Page 7 of Fractured Grief
His warm beige skin glowed under the fluorescent lighting, and when I saw his eyes, I had to do a double-take. They were two different colors. One was a haunting pale blue, and the other was half blue and half, was thatgold? The gold was so bright against the blue that it was distracting. I had to look away.
He was talking to me, asking questions about my pain, surgeries, and injuries. I’d been asked questions like this so many times that I could answer most without even listening or thinking about it. Indy was in the middle of a sentence when I blurted out a question of my own.
“How old a-a-re you?”
He looked taken aback, which was understandable from my interruption. “S-s-orry, that was r-r-ude. You just look really yo-ung.”
“It’s okay. I know I have a baby face. I’ve been told I’ll be thankful for it later in life.” He waved at his face and shrugged. “I’m twenty-five, almost twenty-six, and yes, this is my first job as a fully qualified physical therapist.”
He paused as if waiting for me to speak. Perhaps he thought I would object to this being his first position, but I didn’t care. I’d found the newer hospital workers to be better anyway. Levi was a prime example. “No worries. Gotta st-tart somewhere.”
He beamed at me.Fuck, what a smile!It took up almost his whole face.Damn,was it infectious. My cheeks ached as my grin formed. I hadn’t had much to smile about in the last few months, so the movement felt foreign.
How could a smile from this guy feel like warmth and sunshine?
He spoke then, breaking my reverie. “I promise, I’m really good. I graduated top of my class and am so ready for this. This has been my dream since junior year.”
“Wow, top of the cl-a-ass. A b-it of a humble b-r-rag?” I teased.
His cheeks flushed as he glanced down at my file in his lap, nervously fiddling with the papers. “Didn’t mean it as a brag. I just want you to know I’m fully qualified and want to help.”
“I was tee-easing.” I tried to reassure him and make him share that smile with me again. “So, where d-do we st- art?”
His gaze shot to mine. “You don’t mind? You still want to work with me?” He seemed shocked.
“Of course,” I paused to write down my other thoughts, since there were too many to say and fatigue was setting in.
Between you and me, my time here has only improved when someone younger or with a fresh approach has gotten involved.The therapist I’ve been able to see is around my age, and he’s helped me more than any of the others have. Youth isn’t necessarily a bad thing. You have new knowledge and a different approach from those who’ve been working for years, and I’m going to need a lot of help to get my body back to what it was before.
Indy waited patiently, my hand cramping, slowing down the process. I passed him my whiteboard covered in my messy scrawl, as pain, the emotional kind, shot through my heart and radiated down my right side, where my beloved—now ruined—tattoo was. I had to look away from Indy’s gaze as anger rose in me.
Taking a deep breath in through my nose, then out through my mouth, like Levi had taught me, allowed me to stay present. I needed my body back. I neededmy life back. I wished for my Pa back, but some things were best not wished for.
Once I was in control again, I turned to Indy and could see the lost look in his eyes as he zoned out. His gaze unfocused and filled with a bone-deep sadness I’d become well acquainted with. He knew I was speaking about more than my physical body.
The air shifted around us, becoming heavier. His forlorn expression and the way his whole body sagged told me he’d known despair and hurt beyond the physical. There was a certain way he held himself that broke through his initial sunshine persona, that told me there was so much more under the surface. I’d been living with a weight like that since Pa died, so I could tell when others were similarly affected.
He quickly blinked and glanced away. “Thank you for your honesty, Seb. I will do my best to help you regain some semblance of normality. I’m sure you've heard from other practitioners that this will be hard work, and there will be limits to what we can achieve during your stay here. You will need to put in the work, but not overdo it. You still have a long way to go, and your injuries are extensive. Please be patient with yourself. This is a marathon, not a sprint. We’ll need to learn and work within the limits of your healing body. I need you to keep being forthright. I can only help you if you are truthful about your limitations and pain as we go through all the exercises and strength training,” he paused to hold my gaze. “Do you thinkyou can do that?”
His eyes held me captive again. He may be young, but he was serious and clearly determined. I needed to trust the process and that meant being honest.
“I’ll d-oo my best. Re-veal-ing my sh-ort-c-omings doesn’t c-come easy for me.” My voice was stilted, but I was surprised at the truth in that statement.
How did Indy do that?
How did he draw such raw truths out of me?
Between him and Levi, I was becoming more open and candid than I’d ever been.
I wasn’t a closed-off person, but I was known as “the quiet one” among my brothers. I never shared more than the essentials. I didn’t like to rock the boat. Doing what was expected, not really thinking more about it, or if it was what I wanted. His words made me pause. To be as truthful as he wanted meant I would have to be honest with myself.
That was going to be a challenge.
Once Indy had all the notes he needed, he helped me up and to my hated walker. A small divot formed between his eyebrows as he frowned at the aid and how short it was for me.
“This isn’t good,” he mumbled as he leaned down and fiddled with the walker and its height adjustments. “Using the wheelchair will be much better and more comfortable for now. Doesn’t this cause you more discomfort?” He was moving around, still assessing how I was leaning against the walker and my hunched posture.
“I h-ate this th-hing,” I said gruffly.
