Chapter 48

"Transition"

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THE VAN WITH MY HOUSEHOLD STUFF ARRIVED FROM PRINCETON THE FOLLOWING WEDNESDAY MORNING. I SAW IT PULL UP ACROSS THE STREET AND STOP WITH THE TAIL GATE PARALLEL TO THE APARTMENT THAT I WAS MOVING INTO. I SAW THE FOUR-WAY FLASHERS COME ON AND TWO BURLY MEN SPILL OUT OF THE CAB OF THE NICE LITTLE FOURTEEN-WHEELER. THEY OPENED THE BACK DOORS AND SECURED THEM TO THE PLATES ANCHORED TO THE SIDES OF THE TRAILER BODY.

THERE WAS ALSO A GAGGLE OF PAINTERS HIRED BY THE CREW THAT DID THE MAINTENANCE ON THE SYLVESTER HOUSE. THEY WERE SETTING UP SCAFFOLDING TO SCRAPE AND REPAINT THE BUILDING BEFORE WINTER TOOK OVER COMPLETELY. FUNNY THEY SHOULD DECIDE TO BEGIN TODAY. I SMILED TO MYSELF WHILE BOTH CREWS LOOKED EACH OTHER OVER, AND THERE WAS A LOT OF HAND GESTURING UNTIL THEY APPARENTLY WORKED THINGS OUT ABOUT WHO MIGHT OR MIGHT NOT GET IN WHOSE WAY. I WATCHED FOR A FEW MINUTES AS THE SYLVESTER HOUSE CREW BUILT A VERY ELABORATE SCAFFOLDING BRIDGE ON THE SIDEWALK THAT LEFT THE FRONT DOOR AND FRONT PORCH COMPLETELY UNOBSTRUCTED.

I WAS HAVING BREAKFAST IN THE DINING ROOM OF THE WATSON INN, AND I BECKONED LILY TO MY TABLE.

SHE HURRIED OVER AT ONCE AND ASKED WHETHER I WAS ALL RIGHT. I SMILED AND ROLLED MY EYES: SHE HAD BECOME MY GUARDIAN ANGEL. I POINTED TO THE SCENE ACROSS THE STREET. "TAKE A LOOK AT THAT! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?"

SHE LOOKED OUT THE WINDOW AND FROWNED. THEN GIGGLED. "YOU HAVE BROUGHT A BIT OF MAGIC WITH YOU TO ETNA, KYLE CALLOWAY," SHE SAID.

I GAVE HER ONE OF MY 'LOOKS', AND SHE GIGGLED AGAIN. "COULD YOU HOLLER FOR JAKE OR JERRY AND ASK ONE OF THEM TO COME GET MY KEY? SOMEBODY HAS TO LET THE FURNITURE GUYS IN …"

SHE NODDED, TOUCHED MY ARM AS SHE ALWAYS DOES, AND HURRIED BACK TOWARD THE KITCHEN. THIRTY SECONDS LATER, JAKE, THE GOOFY KITCHEN GUY, CAME STRIDING THROUGH THE DOOR WIPING THE STEAM OFF HIS GLASSES AND SOAP SUDS OFF HIS HANDS ON A STAINED WHITE APRON. HE WALKED UP TO MY TABLE AND SLID INTO THE BOOTH ACROSS FROM ME. "WHAT'S UP, KYLE? LILY SAID YOU ASKED FOR ME."

I DANGLED MY KEY CHAIN IN FRONT OF HIS STARTLED FACE, GRINNING WIDELY AT HIS TOTAL LACK OF COMPREHENSION. I POINTED OUT THE WINDOW TO THE ACTIVITY ACROSS THE STREET. "WOULD YOU MIND UNLOCKING MY APARTMENT? ALL MY STUFF JUST ARRIVED, AND THEY NEED ACCESS. TELL EVERYBODY I'LL BE OVER AS SOON AS I CAN GET THERE."

"SURE, KYLE," JAKE SAID, FOLLOWING THE DIRECTION MY FINGER WAS POINTING. "RIGHT AWAY. LOOKS LIKE A TEAMSTERS' CONVENTION OVER THERE." HE SMILED, TOOK THE KEY AND HEADED FOR THE FRONT DOOR. A MINUTE LATER I SAW HIM GESTURING AND TALKING TO ONE OF THE PAINTERS AND THE DRIVER OF THE VAN. THE TWO OF THEM LINGERED A FEW MOMENTS. THEN JAKE TURNED AND POINTED TO THE WINDOW WHERE I STILL SAT FINISHING BREAKFAST. BOTH MEN SHADED THEIR EYES, SQUINTED IN MY DIRECTION AND THEN NODDED. JAKE NODDED TOO, AND TURNED AROUND TO WALK BACK TO THE HOTEL. HE CAME INSIDE AND SEATED HIMSELF ACROSS THE TABLE FROM ME AGAIN.

"I TOLD 'EM YOU WOULD BE OVER TO TALK TO 'EM IN A LITTLE WHILE, AND I MENTIONED THAT YOU WERE HANDICAPPED … AND THEY SAID THEY FIGURED THAT, 'CAUSE THEY ALREADY SAW THE SIGN. SO ANYHOW, THEY'RE ALL GOING TO GET STARTED. YOUR MAINTENANCE GUYS WILL DO THE SIDES FIRST AND THEN GO AROUND BACK. THE MOVERS WILL HAVE CLEAR SAILIN' PUTTING YOUR STUFF INSIDE, AND WHEN YOU GET OVER THERE, YOU CAN LET 'EM KNOW WHERE YOU WANT EVERYTHING."

JAKE HELD OUT HIS HAND AND I REACHED ACROSS THE TABLE. HE DROPPED MY KEYS INTO MY PALM AND GRINNED. "I COUNTED 'EM. THERE'S TEN GUYS OVER THERE … GO FIGURE …"

I THANKED HIM, AND WARNED HIM (WITH A STRAIGHT FACE) NOT TO CALL ME "HANDICAPPED" ANYMORE. WHEN HE MADE A GOOFY FACE AND ASKED WHAT THE HELL HE SHOULD TELL PEOPLE INSTEAD, I SAID: "TELL 'EM I'M A SPRINT CAR DRIVER THAT HIT THE WALL!"

JAKE GUFFAWED AND HEADED BACK TO THE KITCHEN. "SEE YA LATER, KYLE … YA GOOFBALL!"

I watched him go, and thought to myself: This might turn out to be a pretty decent day. What's that expression about days like this … ? 'The first day of the rest of your life'? Yeah. Like that! This time maybe I can get it together.

When I came back from the medical center the other day, I went straight to my room at the hotel. I felt scared and achy and vulnerable as hell. Thoreau had confirmed my worst fears about the probable loss of my leg. The frightening truth of all my years of denial hit hard and fast. I had harbored that fear in the back of my mind for a long time; kept it buried deep inside and let it fester until it came out in the shakes I experienced at night, and the salty sweat that saturated my body. The fear kept me secluded deep inside my own self … as though to show anything in my face would shout my secret vulnerability to the whole world.

I had bad dreams that same night and woke up shaking like someone who was being pursued by private demons. And of course, I was. I was in excruciating pain that extended from my foot all the way to my hip. I was holding my breath and biting my lip to keep from screaming. The brace on my foot had to come off immediately.

In desperation I'd dragged myself to the bathroom and tore a towel rod off the wall. I used the metal crossbar to push the brace down and off over my heel. I tossed it in the trash. Later, I told Vern I had lost my balance and grabbed the towel rod to keep from falling. He believed me and sent Jerry the maintenance man to patch the wall and install another rod. After that I wondered how long it would be until I could not even tolerate a regular sock on that foot …

This morning I feel better, and now that the truck is here and the painting crew has descended, I will have something constructive to do. I pulled myself together, stopped woolgathering and made ready to stomp over there to let those guys know where to put things in the apartment. I thought about the comfortable, eclectic little bachelor pad I'd kept back on Baker Street, and decided to arrange what was left of my furniture as close as I could get it to the way it had been back there.

I slid out of the booth after leaving a generous tip for Lily, settled the crutches beneath me and started for the lobby.

Vern was expecting me … Lily had probably alerted him that my furniture had arrived across the street, and I would soon be moving. He held my jacket so I could reach the sleeves, and helped me put it on.

*I am still astounded when these people show me more than the minimum of kindness, and I can never figure out what in hell I might have done to deserve it. They've been doing this stuff for me from the day I arrived here, and with such consistency that I've even stopped scolding them for it …*

"You'll soon be leaving us," Vern said without preliminary as I braced myself on the front desk and slipped into my old peacoat.

I nodded. "Yeah, but I'll still be around to harass you. Nobody gets rid of me that easily."

Vern laughed. "Uh huh … we've noticed." He walked beside me and held open the front door for me to move through. "Watch your step," he said. "It's a little windy this morning. At this time of year the wind could blow away skinny guys like you …"

"It wouldn't dare!" I said, and walked outside.

I made my way across the street behind the parked van just in time to see the two men pick up my Mom's little spinet piano and carry it in the front door. "You must be Gregory House," one of them said.

Uh oh … neither of these guys knew about "Kyle Calloway", and I was at a loss to think of a way to handle the situation. "That's me," I said sarcastically. "How did you know?" I was abrupt and brusque and disrespectful and I knew it. I stopped myself, shut up and rolled the dialogue back to the point before I had walked up to them. "Sorry," I said. "Didn't mean to snap. I've been having some pain issues lately … don't pay any attention to me. It'll pass."

"That's okay," said the athletic-looking black guy with the beard. "We get it."

"Yeah, really," echoed the smaller, wiry one with curly hair and thick glasses. "We already put your easy chair off to the side. You can do us the favor of just sitting there and letting us know where to put everything. Will that work?" They moved carefully across the room and placed the small piano into a slight niche in the wall. Just right.

I nodded. "Yeah. Thanks. Works for me." I moved past them and made my way carefully through the front door. To my utter astonishment, there sat the beautiful old Eames chair and footstool that had once graced my office at PPTH. I walked over to it and eased into it, hiding my wonder and my consternation at its presence. As I sat back, something poked me sharply in the ass, and I reached behind me to pull the object out of there. My hand came away with a small white card and a straight pin.

On the card was handwritten: "I'm glad you're not dead, you ass! Good luck: EF".

So he'd found the I.D. I left behind, and he'd put two and two together. He just made my day with a capital "D", and I grinned like I had just been handed a bright red lollipop. How the hell did he find out where my storage unit was? I would probably never know.

Immediately I wanted to shout with exaltation, but of course I couldn't. Not here; not now. Instead I leaned back and sank deeper into the chair's contours and reveled in the familiar way the footstool cradled my bum leg and allowed me to relax in ways I'd long forgotten about. My pain faded slowly.

I watched as my well-worn possessions paraded past me piece by piece: the butcher-block table to the kitchen, my queen-size bed and big chest of drawers back to the bedroom nearest the bath; my desk and bookcases along the hallway and in the living room, and the ugly black lounge chair against the wall across from me. My library table and desktop against the wall. Boxes of canned goods, jar goods and cooking utensils onto the butcher block where I could separate them later. The boxes holding my precious books and Dad's vinyl collection were carried back to the spare bedroom.

Like a kid in a candy store, I would feast on my serendipity very soon.

I heard the men in the main bedroom, obviously putting the bed together; hand-banging the rails onto the headboard and footboard, inserting the slats, and finally the slam of the box spring going down, and then the huge mattress … "slap!"

The blond one walked down the hallway to where I sat and paused at the entrance. "As long as all your bedding is back there, it'll only take us a few minutes to make up your bed. Do we have your okay to do it? And do you have a preference which set we use?"

I looked up in surprise. "You wouldn't mind doing that?"

"Hell no," he said with a grin. "Of course we wouldn't mind. You're in no shape to do it yourself, and after that, all that's left in the van is a few more boxes: towels and washcloths, clothes, and some cleaning supplies and odds and ends. We can also stock your kitchen for you, as long as you tell us where to put everything. We have about another two hours before we have to be out of here.

Whaddaya say?"

I gathered my crutches and struggled to stand … and in that same instant he was at my side, steadying me and offering assistance. "My brother lost his leg in a biking accident a couple years ago," he said softly. "I'm used to this. I don't want you to hurt yourself. Okay?"

I nodded. "Thank you. I appreciate it." I recovered my balance and followed him back the hallway.

"No problem …" the modern equivalent to 'you're welcome'.

Their names, I finally found out, were Shuie and Winston, and they had been partners in the moving business for about twenty-five years. They told me that they had found out, over time, that their jobs entailed much more than just "moving". They met people from all walks of life, and they liked most of them. Each customer was different, but each customer also had something to teach them. It was an exchange they had come to understand and appreciate.

As it turned out, the two men helped me set up the bedroom, the kitchen and the bathroom. When they were ready to leave a little over two hours later, I dug out my wallet and handed each of them a nice tip, along with my honest-to-god sincere thanks for the help and the conversation.

They battened down the hatches, closed and locked the back of the van, and were on the road just about when they said they would be, and I stood at the curb waving so-long.

I placed the crutches on the sidewalk like a tripod and leaned sideways to look up at the elaborate scaffolding system. I could see a group of men making short work of the scraping and painting. The old place looked great. The new paint was heavy duty outdoor dark brown, and they were doing the window frames in stark white. Same color as it was before, but the transformation from dull and chipped to fresh and clean and brilliant, was great.

It was also a relief to know that the topic of Gregory House vs. Kyle Calloway never came up.

I stood in the living room of my new apartment and looked around. Other than the desk, the Eames chair, and the mostly empty bookcases, the room was pretty bare. For a few moments I regretted having gotten rid of the old leather couch … but what the hell … it wasn't like I couldn't afford a new one!

I walked back to the hotel and left the front door unlocked so the paint crew could take their breaks where it was warm. When I staggered back into the Watson Inn, I was sweaty and achy and beat. My leg hurt like hell, but it wasn't spasming. It was almost like I'd put in an honest day's work. When I was still doing my job back in Princeton, I knew that physical activity often helped keep the nagging pain at bay. I would stomp up and down the halls, just trying to keep the motor running …

I needed something to do, I decided. I needed a place to be, and a job to fulfill me. My leg didn't like inactivity any more than I did. Perhaps I should do something about that. I had another appointment with Ed Thoreau. He wanted me to meet the other two doctors on his team, and suddenly I wanted to meet them too. I wanted to discuss with them every aspect of the loss of a leg, and what life might be like afterward. And I decided to accept part time work at the hospital … if they still wanted me.

I went to bed that night feeling tired to the bone, and my leg felt like someone had beaten on my scar with a stick.

I took my meds and settled in.

I slept well that night, and decided that after a time I might learn to fit in.

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