it back. I'm so nauseous. I can't accept what's happened. I keep hoping and praying that this is all just some sort of nightmare and that I'll wake up any moment now. But it isn't. This is real. And it's haunting me.

I hear the crack of pine needles being stepped on; mother's hand slides over my shoulder next. She doesn't say anything, which appreciate. I really don't want to talk right now. I don't want to live either. I don't want to do anything. I halfway expected her to start consoling me, telling me that everything will be alright and that we'll make it through, but she doesn't. We just sit here—well, I sit, she stands—in silence, gazing at the ghastly sight of Aurora's grave.

The thing that's most shocking to see is the death date engraved into her headstone. I know we all die at some point, but there's something so foreboding about seeing a death date. It's like you're being reminded that your time is coming and that death is waiting for you, ready to take you away from this world at any given moment. When you're young and carefree, you don't give thought to such things. Why would you? You have your whole life ahead of you. That's how it should have been at least.