Writetober 2019

October 8-Frail

A man rolled his wheelchair down the hall to the gym. No one else was around, and the door to Aurora's office was closed. Perfect. He didn't want anyone watching or offering to "help". He'd had enough pity and concern to last multiple lifetimes.

He wheeled over to the parallel bars someone had installed while he was still in the hospital. Locking the chair's brakes, he carefully moved his feet from the footrests to the ground. Then he pulled himself up with the bars.

"Ah! Curse this back brace," He ground out as his arms shook. They still supported most of his weight at this point, despite having feeling in his legs back. The break had been high enough to affect his arms somewhat too, but the worst he got there was an occasional tingling or numbness in his fingers.

He shook one hand now, trying to get the nerves to work right. "Come on. Just like Dr. Turner showed us," He said, attempting to coax cooperation from wobbly legs.

He shakily made it to one end of the parallel bars and debated how best to turn around. Twisting was a big no-no, not that his brace would let him. He was somewhat proud of his clumsy maneuvering when he got back to his chair, even if he was sweating like he'd just run across the country and back.

He came to the gym every day, struggling through increasingly complicated and onerous physical therapy exercises. Several weeks passed, and he still couldn't walk unassisted. The back brace was off this time when he came to the empty gym.

Frustrated with his lack of progress, he attempted repeatedly to take a step without holding either of the parallel bars. His left leg buckled, his right leg folded and started to twist, he overbalanced and caught one of the bars with his side, he pulled something in his shoulder almost catching himself too late to break a fall, his back ached, but he kept trying. Some part of him was terrified of what it would mean to stop trying.

He was bruised, sweaty, and near hoarse from swearing when someone found him pulling himself back up by the bars. "Everett, I think that's enough for one day," A woman said, resting her hand on his shoulder.

Everett shook his head and panted, "I can do this. I know I can." He leaned heavily on one of the bars for a minute before positioning himself with both again.

The woman growled something under her breath then pressed an object into his left hand when he let go of that bar.

He looked down at the...cane with confusion. "Huh?"

"Use it! Or don't," She snapped. "See if I care when you break your back again with your stubbornness." Turning away, she added, "I can't listen to you hurt yourself anymore today. I'm going home. If you're still here in an hour, I've told John to levitate you back to your apartment and lock you in."

"Aurora..." Everett started, then let her go. Alone once again, he looked down at the cane in his hand. How do I even use this?