"Surprise," said Sue, pushing the wheelchair inside the gym beyond the familiar spot they usually perform therapy.
Max was standing beside two rails that ran parallel over a thin blue-gray mat. "Are you ready for the last phase of your in-patient rehab?"
Last phase of in-patient rehab. Street swallowed, staring speechless at them. He'd counted every minute since that dreadful night when his limbs had gone silent. Sixty-three days had passed since he was shot in the line of duty; sixty-two since they brought him to the hospital, apparently unable to fix him up alright. Fifty-four days had gone by since the second surgery that gave him his sensations back; fifty-three since starting rehab; forty-one since sitting on a wheelchair for the first time.
And now he was about to get up and walk. On his own two feet. Sustained by his arms and, more importantly, his legs. He was bound to be ready!
Am I, though? Street suddenly thought. He had not stood upright for more than thirty seconds nor moved on his own more than a few inches in over two months. And now…
Sue smiled. "Don't just sit there gaping at us. There is some hard work to do here."
"But don't get too excited either," Max continued. "We're starting slow, and you still have three or four weeks before being discharged."
"And don't forget that you'll have your last phase of therapy as an external patient then."
Street held back a sigh. "You two always know how to kill the fun, thank you."
"Our pleasure." Sue smirked, her ponytail moving cheekily along with the tilt of her head.
"You ready to start?" Max approached him with some kind of a range or something alike in his hands. "We'll put this around your waist, so we can support you and take some of the weight off your legs muscles for a slow start."
"A leash?" Street asked while the therapist tied the belt to him. "You're putting me on a leash?"
Sue shook her head. "It's a sustaining band. You always have your special way to put yourself down, don't you, Jim?"
Street's heart raced even before starting the new process. He was about to get up. On his legs. He was about to walk for the first time in two months, and as much as he couldn't wait, he was terrified of the possibility of failing.
"Come on," Sue encouraged, offering him her arm to get up from the chair. A few inches of cold floor separated him from the rails.
"Let's do this." Street nodded and pushed on his legs, feet well planted on the floor. He took a deep breath and let Sue guide him forward to grip the rails while Max kept the sustaining band—the leash—tensed to sustain part of Street's weight as promised.
One dragged step and Street was on the thin mat, sweaty hands on cold metal; the only thing keeping him up was a string band and his own muscles. He looked down at his feet, then up again. He felt the light pressure of the leash and the reassuring presence of the strong therapist, but Sue was not behind him anymore.
"Good start, man," Max said, "keep going, reach Sue at the end of the mat. Come on."
"Easier said than done." Street dragged his left foot forward, half afraid his right leg would give way under him and half feeling he couldn't possibly be able to actually lift his foot from the floor.
"Don't worry, I'm right here behind you. If you fall, I'll catch you."
"Before I smash my nose on the floor?"
Max smiled. "That can only be an improvement."
Street glared at him, gritting his teeth more from the strain than from his caretaker's joke.
"Besides," the man continued, "that is why there is a mattress down there, right Sue?"
"Oh, don't terrorize him," she chided her fellow therapist. "It's alright, Jim. You won't fall face-first on the floor. We promise. Come to me now."
Street grimaced, his body hardly responding to his commands. "Just promise me to not switch places, please." His right foot moved a few inches forward.
"Oh, you shouldn't have said that," Max warned him.
Sue looked affronted. "You don't trust I will be able to sustain you?"
Street dragged his left foot ahead, the muscles in his arms already tensed and stressed. "Far from that, Sue." He forced a smirk. "I just wouldn't be motivated to reach the ugly face there instead of your pretty one."
The therapists both chuckled. "That's the spirit," Max said, pulling the band a little.
It took Street what seemed a lifetime to reach the end of the small corridor between the rails despite it couldn't be longer than five or six feet.
"Good job, Jim," Sue enthusiastically said before moving to the other side. "Now come back to the starting point. Let's do it over again."
"Yeah," Street breathed out while Max helped him turn over. "Piece of cake," he hardly managed while his back, legs, and arms already screamed for help.
"We know you're putting a lot of effort into it," the man said. "We're just having two rounds today. Then shift to something easier. You can do it."
"Of course I can." Street gritted his teeth, feet slowly dragging on the mat, one after the other.
The two therapists exchanged a look and lightly beamed. "Come on then. Come to me," Sue encouraged him.
Max smirked. "Yeah, it's not gallant to make a lady wait."
... ... ...
In the sterile comfort of his hospital room, Street slowly reached the end of his last round of breathing exercises. He looked back at the beginning of his rehabilitation journey when he had hated those exercises intensely, even refused them. Now, he found practicing them a perfect way to relax and cool down his muscles after a trying session in the gym. A much-needed relief. He was now glad of breathing full lungs that air that every day smelled more of regained freedom than of sanitizer.
Today though, the breathing exercises didn't do much for the fatigue weighing on Street. His chest felt heavy, as his whole body, and despite his stomach was empty, the tiredness was greater than the hunger. If dinner didn't come fast, the nurse would find him already asleep.
Today was the third day since the last upgrade in his PT program. He performed two sessions a day, during which he was more often on his feet than on his knees or on all fours. His arms still did a great deal of the job, but his legs and back muscles were getting there.
He was definitely getting there.
"Am I interrupting your mediation?"
Street opened his lazy eyes to Tan's insolent smirk.
"You look awful, man."
"Thanks," Street said, adjusting his position in bed. All his muscles were sore, and his hair was messed up from the thing they called a shower he'd taken after the last round at the gym. "I'm feeling great, actually."
Tan's eyes inspected him as though he was raving.
"The new therapy is tough, but finally being on my feet, man, it's the best sensation I've experienced in months."
"You're not overdoing again, are you?"
"No," Street said wearily. "I think I learned my lesson."
"What did they make you do in the last three days?"
"Nothing special, really. You know, just some of the old exercises still, plus reinforcing all my muscles using rubber bands, both on my knees and on my feet—" Street's back sent him a clear message to readjust his position. "Something with minor weights too—" he had to pause again and breathe in.
"Sounds intense," Tan cut in as to relieve some pressure from him.
"And some actual walking." Street smiled through the layer of fatigue. "Just a few feet at a time, with a leash on—can you believe it? A leash… I'm not Duke!—"
Tan chuckled.
"—and I still have to rely more on my arms to keep up, but I'm really walking, man. I'm walking." Street closed his eyes, lips still curved up. "I'm walking..."
"So I've heard." Tan gently bumped his fist on Street's shoulder. "That's great. We knew you could do it."
"I still have a long way to go…"
"Hey, don't beat yourself up. You're making huge progress. Fast."
"I know." Street sighed; fast was not exactly the right definition though. "I'm just trying to be realistic. You're the one who just told me not to overdo."
"I would be careful using my own words against me. I might return the favor."
"Mm-um…"
Tan rested a hand on Street's shoulder. "You sure you don't want anything for the pain? It seems this new therapy puts a lot of stress on your body. It can't be healthy holding all in."
"No," Street snapped, his eyes opening to face his friend. "No drugs. You know why."
"Because you were all cheesy and sweet the last time they exceeded the dose?" Tan smirked. "And talkative…"
"I what? Come on, you told me I didn't say anything embarrassing that time…"
Tan shrugged. "I am just waiting for the right time to use it against you."
"What did I say?" Street tried to prod himself up on his elbows.
"It's not the right time yet."
"Oh, come on!" He laid back on the bed, his muscles giving up to the exhaustion. "You don't have even a little bit of pity?"
"Nope," Tan smirked even more wildly, his eyes sparkling. "And I wouldn't think about asking Chris either. I have a feeling she had tried to forget that day."
Oh, man what did I say to her now? Messing up things again, are you? Street closed his eyes once more. "This is not helping at all. Thanks."
"No problem, brother. And now get some rest. You seem to need it. I ought to go anyway."
"Special night?"
"Indian take-away and watching Bonnie's favorite fashion TV show on the couch. What you don't do for love…"
"Yeah, because you already know everything about fashion, right?"
Tan shook his head in all seriousness. "Because I'd preferred Guatemalan food." He noticed a nurse entering with a tray. "Speaking of dinner..."
Street glanced at Beth as she laid the food on the mobile table and lifted the cloche from the plate. "Next time, could you just sneak something in, please?" He sniffed the air, the usual boring and dull smell wafted through the room. "Anything other than that will do."
"Oh, come on, it's not this terrible," the nurse reproached him.
"I bet you take your own food here for your lunch break, don't you?"
Beth kindly smiled. "Most of the days, I do."
Street looked up at Tan. "What did I tell you?"
"Let it go, Street. And obey the nurse."
"Thanks, sweetie."
"Okay, okay. I'll be a good boy." Street watched Tan getting out of the room, then focused on his dinner. Beth was right, the food wasn't nearly that bad, but it was boring and the tiredness of his limbs didn't make the effort of eating worth it.
"Come on," the nurse said, lifting up the back of the bed. "It won't taste any better if you let it get cold."
Street slowly chomped his dinner down until the plate was half empty. He stared at the fork in his hand, then at the food left, then again at the fork. His hand was trembling now, and the energy he must have gained with the income of calories wasn't doing the trick. He gently pushed the table aside and laid back, focusing on his breathing. Today has been a good day, and tomorrow will be even better.
... ... ...
Chris walked the familiar corridor at a fast pace. This time, when she'd found her friend's room empty, she had not felt concern creeping up her bones. She knew exactly where he was. Once she'd left the paper bag she'd brought along on his bedside table, she sped up toward the hospital gym, hoping to have a glimpse of the therapists working their magic on Street.
"You did great, Jim," a woman was saying in the distance.
Too late, they had already finished. From the other end of the corridor, Chris saw a brunette pushing Street's wheelchair and handing him over to the young nurse she had come to know as Lily.
"See you tomorrow," the woman said, disappearing in the gym's doors.
Lily leaned in on Street to tell him something Chris couldn't hear; they didn't acknowledge her as they headed in the opposite direction. Surely he had asked her to take the 'panoramic route', Chris thought.
She moved forward, trying to catch up with them but didn't call for their attention yet.
"Your therapists seem satisfied with your progress in the last week," Lily said, slowly pushing the wheelchair.
"Yeah, but I'm still on this thing..." As Street said that, Chris had the sudden urge to hit him in the back of the head.
"Don't rush things."
"You're right, you're right. I should look at the bright side. At least I haven't wet myself during therapy in weeks. that must mean something."
Chris felt like she was eavesdropping on a private conversation but decided to keep quiet a bit longer. She often forgot that even after the successful surgery, the paralysis had caused some residual struggle to weigh on Street's body other than the inability to walk. He never talked about it with her, and she couldn't blame him for it and the embarrassment he must feel.
"It only happened a couple of times at the start of your rehab program," the nurse said, sounding upbeat. "And I told you that you would have eventually regained full control of your bladder."
"I'm just grateful I did. It would have been quite embarrassing having to chase bad guys in a diaper, right?"
"Quite useful during long stakes, though," Chris suggested, appearing at Street's elbow. She couldn't just stay behind unnoticed anymore.
"What?" Street looked up at her, blushing. "You weren't supposed to hear this… What were you doing hiding there?"
"I wasn't hiding." Chris smiled then turned to the nurse. "You're fast, you know? May I continue from here?"
"Sure." Lily let Chris position herself behind the wheelchair's handles, then stepped in front of her patient and pointed a warning finger at him. "But no further detours, okay?"
"I'm not all that tired today," Street complained. "Maybe a little stroll outside?"
"Maybe another time," the nurse quietly said. "Straight to your room." She glanced at Chris as to make sure she'd received the message too. "The most I can grant you is a few more minutes out of bed."
Street tried for the puppy eyes, but Lily didn't get impressed.
"Ten more minutes sat straight, but only in your room." She shook her head. "One week on his feet and he already wants to run."
"You should listen to her," Chris intervened. "Plus, there may be a little surprise waiting for you there."
"Really?" Street slowly craned back to look her in the eyes, but immediately changed his mind. The position must not have been good for him. "What did you get me?"
"You'll see soon enough if you keep quiet and let me push you there." Saying those words, it occurred to Chris that Street didn't ask to handle the wheelchair on his own today. He was usually quite insistent in doing everything on his own. "Are you sure you're okay?"
Street took a deep breath. "More than okay. I'm getting there, Chris. I feel it. I'm almost out of here." His voice then dropped to a whisper, " I need to get out of here."
She couldn't help but smile. For the last couple of days, Tan had been telling it to anyone who wanted to hear it: their friend was finally on the right track. Almost ready to come back. Almost.
Street sniffed the air as they entered his room. "Oh, you didn't!"
"I did," Chris's smirk broadened as she reached out for the paper bag and showed its content to him. "The finest selection from my cousin's Mexican food truck."
"I could kiss you now," Street said, practically tearing the paper bag from her hands.
Chris found herself still smiling. "Is that a threat?"
"I guess I should actually kiss your cousin," he said with his mouth already full. "Is that any better?"
She shook her head. If it were anyone else, she would not have taken that comment seriously, and yet for a split second, she did. But he was not trying to be anything but her best friend, and that was what it should be. What it actually was.
"This is delicious."
Chris's smile widened even more. As incredible as it was thinking such a thing, it was a pleasure seeing him eating that messy way.
A comfortable silence stretched for a few moments, then Street quite awkwardly broke it. "Did I… What did I say when I had that funny reaction to the pain meds?"
"What? That was ages ago," Chris said, uncertain. Why now? "What did Tan tell you? If he's messing with your head..."
"Nothing. That's kind of the point…" Street sighed. "He keeps teasing me about something but won't tell me exactly what, and I don't know how to defend myself. Are you gonna help?"
Tan is a dead man, Chris thought, then just shrugged. This would only be awkward if she made it awkward. "Well, you only spilled your deepest secrets to the two of us."
Street stared at her for a minute, probably trying to decide how serious she was. "How weird," he said at last, relaxing in the wheelchair. "I really don't have any secrets with you."
Chris scoffed. "Not anymore."
... ... ...