Jake keyed the code into the door lock of the tiny cubicle of a place he had moved into over the weekend. Once again he had gone on a road trip to get to his new destination, driving across the country after packing up his stuff in San Diego three weeks earlier. He had been surprised by how much open space he had encountered on his drive through the Midwest, though the empty expanses to the left and right of the highway were all fenced off with hazard signs indicating the area to be inhospitable. In some places the signs had even urged people not to exit from their vehicles and leave the area as quickly as possible due to elevated radiation levels. No kidding, Jake thought when at one point the environmental hazards display in his truck's console had shown radiation levels in the red zone. He didn't need to be concerned about that as long as he stayed in his truck and didn't open the windows. Radio-protective coating was part of the truck's body and windows. Its electronic breathing air system ensured the cab was closely sealed and carbon dioxide and other pollutants were stripped from the air to maintain a comfortable environment. But he definitely wouldn't want to break down in this place.
He had driven for long spells and stopped only when necessary to get some sleep, food or refuel. Only once, near Tulsa, had he actually checked into a motel to get more than the few of hours of sleep otherwise spent sitting behind the steering wheel or lying down in the back seat. His first stop however had been Long Beach where he had given all of Emily's belongings to Franklin, including the toy tiger.
He had considered taking it with him to New York as a tangible reminder, but in the end he had decided to leave it behind like everything else. The dissociative episodes had stopped and he also no longer felt crushed by his memories, but he was still too raw to be reminded of what he had lost on a daily basis. It was not like he could forget anyhow. The bottom line was that he was much more cynical than he used to be, but he was also starting to regain his ability to recognize beauty when he saw it.
Invariably these small moments of happiness were tainted by the sad realization that he would never again share them with his wife, but like Dr. Lassiter's words had been a mantra for him to help him come to terms with his devastating physical injury, Emily's star helped him come to terms with her absence. He thought of it not in terms of her physical remains, but rather as a little hole in time and space through which Emily looked down on him and willed him to carry on, to once again start looking for that elusive purpose that would take him beyond his physical limitations. Jake had never given much thought to matters of spirituality, but this little allowance in his otherwise starkly rational and materialistic view of the world seemed justifiable. He hadn't gone back to the crypt after Si had taken him on New Year's Day because the experience had been so profound that he didn't want it to be tainted by another, less perfect occasion.
Jake knew that he owed Si big time for doing what he had done. By physically dragging him out of his bed he had pulled Jake out of his funk and by leaving the wheelchair behind, he had been forced to confront the fact that he was cornered and entirely at Si's mercy. He hadn't felt this helpless since that day at Walter Reed when his physio therapist had taken him out of his bed and laid him on a mat in the treatment room for the first time. Similarly Si had forced Jake to trust him as friend and as a fellow Marine. For Jake it had been a proverbial leap of faith, but he had done it and Si had caught him and he was better for it.
When Si had taken him back home and carried him back upstairs, Jake had invited him to stay. They had talked for many more hours and in the end it had really been a turning point for Jake. He had been able to express his gratitude to Si and it had further cemented their friendship.
Jake looked around his new home. There was nothing homely about it, more like a utility cupboard if anything. It was tiny, ten by fifteen feet with a single fold-down cot attached to one wall and a fold-down table that bisected the cot making it double as seating for the table. On the opposite wall were three hatch-like doors. The one closest to the entrance was the one that led to the tiny bathroom, more an all-in-one shower cubicle and toilet really. The next was hiding a fridge, tiny sink, above it a microwave and even further up shelves with dishes and glasses, too high for Jake to reach from his wheelchair, even the microwave was problematic. The third hatch was a tiny walk-in closet. The upper half of the back wall was covered almost entirely by a wall mounted display and below were open shelves. Jake had distributed his clothes and other few personal belongings on these shelves and the lower half of the closet. Some more unpacked bags lay in front. No wall had an external window. Jake gave the voice command for the overhead light and the ceiling lit up. This at least provided a spectrum of light close enough to natural sunlight to make the place tolerable.
The only appeal this place had for Jake was the fact that it was on the ground floor. All the buildings in this area were so run down that he didn't trust the elevators any further than he could walk. He had found a job as dispatcher with the local police department and his box as he called this place was close enough to get there on his own—walking distance would have been the common term, but he didn't think it was the appropriate term to use in his case.
Jake put his phone into the entertainment system docking station and flipped through some channels on the TV; several hundred channels and nothing worth watching—as usual. He selected his music collection instead and loaded one of his play lists, rock ballads mostly. He wasn't in the mood for anything more hardcore at the moment.
Using a voice command, Jake dialed JJ's number and the music volume adjusted automatically. JJ answered after a couple of rings. His shaved head appeared on Jake's wall-mounted display and the camera light came on.
"Hi Jake. How was your first day at work?"
"Pretty good. It's really not rocket science."
"So what you doing?"
"Just training for the first week, then I'll be answering calls, triangulating positions, dispatching units. I'm the person on the other side of the radio for a change."
"Should be pretty interesting."
"It'll keep my busy if nothing else until Tom leaves. I'm not planning to stay beyond that. New York is a total dump. The water restriction here on the East Coast is the worst. I have no clue how Tom has managed to live here for so long." Jake moved from his wheelchair onto the cot. The camera tracked him automatically. He grabbed each leg and pulled his shoes off then threw them into a corner.
"So how is it going with Tom?"
"So-so." Jake shrugged. "We've had some good chats mostly talking about stuff from when we were still kids, but I'm just not into all of his tree hugger crap and then he gets upset and things just go down from there."
"So are you thinking of leaving again?"
"No, I said I was gonna make the effort. I'll see him off. I won't see him again for eighteen years or maybe never. It's not the safest of trips or safest of places to go."
"Good decision."
"I've left my truck in Princeton with Tom. He's got a second parking spot he's not using and I don't need the truck on a daily basis."
"Doesn't that limit you too much?"
"No it's okay. I can take the train to get to Tom's place and a cab if I need to get around locally. It's cheaper than to pay for parking here."
"I see."
"You've got no idea how expensive this place is. I pay more here for this dingy little box than for my one bedroom in San Diego, but it's close to work and there's a gym around the corner. It's okay for a couple more months."
"So how are you holding up otherwise?"
"I think I'm doing okay all things considered."
"Are you in touch with any of the other guys?"
"I'm talking to Si quite regularly on the phone and on email. He's gonna come up for a visit in March. I am looking forward to that."
"Good. I'm glad to hear. What else is new?"
"Lost the movement in my quad. I could never make the left one work, but I realized this morning that the right one's also too weak now to raise my heel off the floor."
"And how do you feel about that?"
"It's okay. It doesn't make any difference. With or without that muscle I still can't use my legs. And you know what? Even if one day I get enough money together to pay for the treatment and the operation, it could still be many more years until I can walk again, if ever without crutches. Still, given the chance I think it's worth a shot."
"Remember Sean in Whistler? How well he was doing a year later?"
"Yes, but his injury was a lot less severe. He didn't need to grow any nerves back and his paralysis was incomplete. Most of his muscles were weak, not entirely disconnected. All I'm saying is that I am not expecting the treatment and surgery to be a miracle cure after which I can just stand up and walk out the door as if nothing ever happened—not that it's very likely that the treatment will happen in the first place in any case."
Jake noticed that JJ's facial expression had changed. He was noticeably more relaxed and smiling at Jake."
"What did I just say?" Jake was confused.
"It's not so much what you just said but how you said it. I think you have arrived at the point now where you can really move forward with your life. It's no longer about what you have lost and who you need to prove to that you are still the man you used to be. In fact you acknowledge that you can never again be that same man. That you don't need to prove anything to anyone—and that's good."
Realization dawned on Jakes' face. "You're right. I didn't see it that way, but you are spot on."
"I am really proud of you!"
"Thanks. I am happy I can still make you proud. And thank you again JJ, for everything that you've done for me, particularly this." He lifted his right hand. "I would never have gotten the job here otherwise."
JJ nodded towards the camera. "Any time. Jake. Any time."
There was a knock on Jake's door.
"I gotta go JJ." Jake was pushing himself towards the edge of the cot to get back into his wheelchair. "I'm getting a new toy."
"What is it?"
"I'll tell you about it next time we chat."
"Okay. Chat soon. Bye."
"Bye JJ." Jake was already rolling the few steps towards his door. He opened.
"Hi there, Jake Sully?" The man in front of the door was nondescript, maybe a few years older than Jake. He was wearing a shirt with Hub Surgical – caring for people since 1983 embroidered on it, below it a name tag that read Charles.
"Yes, that's me, come in."
Jake spent the next two hours with Charles as he put up rails and other equipment that Jake could use to hold on to for balance. Then Jake got into the lower body brace he had had fitted and practiced getting up by pulling himself upright using the ladder Charles had installed on the wall at the foot end of the cot. Jake was struggling with his balance at first, using underarm crutches to pull himself across the room; the last time he had done this had been more than a year ago, towards the end of his rehab. It wasn't that he had any illusions about improving his mobility this way—on the contrary. It was a far more cumbersome way to move, but the limited space in his box made it necessary for him to be able to reach the microwave, dishes and higher up shelves and more importantly to use the bathroom properly since the space between the shower, basin and toilet was too tight to accommodate his wheelchair.
When Charles had left, Jake pulled a meal out of the fridge and stuck it into the microwave, for the first time without struggling to open the appliance's door and place the dish on the carousel. Then he took a plate and glass from the shelf above and put it on the sink. The microwave pinged and he took out the food and put it on the plate. He dragged himself across the room again to sit down, on his cot first, releasing the hip joints so he could bend at the hip then the knee joints and let himself fall onto the cot. He pulled his wheelchair closer and pushed across. What the brace provided in stability it limited in mobility, but he would make it work.
While he ate his supper, he thought about his earlier conversation with JJ about the spinal treatment. Statistically there was about a thirty percent chance that four years after beginning the treatment he would achieve full functional recovery, which as far as walking was concerned, was defined as the ability to walk a mile unaided. More realistically in his case it probably meant four years of daily grueling passive and active physio therapy at the end of which he would very likely be able to walk short distances without crutches and longer distances with, but he would probably never be entirely pain-free and he had no illusions that he would be able to run again. So if ever the opportunity arose would it be worth it? Most definitely he decided, even if all he could achieve was to be able to stand up on his own and lift his wheelchair up those pesky curbs and stairs. I hate stairs.