Silver Scars by Posy Roberts

Author:Posy Roberts
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2015-06-15T16:22:34.733418+00:00

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I’M THERE TO watch his first session with his occupational therapist, which is a workout. Mostly he learns how to get around, practicing various ways to transfer safely from one surface to another. Keith hates the wheelchair and prefers the walker, but it’s a full-body effort to get only a few feet.

He makes huge strides quickly, no longer asking me for as much help or hitting the Nurse Call button every time he wants to move. That helps me relax some, especially considering I’m leaving in two days.

A physical therapist shows him exercises to do to help him get used to his… stump. That’s such an odd word to use, but residual limb is stranger. It’s a mouthful, even if it’s medically accurate, but it sounds as if his leg is a useless piece of meat, which it’s not. It’s not going to shrivel up and fall off. He’s going to use it to walk again.

We talk about that on Saturday morning while he’s eating breakfast in his room rather than in the dining room with the rest of the residents. He didn’t sleep well, so he’s grumpy. He scowls into his coffee mug as he mixes in cream.

“I know I’m going to walk again. I know it in theory, but right now, it seems so far off.”

I squeeze his free hand. “You have to heal first. Every step—” Stupid, inconsiderate metaphors. I sigh and shake my head. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He grits his teeth, so I will worry about misspeaking.

“Every new skill you learn is going to help you later. It’s going to make using a prosthesis easier.”

“Right.” He sips his coffee and then takes a bite of toast, never taking his eyes off his food tray.

I’m leery how I’ll be accepted, but I sit next to him on his mattress. He scoots over for me and shoves his food away. When I palm the back of his neck, he relaxes against me, so I press my lips to his hair and tug him closer.

“I can see how much you’re struggling today. Is it because of the bad night’s sleep, or is it something more?”

He shakes his head, essentially rubbing it against my chest, and I can’t help but think of a child burrowing into his mother or father’s chest for more comfort and protection. I breathe against his scalp, patiently waiting for him to talk.

He breaks the silence by saying, “It’s stupid.”

“What’s stupid?”

“I was lying there in the middle of the night and I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about what some woman said at dinner last night.”

“What was that?”

“She talked about what a shame it was that I’m so young and still alone when this happened to me.”

“You’re not alone.”

“But I am. I’m going home alone.”

“Your mom is going to be there to help you.”

“That’s not what I mean, Gil.” He pushes against me and uses the trapeze bar to readjust so he’s sitting up straighter. I turn so he can more easily face me.

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