Paraplegic (COMPLETED)

Chapter 22

August hangs two spaghetti noodles from the inside of his upper lip. "Look at me! Look at me! I'm a walrus."

Mother shoots him a disapproving look. "August, don't play with your food." He slurps the two noodles inside his mouth, which makes a disgusting slimy sound.

Mother then studies me intently. I really don't feel like answering the questions that are sure to follow, so I quickly excuse myself from the table and guide my wheelchair to the guest bedroom. I'm sleepy, but I don't feel like asking for someone to help lift me out of this chair and into bed. I'm still not strong enough to do it on my own. Desiree says that I'm progressing well and that soon I'll be capable of handling simple tasks independently. But how long is "soon"? It can't come fast enough, that's for sure.

A wave of warm air washes over me as I pass through the French doors and move outside onto the patio. A cloudless dark sky consumed by millions of twinkling stars looms high above me. At this hour, it's difficult to tell where the earth ends and the sky begins. Frogs croak loudly from the darkness, which is moderately annoying, but my thoughts soon drown out the noise.

I wonder how accurate Calix envisions things? Until I met him, I hadn't really considered how blind people live their lives. It's almost like they are forced to live in a different world than everyone else. That's a rather sad way to drift through life. Then again, so is being paralyzed.

There's a section of smooth stones placed on the ground where the patio wraps around to the backyard. From there, I move to The Bluff, locking my wheels in place so I don't slide off the cliff, then inhale a deep breath of late summer air.

"Aren't you excited, Bestie?" an enthusiastic voice explodes from nearby. I tilt my head to the right—Aurora is perched on a low hanging tree limb with one foot dangling down below.

"Excited? About what?"

She hops down from the tree and sits cross-legged next to my chair. "Did your brain just take a vacation or something? I'm talking about your surgery, you silly goose! You're gonna walk again."

"And why are you so optimistic? Need I mention the measly five—"

"Yeah, yeah. A five percent chance. I've heard it all before. I'm optimistic because I believe in you, Bestie. And I believe you will get your legs back. You're strong and brave. I know you can do it. I know it."

Strong? Brave? Those aren't exactly the emotions swirling inside of me. "It's not really about what I can do. It's about what the surgeons can do."

She throws herself back against the grass, groaning loudly at my lack of faith. "Stop worrying about if it will happen and start believing that it will happen! You'll never get anywhere if you don't have a little bit of faith."

"Fine. I believe."

She frowns at me. "I've heard people say such things about their New Year's resolution with more sincerity than what you just did."

On any other day, I would laugh at her joke, but right now I don't have the heart. I'm genuinely scared. I'm not stupid; I know how little a chance five percent is. Every time I think of being forever trapped within the space of this chair, my nerves jolt with fear and my heart sinks with misery. I don't know how I will survive if I am forced to remain chained to this chair for the rest of my life.

Aurora lays her hand on my knee. I vaguely remember the days when I could feel such a sentiment, but such a memory is fading. She looks up at me, her eyes wide with hope. Genuine hope. "You'll get your legs back. You'll get to walk down the aisle at your wedding someday. You'll get to chase your runaway toddler through the park. I promise."