My Life Is You

They wouldn’t leave him alone. All he wanted was to be left alone. But they wouldn’t do it. They kept bugging him. Pushing him. Forcing him to react. Well, he wanted none of it. He didn’t want to learn to walk again, to learn Braille, to regain the strength in his arm. All he wanted was to be left alone.

Time had gone by slowly after the accident. He hadn’t had anything to do while he was in the hospital other than sit and brood. He couldn’t listen to the books on tape Brad had brought him. That would have been too painful. Instead, he had just sat there, doing nothing.

They had moved him into a room with two beds three days after Brad’s visit. He’d had a roommate. Some guy who had tried to talk to him, but Dillon had wanted none of it.

What was there to talk about? He was blind. He was single. He was alone. Not much to talk about on his part.

He had finally been released. The guy who had hit him was incredibly rich and Dillon was lucky that he had been well insured. The guy was paying for an at-home nurse so that Dillon would be able to live at home, instead of a nursing home.

A nursing home. Was that where he would end up? People weren’t supposed to be in nursing homes before their seventies! But, what other options were there for him? He couldn’t work anymore. It was hard to be a computer analyst when you couldn’t see a computer screen. Even when he could walk again, he wouldn’t be able to drive to the grocery store. What use was he?

Dillon didn’t fool himself. Brad hadn’t left because he felt guilty. Brad left because he knew Dillon was now worthless.

He heard two voices talking and then quiet laughter. The at-home nurse must have the television on, he thought to himself. After all, we’re the only two here.

The door to his bedroom opened then and Dillon realized that he heard two sets of steps. Who else could possibly be here? He had chased all his friends away within the first week of coming home. Tell someone to go away enough times and he finally listens to you. Nor did he have any family, his parents having disowned him for being gay long ago.

"Well, Mr. Marshall," came the voice of Ms. Sterning, "You have succeeded in chasing away your physical therapist. I hope you are proud of yourself."

Dillon shrugged. It didn’t really matter whether the therapist showed up or not. He had no plans on doing anything remotely therapeutical.

"I don’t know why you care one way or another, Nurse Sterning," Dillon replied, a note of bitterness in his voice. "You get paid even if I don’t get better. In fact, it’s probably better for you if I never recover use of anything. At least you’ll have job security."

"That’s it, I’ve heard enough," the other person in the room finally spoke. Dillon had almost forgotten him. His voice sounded vaguely familiar. "I think you need to leave Mr. Marshall and me alone for a while Nurse Sterning. We have a lot to talk about."

"I’m more than happy to let you have him, Mr. Evans. I have the marketing to do and the laundry to finish."

Dillon heard her walk from the room and firmly close the door. He had no idea who he was alone with. The voice was familiar, but the name was not. None of his friends were named Evans. Nor were any of the numerous doctors that had poked and prodded him since the accident.

"Ok, we’re alone now Dillon," the man named Evans said. "And we’re going to lay down some ground rules." His voice was slightly steely and Dillon could almost feel the waves of resolve emanating from his body.

"Look," Dillon burst out, "I don’t know who you are and why you’re here, but you can just get the hell out. I’m not in a mood to deal with people just now."

Suddenly Dillon felt hands braced on either side of his hips. He smelled the man’s slightly minty breath as Evans got in his face. "Oh, I’m sure you’re not. As I remember, you’re not in the mood to deal with anything anymore. Well, that’s too damn bad! You may have chased away one physical therapist, but you won’t chase away me. You’re stuck with me just like I’m stuck with you. It seems fate has decided that whether we like it or not, we are going to know each other. You didn’t want to get to know me before, well now you have no choice!"

"What the hell do you mean I didn’t want to get to know you before?" Dillon demanded. "We’ve never met before, so how could I possibly know you?"

"Ah," Evans said, as he stood up. "You don’t remember my last name, huh? Well, it’s your old pal, Seth, and I’m here to get you walking and functioning again."

"I DON’T KNOW ANY SETH!" Dillon bellowed at the top of his lungs.

"Yes you do Dillon. You may not remember me, but you do know me. And I’ll be damned if I’ll let you throw away your life now!"

Dillon felt the covers ripped from his body. The next moment a pair of strong arms picked him up and deposited him in the rarely used wheelchair next to the bed. Apparently Seth Evans didn’t take "no" for an answer.

"We’ll start with the basics and go on from there," Seth said as he wheeled Dillon out of the bedroom and down the hall. "You had good muscles once upon a time, but inactivity is taking a toll on you. You still have a good foundation, but you need to work on getting those muscles strong enough again to make yourself mobile."

The wheelchair stopped and once again Seth picked Dillon up. Now, Dillon was by no means a small man. Before the accident, Dillon had been heavily into the martial arts and yoga. His body had been hard and muscular, but with flexibility most men could not claim. Standing at just over 6’2", Dillon’s frame had been a hard packed 220 pounds. Some of that muscle had converted to flesh, but Dillon was still large.

Seth was even larger. Dillon could tell just from the few moments he had been in Seth’s arms. Seth’s arms and chest were well muscled, and there was a sense of height when he picked Dillon up. It took him longer to straighten than it would a man of average height.

Having been deposited on a padded table, Dillon felt around himself. The table seemed to be leather or vinyl, covered by a smooth sheet. The table was narrow, not much wider than Dillon’s hips. If he were to lie down, his shoulders would actually overhang the edges a bit.

"This is a massage table," Seth announced. "And yes, we’ll use it for massages. But we’re also going to use it to get you on the road to recovery."

Seth pressed his hands to Dillon’s shoulders, pushing him down to lie upon the table. "Now, reach up and grab the bar above you."

"What bar?" Dillon demanded. "You seem to forget that I can’t see anything."

"I haven’t forgotten that you can’t see, Dillon. But you seem to have forgotten that you don’t need your eyes to make your arms work!" Seth’s hand grasped Dillon’s. "Everyone has ended up without light at least once. Think! You put your hands out and felt for what you knew was there. A light switch, a lamp, a wall, whatever you needed to find. Well, now you need to find that bar and that’s exactly what you’re going to do."

Forcing Dillon’s arms into an extended position, Seth stood back. "Someday you’re going to need to get up for some reason. I’m not going to be there and Nurse Sterning will be busy down in the kitchen or the laundry. You’ll have to do it on your own. You’ll have to be independent. That independence starts here, starts now, when you grab that bar."

"And what the hell am I supposed to do once I’m up?" Dillon demanded. "I can’t see, so I can’t do what used to be my job. I can’t drive anywhere. I can’t even look up the number for a taxi in the phone book! I’m going nowhere and I’m doing nothing. So excuse me if I don’t want to put myself through all the pain of rehab just to end up back in bed or sitting on the couch. Now take me the hell back to bed!"

"If you want to get back to bed," Seth replied, "you’re going to have to pull yourself up into a sitting position. We’ll deal with what to do once you’re up later. For now, you’re getting yourself up. And you’re starting by grabbing that bar!"

"And if I don’t?" there was a note of belligerence in Dillon’s voice.

"Then you’ll just lay there until you do because I’m not helping you back to bed," Seth said with finality. Dillon heard him walk away. Then, there was the slight creak of springs as Seth sat upon the guestroom bed. Some rustling followed, Seth cleared his throat once, and next came the sound of papers being flipped. Finally, it grew quiet.

Dillon was determined to call Seth’s bluff. There was no way he’d be left to lie here all day, much less all night. It was too dangerous. While awake, he could feel where the edges were. If he fell asleep, he might roll off. And while his arm was now cast free, it wasn’t ready for that kind of impact. Also, his knee still had some complicated contraption wrapped around it. A fall now would be just about the worst thing that could happen to it.

So Dillon lay on the table and Seth read his book. As time slowly passed, Dillon began to fidget. He was hungry and he needed to relieve himself, but he’d be damned if he’d ask Seth for help. It was Seth’s job to help him and Dillon was going to force him to do it.

Time continued to tick away and Dillon’s bladder demanded release with greater urgency. At one point, Seth even got up himself and used the bathroom. But he never said a word to Dillon. He just arranged himself back on the bed and began reading again.

Just when Dillon was about to give up and say something to Seth, he heard footsteps in the hall. Nurse Sterning! She would surely help him. The door opened and a smile spread across his face.

"I thought I would just inform you that I’m back from the market," Nurse Sterning said in her proper manner. "I’m going to begin supper, but would you like anything to eat or drink until then Mr. Evans?"

"Thank you, Nurse Sterning, but I’m fine for now," Seth replied.

"Well, if that will be all . . ."

"No! That won’t be all!" Dillon exploded. "Nurse Sterning, I want you to help me down off this table and to the bathroom. After that, I would like something to eat before dinner."

"I’m afraid I can’t do that Mr. Marshall," Nurse Sterning spoke with a pleasant tone. "That table is part of your therapy. I’m sure Mr. Evans will remove you from it when he believes it is time to do so. I wouldn’t dream of impeding your progress." With that said, she firmly shut the door and left.

"So you have to use the bathroom, huh?" Seth questioned. "I can help you do that, but you need to sit up first."

Dillon was in shock. What had just happened? Surely this was all just a bad dream! But somehow he knew it was not.

The accident hadn’t been. His blindness hadn’t been. Brad’s breaking up with him hadn’t been. There was no reason for this to be.

In the downward spiral of life, Dillon felt like he was rapidly sinking to the bottom. He didn’t even have the solace of numbness. No, that had worn off long ago. He felt everything now. He felt it deeply.

At the moment, though, he felt lost. Not angry, not sad, just lost. He’d lost everything. Now, he was even lost in his own home. He remembered the guestroom, but he couldn’t tell you how many steps it was from the bed to the door. A massage table had been added. He didn’t know exactly where it had been placed, even if he had a general idea. Which side would lead to the bathroom? Which would lead to the hall?

That’s when Dillon felt tears trickling down his cheeks. He tried very hard not to sob. It would do him no good since Seth obviously had no sympathy in his heart. So, Dillon fought not to embarrass himself.

But the emotions rushing around in him were just too overwhelming to contain. They needed an outlet. His body began to shake and tremble. The table slightly creaked underneath him. Then a sob burst from him. If he’d had the strength, he would have curled onto his side and held himself. Instead, he just lay there and sobbed his heart out. The tears scalded the sides of his face and his mouth filled with the salty liquid as they ran onto his lips.

The storm lasted a good five minutes. When it was over, his body was even weaker than before. His head felt clearer, however. He sucked in deep breaths and slowly let them out.

So Seth was going to force him after all. Seth had won. Dillon didn’t feel like he had lost, however. He had actually gained a great deal of insight. He was lost. The horrible pressure he had felt in his chest was the sense of being lost and alone. Well, he could live with it or he could do something about it.

Dillon decided to do something about it. He wiped his sweaty palms on his t-shirt and then reached out for the bar.

Note: To all self-respecting physical therapists, I greatly apologize. I actually know nothing about your profession or the techniques you use to help severely injured individuals. I hope you can find it within yourselves to forgive my creative license and enjoy the story at face value.