A Different Kind of Black Belt: para-athlete series, #2

Chapter One

Iwoke to a kiss. That ticklish kind that I wanted to wipe at and stopped, thinking I might get in trouble with the one who gave it. I tried to lift my hand. My body refused to respond, a condition I would not accept. I controlled my body. Years of training gave that confidence to me. I commanded my eyes to open, but even they resisted.

Like that time between the alarm and the snooze, where the soul longs to finish that wonderful dream, but it stays just out of reach and the body couldn't or wouldn't wake, my body floated just out of reach of my commands.

I finally pried the peepers open, expecting the determined face of Ronda Rousey to inspire me out of bed. Splush. Water pelted my face. Memories flooded back. Of me, unhooking my seat belt and sliding across the bench seat to link my arm in Cody's. His phone chimed. We reached for it simultaneously. I got to it first.

Hey, give it back, he complained.

What's the matter, got another girl on the side?

He swiped at it, the truck swerved. A black cow appeared, calmly chewing its cud in the opposite lane. Its wide eyes telling me it was just as surprised as I was. Cody had no time to swerve back.

I turned my head, blinking rapidly to clear my vision. It didn't help. I lay in a puddle, stretched out on the double yellow line dividing the blacktop. The cow, the cause of the collision that ejected me from the truck, thrashed not five feet from my frozen body. It didn't moo like a cow should, simply gurgled.

Rain dripped into my mouth. I choked, tossing my head to get rid of the liquid. A vision of me drowning like the cow filled my brain. I thrashed my head, willing my body to roll over. To get up. Anything.

The storm let loose. Drops thundered down, pelting my face, leaping into my ears like wet willies on steroids. Move, darn it! Get up. Nothing came of my commands. My body lay liked an uncooked spaghetti noodle. During my struggle a thought hit me. What if a car came? Here I was, hanging out in the middle of the road. At night. No way to move.

Each raindrop bounced on the pavement, slapping me in the face when I tried to evade the downpour, still I peered through the veil. Praying a car would come. Praying it wouldn't run me over.

Please. I prayed. Help me.

Nothing. What did I expect? Just like the other times in my life when things went wrong, no answers came from Heaven. Gritting my teeth, I twisted my head away from the cow.

So, what would Sabum Goodnight do? Breathe. His corny advice for anything–a tough spot in a tournament, a test, whatever–was a cleansing breath. I took a gulp, mouth turned to the side. My lungs ballooned. I gulped air until my ribs cracked. Then I screamed. Sometimes a deep breath can do more on the exhale than simply cleanse. The non-movement of my body, a body I had trained to respond to my every whim as only a dedicated second dan black belt could, freaked me out. I fought to roll to my side, wishing I could thrash like the now quiet cow. Nothing.

Lights strobed across my view, highlighting the divider line reflector not two inches from my nose, beyond that the tail end of the truck thrust straight up like one of those Cadillacs from Car Henge. Though Cody liked to go mudding and do some wild things, I'd never seen him bash its engine in. The body, sure, dents could be banged out. He'd even rolled it once, he came up on his tires laughing like a maniac.

Cody! My voice bull frogged. I hacked, tried to raise a sound past a throat scratched raw by screaming. Cody! The call came louder, but not near strong enough to be heard over the rain. The thunderous drumming of the water competed against me, growing bolder each time I tried to get a word out. Well then. I could do competition. In fact, I thrived on it.

Stop it! I yelled with a strength I hadn't managed before. The strength that had carried me to the top of every tournament I'd ever entered. Just stop.  The storm's fury increased, now adding bits of hail to my misery. Gee thanks. I whispered, spitting constantly now to keep the water from actually carrying out its mission to drown me.

The driver's side door creaked. I knew that sound. I liked to tease Cody that it sounded like that down-and-out good guy's car in one of those 70s flicks he liked to watch. He laughed at me, called it a badge of honor. He tried to fix it once or twice. At this point I didn't care–that annoying sound meant I was not alone.

Meg?

Cody! Over here. Like something from a horror flick he approached. Flash. Closer. Darkness. Flash. Closer. Darkness.

He dropped to his knees by my side. Meg, are you alright?

I can't move. Help me.

He didn't touch me. I just wanted lifted to where the water couldn't drown me. God, Meg, you're bleeding all over. Funny, I couldn't feel anything that felt bad enough to bleed.

Besides, he looked like someone had smashed a softball on his forehead and it stuck there with clotted blood and matted hair. You don't look so hot yourself, I tried to tease. Please Cody, just get me up.

He shook his head. No, I can't move you. You know what they say about neck injuries and all that. Besides, you look all... Even in the horror movie light I could see his eyes shift away. My heart began to thud.

He stood, gazing at the cow, down the road, the truck, anything but me. I gotta get help.

Get your phone. Call your Dad. I prompted. He never could think in a pinch. His strengths included mashing the gas pedal and hoping for the best.

Still, he nodded and patted his back pocket. Checked his shirt then scanned the ground. That bump on the head must have really messed up what little thinking process he had.

I gritted my teeth and forced an exhale. I just had it a minute ago, remember?

Oh, yeah. He trudged towards the truck. In forever and a day, he returned empty handed. Can't find it.

What do you mean you can't find it? You have to. Please just lift me up!

He shrugged. I don't know. Where's yours?

Do I look like I know where it is? Maybe my purse.

He nodded but didn't move. Just stood there. He swayed slightly. Don't fall on me, I yelled.

I'm gonna–we need help. My truck...

No way did he just put his truck before me. What? You're talking crazy, Cody. You can't just leave me in the middle of the road.

He glanced at me, his eyes slid away. Can't move you. Might be a neck injury. I'll hurry. There's got to be a house...Somewhere.

Cody...

I'll find some help. He flashed that smile that made me like him in the first place, then he wobbled drunkenly down the road. Why couldn't the cow resurrect just enough to kick his knee out?

Cody– Why was he still walking? Cody! Get back here.

He never turned, just left me to drown in that stupid rain. So, I screamed, and kept screaming, drowning out that incessant drumming right back.

Chapter Two

It's amazing how a simple repetitive sound can drive someone bat crazy. Simple things. The ticking of a clock. The buzzing of a bee. Rain. But in this case, it was me needling my father. He leaned against the baby blue wall, arms crossed, staring out the window.

I pulled the medical tape on my bandage again. The short ripping sound killing the quiet. His nose pinched. I lay it back down in a slightly different position, smoothing it so it stuck tight. Then I pulled. Rip.

His eyes widened. Would you quit that?

What? I asked innocently.

You know what. His eyes slipped to my arms, bared by the lovely hospital gown. I usually kept them covered, quite a trick since I lived in Texas and half the people went sleeveless most of the year. Hospitals, however, were rather military in their attire selections and I didn't get a choice. The wilted kale green gown aired my secrets for all to gawk at.

Scars in varying degrees of fade climbed from my left wrist all the way up my bicep. Painstakingly spaced to the nearest tenth of a millimeter and all exactly 2 inches long. I know. I measured. I started cutting right after the accident. My shrink said it was about control. I believed her. No one else did.

I met my dad's eyes and pulled. Rip. His face pulled tight and he came off the wall like he planned to hit me. He never had before, but a lot had changed over the last year. Instead, his shin connected with my wheelchair with a pleasant clang. Score one for the chair. He chose that moment to retreat.

A throat cleared on the other side of my bed.

This is a beautiful Bible, Meg. I don't remember you packing it.

I sighed, of course she didn't. I haven't had anything to do with God since the accident. That's beside the fact that people don't actually pack anything when they make the decision to make that lethal, vertical cut. My whole plan was not to wake up. Let alone have someone gift me with a sparkly reminder of how I'd been abandoned by a supposedly loving God.

I had to hand it to my stepmom, she tried. Sometimes too hard. After all, she didn't ask to sit through a suicide watch or have a crippled stepdaughter and everything that came with it when she married my dad. The accident happened a month after their simple wedding. She did it though. Everything. So unfailingly sweet and helpful that I had to fight the urge to pull her hair out. But that would be like kicking a fluffy kitten with sweet eyes and a heart-breaking meow. Despite what people said about me at school, I just didn't work like that.

Tansy brought it to me, I snapped.

Sara Joy turned the rainbow Bible over in her hands. The gems, glued gaudily on the Bible's cover, caught the light causing a myriad of sparkles, turning the boring walls surrounding me into a deceptively magical place. The little girl from your physical therapy class?

Yeah.

That was sweet.

Sweet is not the adjective for Tansy. Determined, yes. Tornadic, certainly. She'd been a paraplegic since eight and a half and had just recently realized her dream of becoming a cheerleader. Kudos for her. Unfortunately, she had also found the God I couldn't. A half hour before my parents showed up, she visited my room, told me her story, and gave me that awful, obviously home-made Bible. All skittles and rainbows for her. But she hadn't had my life before the accident. It had been perfect. Sure, there had been a few little bumps I struggled with–who didn't–but nothing I couldn't control. Now...I glared at the wheelchair that had become my constant companion. Now I had this.

I shrugged, keeping all emotion from my voice. Yeah.

Isn't that the one I read about in the paper? asked Dad. The cheerleader, right?

I tried the one-word, stop-em in their tracks answer again. Yeah. I so knew where he was going with this conversation.

At least she's not moping around slitting her wrists.

Charles! Sara Joy jumped into the conversation on my side, which she often did. I honestly can't say why someone so decent would marry my dad.

Real nice, Dad. Just makes me want to stick around just to hear your comforting words of encouragement.

What?! There are people all over the world in wheelchairs, Meg. They're doing great things, not just in sedentary things, but sports too. Like you used to do.

Used to. I hated those words.

There's a little more to being a second dan black belt than saying 'oh hi, I can't move my legs anymore but here I am to kick your butt'.

The disgust was obvious in his face. It actually hadn't left since he found out I was paralyzed, no more did he have his perfect daughter to parade around in front of his friends.

You're just so stuck in your pig sty of self-pity you can't see anything. Your selfishness just amazes me.

My selfishness?

Think how this looks. The ambulance at the house. Neighbors taking pictures and videos. Think of Sara Joy finding you.

Charles. I think you need to leave me out of this, she injected in a near whisper.

No way could her soft voice ever stop me and Dad. I needed Mom to butt in, screeching like a drill sergeant. That's all you care about, isn't it? How it looks. Your poor crippled daughter just can't handle it and had to commit suicide. Maybe I wanted to leave because of you, you ever think about that?

He blanched. This is not my fault, Meg.

You're saying it's mine? I didn't mean to get hurt. You always act like I planned for Cody to hit that cow so I could mess up your life.

You know what? Fine. Wallow in your self-pity. We've tried everything to help you. Spent money on therapy, shrinks, special classes, a $3000 wheelchair. Sara Joy waits on you hand and foot. Nothing makes you happy. You keep marking yourself up and now this. Why can't you just be happy?

Voices murmured in the hall and he straightened, brushing at his shirt as though straightening his appearance could straighten out our lives. The aid who had been hovering all morning poked her head in.

Did you need any help in here?

No, snapped my father, his facade slipping.

I could do that, get under his skin. The aide disappeared. I sighed, my anger gone. Don't you get it, Dad? I want my old life. I don't want to be happy like this. I motioned to my legs.

He shook his head. This is how you are, Meg, like it or not. He walked over to Sarah Joy and kissed her on the head. I'll see you at dinner, okay?

She nodded and watched him leave without a word.

Why don't you just leave as well? I demanded.

You know I can't do that, Meg.

Well, I'd prefer the aide to sit in. At least she gets paid to be here. Don't they need you at the spa?

She sat forward and rearranged my pillows. I pulled away, but it felt better when she did that. The ladies can handle it. She cocked her head to the side. Maybe. Yesterday, Yasmin, the new girl just out of cosmetology school, turned Mrs. Cox's hair green.

I couldn't hide my smile and help but ask. Really?

Uh huh. She loved it. Her husband is the Dragon's coach and their color is green. Tonight is the big game against the Sun Dogs. Everyone will think she's her husband's biggest fan. Which she is, of course.

I settled back in my pillows, lighter all of a sudden. Sara Joy did that, just made people happy. I think that's why people always added her middle name–not even Dad shortened it. Why do you do that? I couldn't help asking. Sometimes just a little bit of me wanted some of what she had, not that I'd ever tell her.

I like you, Meg.

I frowned my disbelief at her. I'm not stupid, Sara Joy. You don't have to pretend any more–you married my dad okay? No one likes me. Maybe before, but not now.

She smiled. I actually like you better now.

Why?

You're more real. Before you were...

Strong? That's what everyone called me. Even now my PT said I was the strongest girl he'd ever worked with.

Fake is more of what I was thinking.

Ouch. I studied the sparkles on the wall. They seemed to amuse Sara Joy too because she kept moving the Bible back and forth in the sunlight, cupping some with her hand and making patterns. She was artsy that way.

Meg...

Uh oh, whenever someone started a conversation in that tone of voice, I knew something deep was coming. Something I either didn't want to talk about or hear. I stayed quiet so not to encourage her. It didn't work.

You know, if you need to talk, about anything...

I know, I know. I can talk to you right?

Well, yes, but that's not what I meant.

It's not? Darn, I can't believe I asked.

No. I mean you can talk to me, but this Bible got me to thinking.

Oh joy.

What I meant was you can always talk to God, if I'm not around or you feel uncomfortable about...anything really.

I sighed and deflated onto the bed. Yeah, I've heard. Thanks. Been there, done that. Didn't help any other time either.

Chapter Three

With that lovely comment I thought that she might leave me alone for a bit to get some coffee, collect her thoughts, give me a little space at least, but she didn't. Sara Joy can be tenacious. I learned that when she was helping me adjust to being a cripple. She never quit. A trait I once thought applied to me. Trouble was, at my lowest points, when I didn't think I could get out of bed, there she was. Pit bull tenacious beneath that fluffy kitty exterior.

We sat in silence, but I could tell something bugged her. I bit my tongue against asking.

There's something I need to tell you, Meg. Your dad doesn't think you need to know.

I perked up. You're telling me something he told you not to? I never thought she had it in her.

No. I told him I would tell you.

Oh.

It's about your old teacher Mr...Sensi...

Sabum Goodnight?

Yes. She stared at the sparkles from the Bible until the sun went behind a cloud. She seemed inordinately sad for losing a few sparkles. That made my heart catch in my chest, knowing deep down it had something to do with my Tae Kwon Do teacher. He's in the hospital here.

What? Why? Not my teacher. Nothing could hurt him.

I guess he's had diabetes for years and it got pretty bad.

Can diabetes kill someone?

He's...he's having a hard time. So maybe it could, but sugar problems?

Are you trying to tell me he's dying? I shied away from the answer to that question. My death was totally different than someone else's. How did you even find that out? After my accident he'd asked about me a few times–or so they said–even stopped by, then just disappeared. I'd trained under him for 10 years and it took one, maybe two months, and he never showed up again.

The girl running the studio called to let me know. Jealously flared. I used to be that girl, teaching those Little Ninjas, teens with bad attitudes, and condescending adults. Loved every minute of it. Never wanted to stop, wanted to make it my life's work. Then the wheelchair happened. So much for that life plan.

Oh.

Evidently he's been in and out of the hospital for some time.

So?

I thought you might want to go see him. The doctor said they won't discharge you until later this evening.

Are you trying to plan my day? What about my soaps?

Those things will rot your brain.

Might as well.

Meg.

Alright. I threw my covers back and grabbed my chair, swinging into it smoothly. Things like transitions came easily to me. Star pupil in my physical therapy class. That thought made me cringe. Boy my PT was going to be ticked. I missed class. I bet he called my dad and got an earful about the fact that I was in another wing of the hospital under suicide watch. Great. Another person disappointed. That's all I needed. Especially Ty. He always seemed to be in my corner. Positive, complimentary, even amazed with how quickly I adjusted to the chair. Of course, he did get paid for all that niceness.

Sara Joy laid a cuddly blanket across my lap and offered me a sweater. With a grunt of thanks, I slid it over the gown. My thermostat got messed up with the accident. The way healthcare facilities like to blast the air conditioning really got to me sometimes. If warm rooms existed in this hospital, I'd never found one.

A quick spin down the hall brought us to the elevator. A couple of women in scrubs jumped in on the fourth floor and I had to clench my jaw at their pitying sideways stares. They tried to be subtle, but hello, stainless steel polished to a high shine works better than most mirrors.

I took a big breath when I got off, Sara Joy following close but not touching the chair. From day one I established the ground rules between us, including that this was my chair and if I wanted to go somewhere, I would get there–without help. She pretty much abided by our agreement, except when she couldn't help herself. Like the times I went down a curb instead of searching for the wheelchair ramp. Seems like they are never where I needed them anyway. Scared her half to death, though to be honest I have never tipped over. All those years of practicing my balance stayed with me to some degree.

Do you think I could talk to him alone? I asked.

Sara Joy studied me. I knew the rules as well as she, we'd both been here before. When I first realized I was paralyzed I'd gotten a little depressed and they put me on suicide watch. Technically I needed to be accompanied at all times.

Sure.

The women at the desk told us the room number and I spun towards it, my heartbeat picking up speed with each wheel turn. I didn't have to push on the door, it stood wide open, beckoning. So much like his personality. I hesitated. Sara Joy put a hand on my shoulder. I shook it off and pushed in.

The hospital bed was just like mine, but that's where the similarity ended. Lines led from his bare chest and his arms to a variety of bags and beeping equipment. They made a constant humming noise like a swarm of bees that made me want to bat at the air. The room smelled like old socks, a scent that told me he'd been here a while. No matter how many times a person showered, sitting in bed created that nasty, creeping smell.

Ms. Barnes. His deep voice rumbled from the mound of bleached white blankets. Out of habit I sat up straighter. Something in the way he spoke to everyone, with respect, brought out the best in people. Even bat crazy kids straightened when Sabum Goodnight addressed them. He almost never used a first name, oh no, he always used Mr. or Ms. for even the youngest student.

Second children in the family at the dojang were called by their first name, but all with the term of respect. It always amazed me how such a simple practice put a gleam of self-confidence in a little girl's eye or stiffened a boy's spine. But then again, something about Mr. Goodnight made everyone want