Page 16 of Digging Deeper

“Okay, why don’t we all calm down?” I say softly, as gently as I can.

The man’s eyes narrow on me. “You don’t know, do you?”

“Know what, sir? What would you like to tell me?” I ask soothingly. Out of my peripheral, I see Jameson starting to tremble, his whole body shaking.What in the hell is wrong with him?Daring another quick peek, I also see tears streaming down his face. What is he mumbling? “I’m sorry, Drix; I’m so sorry, Drix”—over and over.What in the hell is he going on about?

Crazy was also glancing at Jameson, but refocuses on me, his sneer as we face off is vindictive, deadly. “Your partner knows. He’s already mourning the loss of your limbs. He knows you’ll never walk again. That it’s his fault your career is ruined. Thanks to me you’re completely useless to him, and to yourself.”

“Okay, I think—” The noise of the gun shooting explodes through my head. Who did he point that thing at? I spin to check on Jameson. Nothing can happen to him. The lady on the porch is screeching like a wounded animal. Jameson is running for me, alive, but still apologizing. But for what? Then I feel it, red, hot—

Stabbing pain issuing from my feet and up into my thighs jerks me awake from my nightmare. My body is drenched in sweat; the smell of fear assaults my nostrils. The pain in my legs is already fading, but it all felt so real. Rising up gingerly on my elbow, I stare down at the lifeless lumps underneath the blankets. I attempt to move them, even a toe, but nothing happens. They may as well be mounds of extra blankets for all of the attachment I feel to them. They’re disconnected from me, useless. With a heavy groan, I lie back into the dampness my body has left on the sheets. It’s like lying in a shallow, dank pond. Tears gather in the corner of my eyes, but I blink rapidly, refusing to let them spill. They’ll do no good. They won’t heal me. They won’t change that night.

I breathe deeply, searching for my center, leaving the heinous dream behind. It’s over now. What’s done is done. I need sleep. I need to not dream. I need…

“Officer Weston, wake up. It’s time for breakfast.”

Blinking slowly, I moan and stretch my arms to the side. The workout in the gym yesterday has left the muscles in my arms nice and sore, achy. God, I’ve missed this feeling. Before I can get too excited about it, sorrow blindsides me. The after-workout burn only extends through my arms and chest. My legs—nothing. For the second time in mere hours, tears gather in my eyes. I turn my head from the sweet, young girl who checks on me each morning through the week. I don’t want her to see my agony; I don’t want to see her pity.

She whispers from close to the side of my bed. “Please, Mr. Weston. Let me get someone to put you in your chair so you can eat your breakfast. I have a new t-shirt and some clean sheets here for you… Please let me help.”

So she’s noticed. I should’ve realized I wasn’t fooling her. How many mornings since I’ve been here has she come in to bring my breakfast and the smell of scared, sweaty man has permeated the air? A week ago, I’d have lashed out at her, wanting her to feel bad for pointing out my humiliation. But not anymore. The poor kid is doing her job to the best of her ability. Isn’t that all I ever wanted to do as a cop? I got shot doing my job, trying to protect a woman in need. While those shots impacted me physically, shooting her with hateful words when she’s doing nothing wrong, only what’s expected of her, is no better. “Sure,” I whisper back.

I can’t bring myself to look at her, or the orderly who comes in and lifts me out of the bed and into my seat. The CNA strips and remakes my bed quickly and efficiently, no doubt wanting to get out of here before she’s the target of my contempt. Shame seizes me as I see her peeking at me out of the corner of her eyes. Clearing my throat, I ask, “May I have a wet washcloth? I just want to… um…”

“I can wheel you into the bathroom if you’d like. The chair fits and scoots right up under the sink.” Her voice is soft, hesitant.

“It does?” I ask.

“Yep, do you want to try or should I…” she trails off, and I smile. She’s never given up on me. She treats every morning like it’s a new beginning between us, and maybe it is.

“That would be great—I’m sorry, what’s your name?”

“Lisa. Lisa Rollinger.”

She moves me into the bathroom, and I freshen up. It feels good taking care of my own hygiene in front of a damn sink instead of from my bed. I run hot water over the washcloth and scrub my face before rinsing it out and repeating the process with my neck, then each arm, and finally my stomach. I feel truly clean for the first since I woke up from the coma. Using the same water over and over and ringing it into a bowl doesn’t really do the trick. The whole time I’m freshening up the name Rollinger rolls around in my head, the name tugging at my memory. “Wait. Are you related to Jeffrey Rollinger?” I ask her as soon as she wheels me back out of the bathroom.

A bright smile blooms across her face as she nods her head and sets my breakfast on the little table that attaches onto the arms of my wheelchair. “He’s my father.”

For the first time, I focus on the young lady in front of me. She’s actually quite adorable. She can’t be more than five-two. Her brown hair is pulled up into its usual ponytail, and her face is makeup-free. It’s her nose that catches my attention, though. She has a little bump right in the middle exactly like her father. “Lisa, wow. It is you. I haven’t seen you in three years, but you’re only a teenager. What are you doing here?”

“I was already seventeen when you met me, Officer Weston. I got my CNA as soon as I got out of high school, and I’ve been working here ever since. I take classes at the junior college at night. I want to be a nurse,” she says shyly.

“That’s great, Lisa. It really is. And you’ve been putting up with my cranky butt, so I know you’ll make a great nurse. You’ve never faltered, not even once.”

Her shoulders straighten and she stands taller. “Thank you, Officer Weston. That means a lot to me.”

“Lisa, I know usually I yell it, but I do mean it. Please, call me Drix. It’s what my family and friends call me.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t do that,” she says with a brisk, emphatic shake of her head, her ponytail swinging behind her. “You saved my father, and I can never thank you enough. It’s an honor to get to do something for you. If you and your partner…” Her voice fades away again. This time it’s not from fear of me, though. My partner right out of the academy and I had saved her father while his neighborhood drugstore was being robbed. The whole family had come down to the precinct a couple of days later to thank us and his wife had baked cookies and homemade bread for us. They were a lovely family, and her baking had been off the charts.

“Yes, you can, and you will.” Leaning over my breakfast tray, I say, “You and your family were the first ones to ever come and thank me. It meant a lot. I was still so new to being a cop, and I wasn’t sure if I was really making a difference. Your father bringing his whole family to meet us and shake our hands… it was special to me. I’m so sorry I didn’t recognize you before today. My only excuse is that I didn’t want to be here.”

“Oh no, Officer Weston”—I lift one eyebrow, making her giggle—“Drix. I totally understand. My parents have actually been wanting to come visit ever since they found out you were one of my patients, but I told them they had to wait. You have a tough battle in front of you, and I don’t blame you being upset one bit. I was only sad I couldn’t help you more.”

“You’ve helped more than you know, Lisa.” And she has. The fact she’s never given up on me and treated me so warmly each day. Wheeling me into the bathroom this morning to attend to my own needs and giving me my first taste of independence in a long time. Reminding me that I’d made a difference in her and her family’s lives. Last night I’d had another nightmare and gone back to sleep distressed and ready to give up. But while at the time the dream was scary, in the light of day, and with the aid of a twenty-year-old nurse-to-be, I know something I hadn’t figured out yet. I am alive. My normal may never be the same, but different can be good. I just have to figure out how to live from this chair.

Then a thought occurs to me. There is one thing I can do for someone else from this chair right now.

Me: Hey Gavin, did you decide on which dog to get yet?

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