The Hero
Jason sat for a moment, watching Tim head down the hall. He heard the door close, then watched as Tim headed out to his truck. Tim sat there for a moment, and then started the truck and left.
"You okay, son?" Jason's dad asked as he stuck his head in Jason's room.
"Yeah," Jason said, still looking out the window where Tim's truck had been. He turned and faced his dad. "My room—is it still the same up there, or did you make it into your office?"
"We didn't move anything, except what we brought down here. Your mom moved her sewing stuff into the guest room to make room for my office."
It was hard for Jason to imagine that things weren't exactly the same upstairs. It was like nothing would ever change for him up there, in the place where he couldn't go any longer.
"Can you—I need to get something. Can you take me up there?" Jason asked.
Jason's dad nodded. "Yeah. We can do that, buddy. Let me go get your mom."
"Are you sure you can hold on?" Jason's mom asked.
"I can do it," Jason replied. "I'm working on arm strength every day in therapy."
Jason's dad stood up, Jason riding on his back with his arms tightly wrapped around his dad's neck and chest. Mr. Street adjusted and then tightened his hold on Jason's legs.
"Okay, Joanne, get the chair and come up behind us."
They climbed the steps slowly, Jason holding on, as they grew closer to the landing. At the top they waited a moment as his mom got the chair in place and Jason's dad slowly lowered him into the chair.
"Do you…" Jason's mom's voice trailed off.
"Dad, can you come in with me?" Jason asked. "I need you to get something for me."
Jason's dad followed him down the hall and into the room he had slept in since they moved into the house when he was eight. The posters were still on the wall—the captains from the Texas squad looking down at him in their uniforms, balls tucked under their arms.
"It's—it's up there in the closet," Jason said as he pointed toward his closet. "There's a bag on the shelf, from Bergdorf's."
Mr. Street opened the closet and reached up onto the shelf where a small bag from the local jewelry store sat. He pulled it down and handed it to Jason. The bag sat on Jason's lap for a moment.
"Do you need help with it?" his dad asked.
Jason shook his head and painstakingly reached into the bag, pulling out the small velvet box.
"Lyla?" his dad asked.
Jason nodded. "I saw it last summer. I wasn't sure when I was going to give it to her—homecoming, Christmas, maybe at graduation. I knew the time would feel right sometime."
He wedged the box between his thumb and fingers on the left hand, trying to get the leverage with his right hand to open the box. After two tries, the hinge snapped open revealing the simple ring with a small diamond inside a heart.
"Can't really give her a ring if I can't even get the box open, let alone put it on her finger," Jason said.
Jason's dad crossed in front of him and sat down on the edge of the bed. "You still gonna give it to her?"
"I don't know," Jason said, his eyes still locked on the ring. "I still love her. And it was just a promise ring, but I don't know if I can promise her anything anymore—a life, heck even that I could forgive her for what she did."
Jason looked up at his dad. "It's almost worse than breaking my neck—they broke my heart. I wasn't prepared for that."
Mr. Street reached out and took Jason's hands in his. "Dear Lord—watch over this family. Give us the strength to face the days ahead and help us to receive your mercy, to feel your salvation and to give us peace. Amen."
"Amen," Jason echoed his father.
"You ready to go back down?" his dad asked.
Jason looked around the room, the place that had been his as a child. "Yeah—I think I'm done here."
Jason was already awake when the alarm began to beep. He flung his hand over and hit the snooze on the first try.
"Jason? You ready to get up?"
Jason turned and looked up as his mom poked her head in his room. This room was weird. It was on the opposite side of the house and he couldn't get used to the way the sun came in the window in the morning. It was just like so many other things.
"Yeah, I'm ready if you are," Jason responded to his mother.
His mom walked in further and stopped next to the bed. "Do you want to go to church?"
That's right. It was Sunday. The days all seemed to run together now. Today seemed like as good a time as any to get back to normal life—whatever that was.
"Yeah. I'd like that," Jason replied to his mom. "Do we have time?"
Everything took more time now. There was no hopping out of bed and running off to school. There was a routine and it had to be followed, every single day.
"We have time, hon," his mom answered.
Jason looked out the window as his dad pulled up in front of the church. He had been coming here nearly every week since his parents moved to Dillon when he was four years old. He knew the people, the building—all of it.
He couldn't believe how scared he was. He'd gone down to the cd store without thinking about actually seeing anyone there. All he had wanted was to listen to his music while he worked out. It was okay, but like he had told Mrs. Taylor—he wasn't really ready to be the center of everyone's attention, knowing they were talking about him.
"You ready?" his dad asked as he put the van into park.
"Yep," Jason replied, his voice quiet.
His dad got out of the van, opened his door and started the lift. Jason could see people stopping and waiting while the lift slowly lowered to the ground.
"You okay?" his mom asked, her voice low.
"Yeah, let's just go," Jason said as he rolled forward and down the lift onto the sidewalk. He paused to re-adjust the polo shirt his mom had pulled out of the closet for him that morning. He'd never worn a polo shirt to church, but his button-down shirts didn't seem to fit quite right anymore and besides, he'd have to ask him mom to help him get dressed and he definitely wasn't ready for that.
"Joanne, Mitchell, Jason—good to see you."
Jason looked up at the pastor and stuck out his hand. Herc told him it was good to take the offensive on hand shaking. He said that people would probably be a bit freaked out by the hands at first, but it would be easier if he offered so they could just take his hand in theirs rather than try to figure out what to do with Jason's fist.
"Good to see you feeling better, Jason," Pastor Miller continued. "We're awfully glad to have you back here with us."
Jason followed his mom up the ramp and into the church. The crush of people seemed suffocating, but he pressed on, heading toward the sanctuary.
"Jason."
Jason looked up at the impressive form of Buddy Garrity. "Mornin' Mr. Garrity."
"Good to see you, Jason," Buddy said quietly.
Jason nodded. He didn't know why he hadn't thought about Lyla being there—about her whole family being in the pew right in front of their regular spots.
"Jason, we'd better go," his mom said as his dad moved behind him and began to push his chair through the crowd.
"Hey, why are we going in on the right?" Jason asked. They always sat on the left side of the church, about four pews from the front.
"Uh, they've got a spot over here," his mom replied.
Yeah, special seats for the crippled, Jason thought.
His dad pushed his chair to the spot halfway down on the right where the pew was shorter, leaving a place for his chair, so it wasn't out in the aisle.
"We're so glad you are all able to join us today, especially Jason Street. It's great to have you back amongst us, Jason."
Jason looked up as the pastor concluded his greeting. There was a silence as the congregation rubbernecked looking at him. Then it started—clapping. It was so embarrassing. Jason nodded and smiled at them.
The service continued and eventually, the stares began to decrease. Eventually the only person turning to look at him regularly was Lyla. Every time he looked up, she was looking over at him. Finally he just turned his attention to the Bible in his lap and didn't look up to see if she was still watching any longer.
In the night in which he was betrayed, our Lord took the bread and gave thanks…
Jason listened to the familiar words. The ushers began to move down the aisle with the bread and the wine. When the tray came to him, he watched his mom take two wafers and two cups of wine. She leaned across him and handed the tray to the usher.
This is my body, given for you.
She laid the wafer on his tongue.
This is my blood, shed for you.
She lifted the small cup of wine to his mouth.
Lord, forgive me my sins, Jason prayed. Grant me the mercy to forgive those who…help me forgive Lyla. Help me forgive Tim. Please God, help me find peace.
Jason lifted his head and found Lyla looking at him. Please, please let me find forgiveness, he begged God again.
As the last hymn began, he leaned over to his mom. "Can we go out now?" he asked, hoping to avoid all the people, the questions, and the pained looks.
His mom nodded and gestured to his dad that they were leaving. She leaned down to pick up her purse and followed Jason as he pushed his chair up the aisle on the side of the sanctuary.
As he entered the entryway, Lyla walked out of the ladies restroom. He hadn't seen her leave the church.
She stopped and smiled at him. He hadn't seen her since she had crawled in his window Friday night. He couldn't forgive her, but he couldn't forget her. He couldn't stand to see her and he couldn't stay away. But he had told her to wait until he told her to come back, that it had to be his decision. Finally, she seemed to be listening to him.
"Mornin' Lyla," his mom said.
Lyla nodded and headed for the door, ducking back into the sanctuary before Jason could say anything.
His mom didn't say anything either, but he felt her hand on his shoulder as she reassured him with a quick squeeze. His parents hadn't asked. He knew Dillon well enough to know that the story had probably gotten back to them, but at least they knew him well enough to let him decide if he wanted to talk to them about it.
"Looks like your dad has the van," his mom said as she reached down and began to push him toward the door.
Jason dropped his hands to the wheels and pushed away from her, away from these people and mostly away from Lyla.
Jason pushed his chair forward down the sidewalk. Of all the things that had changed, one of the things he hadn't expected was how hard it was to constantly have people around him. He couldn't jump in his jeep and just get away any longer. His parents were there, or he was at therapy or the tutor was over—someone was constantly around, asking him how he was, if he needed anything.
His mom had visibly blanched when he said he just wanted to get outside, by himself, but his dad had told her it was okay. Then he made sure Jason had his cell phone.
What did his mom think he was going to do? Roll out into traffic? She was just going to have to get used to him using his chair to get around until he learned how to drive the van. And he needed the exercise anyway—she had never minded it before when he went out running for an hour or two.
He waited for a car, and then crossed the street into the small park. He and Lyla had come there when they were first dating. There was a good bench for making out down by the creek—across the grass, so no danger of going back there, he thought.
He scanned the park. There was a mother with her two kids playing on the playground equipment. Over on the right there was a tree, providing good shade and down further along the path there was…
Tim was there.
Jason paused, trying to decide what to do. He sat for a moment, watching his friend, on the bench watching the kids playing. He considered going home, then changed his mind and headed toward Tim.
"Kind of creepy, just sitting in a park, watching kids," Jason said as he approached Tim.
Tim looked up, surprised to see Jason in front of him. "Jay."
"Guess we still have some things in common," Jason said as he reached down and set the brakes on his chair.
Tim smiled weakly and looked back down at his hands. "Yeah."
Jason nodded. "You played a good game on Friday. Threw a great block for Smash there, before his touchdown. Scouts talking to you?"
Tim nodded. "A couple. Mrs. Taylor's on my case—last week it was about English, now she says I need to take the SAT. I don't know, though."
"Don't you want to get out of here, Tim? Go somewhere completely new?"
"Some place where no one knows what I did?" Tim responded.
Jason shifted in his chair. "No—just a new start. You don't want to grow up to be your brother, do you? You're better than that, Tim. You know that, don't you?"
Tim shrugged. "Never thought that much about it."
"You weren't going to be able to be my wing man forever," Jason said. "You never thought about that?"
"Honestly, Street—no, I didn't. I wanted to play this season, go to state and then I figured things would work out. I knew you were going to Notre Dame and I wasn't. But I knew eventually you'd be back here. There's no way you'd stay up north forever. And when you got back, I'd be here."
Jason looked up. The mother was ready to leave and the little boy was protesting. He didn't want to leave the park. He could hear her calling to him, to come join her and his baby sister who was already in the stroller.
"Life changes. We grow up. You knew that. And you had to know that you would have to be your own man at some point," Jason stated.
"That's where we're different, Street. You have all of these dreams and plans and all I ever wanted was to be your friend. I wasn't kidding when I said we'd get a ranch and grow old together. That's all I wanted—to be the caretaker."
"Is that what you were doing? Taking care of me? With Lyla?" Jason asked.
Tim looked over at Jason, his hair falling down over his eyes. "Initially, yeah, I was. I can't really explain it to you, but that night, when she found me and broke down—I'd never seen her like that, Six. And I knew that if you could, you'd be there to hold her and try to make the world okay for her again."
"What night?" Jason asked.
"Her birthday—it was raining. Coach had us out doin' wind sprints at the basin and he made me walk home. She stopped and she was just—she just broke, Jay."
Jason looked down at his hands. He had yelled at her that night. Told her to leave. Told her they were done.
"And if I could go back, Jay, I'd still be there for her that night because she needed someone bad. She was hurting in a way I've never seen. But…"
"But what?" Jason interrupted.
"But, I'd go find you the next day and tell you what was happening with her. I'd come and ask you how I could help, what I could do. I wouldn't let the other stuff happen. I—I hate myself for that."
The boys sat silently, the sun shining down on them, the sound of a peewee football game in the distance.
"I hate feeling this way," Jason finally said.
"Me too," Tim responded. "I miss you, Six."
Again the quiet crept in. Tim stared off into the distance, and then stood up.
"Did you see that?" he asked, pointing off toward the creek.
Jason looked up, following Tim's hand. "Where?"
"Hey, let's go," Tim replied, reaching down to release the brake on Jason's chair. He began to push Jason across the grass. He paused before the reached the tree cover, kneeling down next to Jason. He pointed again.
"There, see him?"
Jason looked up to watch the bald eagle make another slow circle around the park, then land in one of the large trees by the creek.
Jason looked down at Tim. "It's good luck, you know—to see an eagle."
"Good," Tim replied as he sat down on the ground next to Jason. "I—I want to do whatever I have to do to make this better, Jay. I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow, but I have to fix this thing; between you and me, between you and Lyla. I can't stand to see you both like this. It's not just the kids at school and cheerleading. She's eating herself up and there's nothing I want more than to feel like I did that day at the lake—for all of us to feel like that. It was the first time that I felt like things might be okay again, that we'd be okay."
"Yeah," Jason replied. "It was like the first time I felt human again, like a real person, not just a patient, or a quad."
"I'm sorry about what we did, but I'm really sorry that we lied to you, that we weren't straight with you, but it all just happened and then I didn't want to hurt you," Tim said quietly. "It's pretty chicken shit, but you got it right, Street—I am a coward."
"I shouldn't have said that," Jason responded. "I just—I was hurt and I wanted to hurt everyone else around me."
Tim sighed and shifted so he was leaning against Jason's legs. "I think we've all done some hurting," he said, looking off into the distance.
"Yeah, well, some of us had a choice about that and others didn't," Jason snapped back.
Tim didn't reply for a moment and then stood up, standing over Jason. "I know you're the great tragic hero in all of this—that you're the one who got paralyzed and you're the one who got cheated on, but you don't have the corner on getting hurt. Lyla is hurting bad and has been since that game against Westerby and me—hell, I don't know what life used to feel like, so yeah, we screwed up, but you are not the only person who's hurt here, not by a long shot."
Tim turned and walked away. Jason sat and watched him leave. He wanted to call after Tim, but he knew his friend was right. He was being a bastard just because he could. They had hurt him so he was striking back at them for pleasure. As Tim disappeared over the hill, Jason dropped his hands to his wheels and attempted to move forward across the grass. He tried for a few minutes. "Dammit," he swore under his breath. He reached into his pocket for his phone to call his dad.
Waiting for his dad, as the evening grew colder, he began to think about the conversation with Mrs. Taylor.
"There's no weakness in forgiveness—if that's what you decide."
He dropped his head and rubbed his hand against his eyes. Forgiveness. He took a deep breath and looked up into the darkening sky. He needed to talk to Lyla. And then he'd talk to Tim. He had to give this burden up. The bitterness and the hatred was a weight he couldn't carry any longer.
And he loved them and needed them in his life.
He'd need them both to get his life back.
