Part 3 (2/2)

”Like her? I don't know her. I just feel bad for her.” Like her. How could I like someone I don't even know?

”Got it, man. You feel bad for her. Me too. Really, I do. I'm sorry I made it sound like I didn't.”

I nod, silently accepting an apology that really needn't have been made.

”Let's get on with your therapy.” Craig bends down and unlocks my brace. ”I think we'll keep this unlocked for a few hours today. Get your knee moving a little more. Sound good?”

”Sounds great.” It may not sound like a big deal, but when you can't bend your leg, you realize how necessary the knee is in getting around normally.

While Craig is guiding me through different exercises, he asks me if I've finally met my roommate Johnny.

”I did. He's cool. Happy guy, no?”

”Yeah. Very. He's so positive he'll walk again, you can't help but believe it too.”

”Right? I feel guilty just being here. I mean, my injury is nothing. I could've done this from home, but my coach convinced me it'd be best for my career. I'm not like everyone else here, though. It's just...”

”Don't feel bad. You need to be here if you want it done properly. And hey, your insurance pays, so you might as well. Daily therapy is better than a couple times a week. Not everyone has permanent or severe injuries here. There are plenty of patients just recovering from surgeries. Stop knocking yourself.”

He's right, but it doesn't help me feel less guilty about not being severely injured.

Craig continues running me through exercises, and when my hour is up, he lets me use crutches to walk to the rec room or the cafeteria. I choose the rec room, because I'm really hoping Rose will be in there today, and I highly doubt that she'll be in the cafeteria. I kind of doubt she'll even be out of her room, but I hope anyway. I scan the room as soon as I enter, but immediately learn she's not there. Not a redhead in sight. But I do see Johnny, so I hobble over to his table and pull out a chair. As I do, a burning pain shoots from my knee up my leg and I flinch.

”Hey, Ben,” Johnny says, ”you okay?”

My eyes are closed when I answer him. ”Yeah.” I pinch my eyes closed tighter before opening them. ”Wow. Just a bad pain. I'm good.” I sit down, set my crutches to the side and ask Johnny how he's doing.

”Good. Making progress in therapy, so that's always good.”

”Yeah? Progress?”

”Yup.” But he doesn't elaborate, and I get the feeling there was no real progress at all.

Again, my guilt kicks in, but I smile anyway. ”That's awesome, Johnny. Great news.”

”Yeah. So when you get that brace off?” he asks me.

”I don't know. Soon, I think.” I lift my leg to show him my knee. ”Got it unlocked today.” But I feel like I'm bragging, so I ask about him. ”So, you go to college?” I ask, not thinking if it was appropriate to ask or not. I mean, he is a quadriplegic; can he go to school?

But without missing a beat, Johnny says, ”That's the plan. I'm a senior in high school right now. My accident happened this past spring, during my junior year. I get a lot of tutoring, so I completed my junior year. Hopefully I won't have to redo this year, since I'll be out the entire year most likely. So, in answer to your question, I don't go to college, but the plan is to go for engineering.”

I raise an eyebrow. ”So you're smart, I a.s.sume?”

He laughs. ”Genius.” Johnny takes a deep breath, as he does frequently between sentences. ”Good thing my brain wasn't affected in the accident, huh?”

Nodding, I smile, not too sure what to say, so I ask, ”What happened?” Hopefully it's okay to ask.

”Fell off a ladder, cleaning my mom's gutters.” He shakes his head. ”See what happens when you don't have a dad around. The loser left my mom and me, so I take care of everything for her.” For the first time since talking to him, I see a frown on his face. But it's quickly hidden when he says, ”That's why I'm going to recover. She needs me. And she needs those gutters cleaned...I fell before I even made a dent in them.”

Again, I nod, but this time he leaves me speechless. Literally, I don't know what to say, and he sees me fumbling.

”Dude. It's okay. I'm gonna be fine.”

He's gonna be fine. It hits me the differences between his outlook and Rose's. What is it that causes such extremes in the mind? Why do some people face trauma with such optimism and some with such pessimism? How would I react in a similar situation? Fortunately for me, it's a hypothetical situation, but for Johnny and Rose, it's their reality.

”So, what about you?” Johnny interrupts my thoughts. ”You go to college, right? I asked Lou. She said you're a big-time ball player?”

I laugh. ”I play ball, yeah. Hunter Hill. Ever heard of it?”

He nods. ”I have. Good school. Great engineering department.”

”I've heard. I'm going for sports psychology. Love the mind. There's never a concrete answer to how it functions,” I say, reminding myself that I may never know the answer to why Johnny and Rose react so differently to their respective circ.u.mstances.

”So you're pretty smart, too, I suppose.”

Again, I laugh. ”Not even close. But I do try hard.”

He laughs with me, and then one of the aides comes in with a tray of food for each of us. ”Anything you guys need besides lunch?”

”No, but thank you,” I tell him.

”Yeah, thanks,” Johnny says.

”No problem. It's why I'm here. Marti'll be in to help you in a second,” the aide tells Johnny.

When he walks away, I ask Johnny, ”Is everyone here super nice?”

”Everyone I've come across in the past month.”

”You've been here for one month?”

”A month and a half.” His frown reappears when he looks down at his food.

I feel bad for the guy. He can't even feed himself. What will happen if the future he sees is not the one intended for him? Will he succ.u.mb to depression like Rose? Or will he thrive? As optimistic as he is, something tells me anything but what he expects...will kill him.

His lunch aide, Marti, comes in to feed him, and Johnny keeps smiling through lunch, but all the while he's chatting away, I come to the conclusion that maybe his optimism is a faade that hides his true emotions. Maybe his outlook is not so different from Rose's. And maybe I'm going to have my work cut out for me when I finally become a psychologist.

After the Major Leagues.

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