Chapter 9: Holding On
A/N: Ok, I know it was suggested that I incorporate The Sewer King into the story somehow, but I couldn't manage to figure out a good way to do it without mucking up the story and making it way longer than it needs to be. As it stands now my only goal is to finish it because I've got so many others that I'm working on (when I'm not doing schoolwork). Anyway, my apologies. If it helps, the story is starting to wrap up. Not much farther to go now.
There was an accident about a week ago, and it looks like I've permanently injured my leg. The doctor here doesn't know if I'll walk again, but he seems hopeful. They all seem hopeful, but I can't find it in me to share their hope. I'm just so tired. So very tired. And I miss my wife so much.
Arnold set the journal down and stood carefully from the aging desk chair. Taking a wooden cane in his left hand, he made his way quite fluently to the deep-set window on the far side of the small room, the cane aiding his half-usable leg. He looked out into the yard and saw Curly playing with his three-year-old daughter in the shade of the building. They were stacking wooden blocks together. Arnold smiled at the sight.
You did walk again, he told himself, not for the first time, since he'd regained the ability. You learned to walk, and she accepted you as you were, just like last time.
His heart wrenched painfully within his chest, and he had to turn away from the window. When he did, though, he was startled to find Lupita standing in the doorway of the room.
"Oh, hi sweetheart." He greeted.
"Uncle Arnold, dad wants to know if you're coming to dinner. He said he can handle Robbie if you're busy."
Arnold could never quite get over how mature Lupita was for being only twelve years old. But then, he always told himself, how old where you when you had to become a man?
"No, I'll be down in a minute." He said.
The little girl smiled before leaving, and Arnold crossed over to the desk and closed the journal, storing it back in its place on the shelf. Memories could wait until later. Especially these memories. Right now he had a three-year-old to control.
Arnold swore loudly, and Curly was half-tempted to drop him out of spite.
"Will you knock that off, there are innocent ears here." Curly warned.
Arnold only glowered at him, ignoring the stares of two children who were watching from across the room. The two men were currently practicing walking back and forth across the concourse. Arnold had started insisting on this after only five weeks of being bed ridden, which Dr. Kinder thought was too early but did not dissuade him. The more willing Arnold was to recover, the better. However, after only a few days, he was not having the best luck, and it was beginning to show.
"Oh, for God's sake, forget it! Take me back upstairs!" Arnold snapped, and Curly dropped him unceremoniously onto the floor. "Hey!"
The taller man backed out of harms way and stood with his arms crossed, looking darkly down at Arnold. He'd been walking without since just after Arnold's accident. "You're not going to quit."
"I'm not quitting, I'm just tired!"
"You've only gone back and forth once. If you ever want to walk again, you have to be patient. It's not going to happen overnight."
"I know that, Curly, just help me up."
Curly did not move. Arnold looked down at the floor, his pride outweighing his guilt over being such a jerk. After a very long while, he mumbled something under his breath.
"What was that?" Curly asked.
"I said I'm sorry. I…shouldn't be snapping at you like that."
Curly's features softened and he knelt beside his friend. "Arnold, you've just got to give yourself time." After a brief pause, he added: "Helga will still love you whether you can walk or not."
At this, Arnold looked up at his friend to find him smiling reassuringly. Curly stood and helped Arnold back onto his feet, and together they practiced walking back and forth across the wide expanse of the concourse, fresh determination driving Arnold on.