Chapter 2: Struck By You
July
It's been a month since the accident, a month since we learned that Tina would never be able to walk again. I had pleaded with the doctor to give her physical therapy, but the doctor replied with the same answer every time, that her spine was permanently damaged, and Tina would be wheelchair bound for the rest of her life. Tina. Bright, shining, vibrant, beautiful Tina, only 22, now she sits in a wheel chair, her life forever changed. All because I wanted some fucking chap stick. Why couldn't I just wait? Why did my lips have to be chapped at that exact moment? Why would God take away Tina's legs? I couldn't wrap my mind around it. For the first day or so, all Tina did was just sit and stare at her numb, unmoving legs. I held her in my arms and whispered sweet nothings in her ear the whole day, rocking her back and forth in my lap as I sang to her. Still, she just stared at her legs, saying something to me on occasion, then she would reach for my hand and become silent again.
During this all, I began to pray more often, and eventually I began going to church in hopes that God would help Tina. It did nothing, but I still go. Tina comes with me too, now. She says it gives her something to believe in. I suppose it does that for me too, in a way. I hate the stares we get, though, as I wheel Tina down the aisle. She can feel them just as much as I can. The doctor said that Tina's spine was damaged when she fell from the car onto the road, and that she won't be able to feel her legs or waist ever again. She will never be able to walk, never be able to run. Surprisingly, though, through it all Tina has stayed positive. The first week was rough, trying to get her out of the hospital bed. Tina was so dead set on getting to that wheelchair on her own, and she fell so many times but she kept getting up, pushing me away when I reached out to help. But she did it, God help her she did it. I think that's what I love most about my Tina; she never gives up, ever.
We now live in Tina's parents house, and although the man who hit our car paid as much as he could of Tina's hospital bill, she and I were still in debt. So now we live with Momma and Poppa Cohen-Chang, which actually isn't all that bad. Of course I feel rude having Mrs. Cohen-Chang cook for us all the time, so mostly I'm the one cooking breakfast and dinner. It's just my little way of saying thanks to them, for everything. Since we had to move, I got a job at the hair salon in town, which pays pretty decently and it's a job. Slowly but surely we're planning to get ourselves out of this debt hole. Momma Cohen-Chang wants us to stay forever, though. I think she likes me a lot; the other day we spent a few hours talking while we built ramps around the deck outside for Tina. It was nice to actually talk with her. It's not that she ever disapproved of me, we just didn't know each other.
It's still hard, though. On occasion, I wake up in the middle of the night to hear Tina quietly sobbing on the other side of the bed. Sometimes, I turn over and hold her tightly, telling her it'll be okay. Other times I just let her cry, because I know she just wants to be alone with her thoughts. It's hard, to see my Tina cry. I wish I could take away all her pain and make everything better for her.
It's a warm Sunday morning here in Lima; the birds are singing, the trees are a wonderful green, and I desperately want to go outside. After pressing my lips together into a thin line in anticipation of my future movements, I pull myself on my side to face Santana, the beautiful Latina still fast asleep. She looks so calm, almost serene as she sleeps. I hate to break that dream like state she has become a temporary resident of, but now it's time to start the day.
"Santaaaaaana," I sing with a self-inflicted smile on my face, reaching over and supporting myself with my arms to kiss her lightly. She stirs slightly, her eyes fluttering open, but then she drifts back to sleep. I grin, prepared to accept the daunting challenge. I pull myself closer to Santana's sleeping figure and begin to snake my hand under her tank top, skimming my fingers across the velvety, tanned skin with a feather light touch. "Santaaaana," I coo, but again she doesn't respond. Grinning like the Cheshire cat, my hand sneaks back down and slips beneath Santana's shorts. With one carefully placed caress, she's up.
Santana's eyes fly open to look at me, a goofy grin slapped across her face. "It's been a long time since we've done that," Santana observed, her voice still slightly hoarse from sleep. "Good morning, sweetheart." I smile as she leans up to kiss me, her hand fluttering to my cheek as our lips move against one another. I slowly release her lips with a quiet pop, trailing peppered kisses down Santana's smooth neck and stopping at her collarbone. I feel her grasp my shirt, and I'm about to continue when she pulls away.
"I don't think we should, Tina. I don't wan—"
"The doctor said we were clear for intimacy… and they said I can still feel…"
"I know, but now since you woke me up, we've got to get ready for church," Santana purses her lips. "You know we can't miss this Sunday."
"I know, I know; Carlos' baby is getting baptized," I groan, rolling my eyes and earning myself a gentle cheek slap that is chased by a soothing kiss. Santana smiles and gets out of bed, circling around to the other side and leaning down as I wrap my arms around her neck. She easily lifts me up like a ragdoll and places me in my chair, I settle into it and grip the wheels on either side of me to roll myself to the bathroom.
Forty-five minutes later the both of us are showered, teeth brushed, and expertly clad in our Sunday's best. Santana has her long, dark hair falling across her shoulders, accompanied by a light blue dress, which hugs her hips nicely. I'm wearing a lavender dress that stops right at the knee, my equally dark hair pulled into a bun with a curled tendril hanging against my face. I smiled up at her as she turned around to tell me something, still attempting to fit an earring into her ear. Santana smiles back at me, and when she does I reach my hands up for her to bend down, as my head now comes up to only her torso.
"What?" she asks lightly as she bends down, and it's then when I grab her hips and pull her onto my lap, pressing my lips to hers. Santana laughs into my mouth, wrapping her arms around my neck. "Still needy I see. I thought a cold shower would take care of this," Santana says into my neck, whispering feather light kisses there. I let her nuzzle into my collarbone, softly running my fingers through her hair before taking her chin in my hand and bringing her up to kiss my lips again. Before I can do anything else we hear the door open, and my mother enters stage left.
"Christina, I just- oh," my mother exclaims, surprised. She loves Santana, and my mother has always been all right with my relationship with her, but it still startles her whenever I kiss Santana. After letting out a quiet sigh, I turn to my mother as Santana gets off my lap. "I just wanted to tell you that I'm going out for coffee with some friends for a few hours, and then I will be out shopping for the rest of the day." I nod and smile at her.
"Gotcha, thanks, Ma," I grin, turning my chair around and wheeling over to go hug her. I watch her expression tighten as I come closer, knowing that she will never get over the chair. She leans down to hug me, holding me and rubbing my back. It's only been a month, I say to myself. My mother is strong, she'll get through it. I heard her talking to my father in the hospital when they thought I was sleeping. She seemed so upset, crying about how I would never be able to walk down the aisle at my wedding. I cried a little bit too, but I'll get over it eventually. I need to let go of those things if I want to live again like I did. When she lets go of me I drop back down into my chair, wheeling back a little to look at her.
"San and I will be at church, then we might go out to lunch with friends," I told her, smiling as my mother did.
"Sounds great, sweet pea. I'll see you ladies later, then," she smiles, her eyes turning to look up at Santana and wink at her before turning to leave, quickly disappearing down the stairs. When she's gone, I feel Santana's hands grip my shoulders and massage them slowly. I place my hand over one of hers, tilting my head back to look up at her.
"You looked like your shoulders hurt," she shrugs, eliciting a laugh from my lips. She bends down behind my chair, her lips brushing against my ear. "And your mother will be gone all day, it seems…" Santana whispers into my ear quietly. "I'd like to see for myself if everything still works." As she pulls away, I feel warmth collect in my cheeks. Hopefully, she can't see my redder than acceptable face as she wheels me down the hall, heading towards the car.
"And then, apparently, her husband found the two of them like that in bed… let's just say he was not happy," Santana smirked, retelling a story she had heard at work a few days ago. She always had the best gossip; she worked at a hair salon after all. I gently run my fingers over my locked wheels, always blending into the group when with more than two or three people. It's another thing I love about Santana, her bravery in conversation and her ability to win people over instantly. It's easy to be in a group with her, because she takes the attention away from me. Especially now, I get a lot of looks and questions about my chair and the events putting me here. I answer them, sometimes.
I'm a bit nervous about this group we've gone out with, these two other couples we met at church since Santana and I started attending the house of God. This is the first time we've spent time with then, sans sitting in the same pew as them and occasionally sharing a bible. So new people plus the fact that they keep eyeing my chair makes my palms sweaty, and I'm trying to avoid conversation with them at all costs.
"So, Tina, what do you do? Job wise, I mean," Tracy asks, sweeping her blonde hair to the side. She's whom Santana and I have dubbed "White Picket Fence Lady". Santana looks over at me and I wave her off, turning to Tracy and smiling.
"I've been out of work for a while, currently running around trying to find a job," I explain, gesturing with my hands, and Tracy seems to be satisfied. Content with not talking about exactly why I haven't been able to work, I stuff some more BLT sandwich into my mouth.
"That's a shame… You know, I heard the local Wal-Mart has been looking for a greeter-"
"Stop right there," Santana interrupts, and I frown and hold her arm.
"Santana, stop it," I hiss under my breath, not wanting to make a scene. Santana looks over at me before continuing, this time a little more smoothly.
"Tina went to college, to be an actress," Santana tells Tracy, and I look at the blonde woman to gauge her reaction. I see pity in her eyes as she bites her lip, her husband's hand curling around her shoulder. "She just hasn't been able to work."
Tracy resumes her smiling, nodding to me. "Well I don't see why a handi-capable person like you can't work, I'm sure there are plenty of roles that you could play." I smile and nod, biting my lip before putting down my sandwich and wiping my hands clean. I carefully lace my hands together on the table, looking over at Tracy.
"I can't work at the moment because I'm still a bit clumsy," I say, glancing over at Santana before continuing. "I'm the girl in the route 24 accident." As soon as I say that, everyone's mouths fall open and they all stare at me. "I'm getting back to work in a few weeks, I needed to take a little break after everything. My face was scarred up and all," I explain minimally, glancing over at Santana to see tears in her eyes. Frowning, I hug her tightly, resting my chin on her shoulder as she leans down a bit to accommodate me.
"It's not your fault, darling. Okay? I'm fine, we're fine," I reassure her, tightly fisting the back of her dress. I feel her nod against me and I let her go, dropping back into my chair. "It's okay," I say again quietly before facing all our acquaintances. "So, did you hear about Lady Gaga's new boyfriend? I heard he's a hunk," I start, trying to change the subject. It works, thankfully, and I spend the rest of the lunch holding Santana's hand underneath the table.