Final

NOTE: This is the final chapter of a series I started long ago and left dangling. My apologies to the readers that waited... and thanks to the reader that encouraged me to finish it.

(punch, punch - kick)

(punch, punch - kick)

(punch, punch - kick)

(punch, punch - kick)

Buddy, you're a boy, make a big noise, playing in the street, gonna be a big man someday. You got mud on your face, you big disgrace, kicking your can all over the place, singin'

We will, we will rock you

(punch, punch - kick) (punch, punch - kick)

We will, we will rock you

(punch, punch - kick) (punch, punch - kick)

Buddy, you're a young man, hard man, shouting in the street, gonna take on the world someday. You got blood on your face, you big disgrace, waving your banner all over the place.

We will, we will rock you

(punch, punch - kick) (punch, punch - kick)

We will, we will rock you

(punch, punch - kick) (punch, punch - kick)

Buddy, you're an old man, poor man, pleading with your eyes, gonna make you some peace someday. You got mud on your face, big disgrace, somebody better put you back into your place.

We will, we will rock you, sing it

We will, we will rock you, everybody

We will, we will rock you, hmm

We will, we will rock you

Alright

I worked the punching bag at the gym, doing the routine set for me by my occupational therapist. Everybody loved that heartbeat that drove the Queen song, stadiums in my memories were always rumbling with it. The pulse of it was addictive, but for me, there was something about Freddie Mercury's rat-a-tat-tat chant dancing over it that stuck in my head. Before my accident, I thought it was because it represented how my ADHD brain worked in the world. Offbeat, way faster, but still keeping time with the plodding fools that tried to keep up. Now, the song was my occupational therapist's challenge. Keep two beats at the same time.

My brain still didn't fit in the world. People who knew me before the accident were out of their minds happy to see me back. They all told me everything I'd missed in their lives, but from what it sounded like, I was missing out on their lives long before the accident. My old girlfriends sent me emails with pictures, emojis and long, long paragraphs with a lot of words bunched together that made me tired. Lots of things like that made me tired.

My watch notified me that it was time to get ready for my appointment with the woman who had spent hours putting my head back together after the accident, Dr. Leela Vaidya, so I wiped down the gear, used the sanitizer spray over everything I had touched, and wobbled toward the showers and locker room, drawing the eyes of the other gym rats. People never quite knew what to make of my unsteady gait. I looked strong. Fuck that, I was strong. I was ripped. I had worked hard to become strong again in the last year, but I still had some nerve damage that affected my legs. I could use them, but I couldn't completely feel or trust them, so I walked like I was a little drunk.

I wished I was drunk. Thinking about what I had to do next, I wished I had some of my old bravado to get me through it, but I knew liquid courage would be a mistake. I needed to stay sharp or I would screw it up, and there was no way I would waste my chance like that. "Dr. Lee" made my head spin. She had eyes to make a careful man reckless, and a reckless man... smitten. That old word was the only thing that came close to what I lived with every day, just thinking about her. When I had been with women before, I had felt like a stone skipping on water, each brief fling just anticipating the next woman. This felt like an anchor dropping into the sea by comparison. Over the last year of talking with her, learning from her, watching her care about so many people while sometimes looking so tired she could barely see straight, I had finally found a goal that I could focus on. I was hopelessly in love with a woman whose face I'd never even completely seen because she was always behind a mask and shield whenever I saw her. Fucking PPE. I hate COVID.

I arrived 20 minutes early to the small outdoor garden where my online appointment with Dr. Lee had been rescheduled when I mentioned that I would be at the hospital for occupational therapy that day. I took the end of a bench that would seat both of us with adequate social distance.

I saw her walking toward me from the building, recognizing her instantly, though she was still far away. She stripped off her shield and mask as she walked, a look of relief spreading across her face. I kept my cotton mask on. I didn't want to put her at any more risk than she was in every day, and besides, I knew I wouldn't be speaking anyway.

I stood up when she got close, leaving three fingertips on the bench for stability. "Cole, it's so good to see you! You look wonderful! How are you?" she signed in American Sign Language, the language she had made me learn to develop my language skills again. We sat down and I found myself staring at her. I couldn't help it. I'd gone so long just experiencing her eyes, that the sudden revelation of her entire face shook me. If I wasn't already on the bench, I would have needed to sit down.

I swallowed and stared at her stupidly until I remembered how to speak. "Good, yeah. I'm great," I said, giving myself a mental shake. "You have a mouth..." I signed, before I could stop myself.

Her eyebrows quirked until they raised in realization. "Yes, I do have a mouth. It's hungry," she signed, "I haven't eaten since breakfast," she said, clutching her stomach as if dying of hunger. Frowning, I pointed toward the cafeteria, silently offering to take our appointment there. She shook her head, "Oh, no, it's so much nicer out here. Tell me how you've been. We didn't have a follow-up until November. Are you sure you're alright?" she asked, her eyes taking in everything.

"Yeah, no, I'm great. The seizures are manageable. I've gotten good at learning the signs of when things are getting to be too much. I'm walking pretty well, talking, putting on my clothes in the right order, identifying smells, and I can keep a beat to just about anything, so if not for the pandemic, we could go dancing right now," I signed, spreading my arms wide to display my awesomeness.

"That is so good to hear," she signed, laughing at my clowning around. My heart was going like a racehorse, and I took a deep breath trying to bring myself down from the place I'd learned to recognize as the seizure zone. I saw her watching me do it. Her eyes were beautiful, but they also didn't miss a thing. "So, what can I do for you, Cole?" she signed, nodding in knowing approval as she saw me managing my brain and body's new needs.

I took a deep breath and my hands froze in the air in front of me. I couldn't think of how to begin, how breach that barrier between us that would either begin the rest of my life or end in disaster. Then, the audio notification on my watch sounded, "In fifteen minutes, meet with the amazing woman who saved your life and thank her. Then fire her, and ask if she will go out with you in six months when she won't lose her license for it." My eyes bulged and I began desperately trying to find the button or switch that would take the notifications off audio. "Tell her you are more than financially secure," it continued as I growled and began pulling at the clasp while trying to muffle the words coming out of my watch that I could not bring myself to say to her. I finally got the damn thing off my wrist and threw it in the bushes nearby, where unfortunately the notifications still came out as loud as ever, "Tell her your children together would be absolutely adorable and possibly magical."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," I said, wincing with my eyes closed. "It's my sister. She came here to help me get things back together and now that she's back home again, she sets up my watch and schedule with an app. She sends me these notifications that are... fuck. She claims she's not doing it, but--" I said, forgetting to sign anymore.

When I opened my eyes, Dr. Lee wasn't at the end of the bench anymore. She poking through the bushes until she found my watch, which was providing helpful information gathered from my ex-girlfriends on my cunnilingus skills when Dr. Lee mercifully silenced it by pressing a button on the side. She walked back to the bench, took my arm in her warm hands, and put the damn thing back on me. Then, without releasing my hand and wrist, she just looked at me. I wasn't breathing. I was just sitting there trying to figure out what it was that I was seeing in her face.

"I have a sister, too. Priya. I'll be seeing her in 6 months when I go with my family to India," she said, her eyes traveling over my arm, to my face, and then back to where she still held my hand in hers. "My father says they may have found a good match for me... which is rare in my culture... with my age and profession..." she said, her eyes willing me to understand.

"You mean an arranged marriage? You're just going to marry someone they choose for you? That doesn't seem like you..." I said quietly, trying to control my voice. She was still holding my hand, still looking at herself holding my hand.

"Does it really seem so crazy?" she asked, "Our hearts don't always lead us to the right decisions... and expectations are different in my culture. Here, you start the marriage hot and then your heart breaks as you watch as things cool until they fall apart. With arranged marriages, you start warm and committed to the idea of building a life together... and then you build heat as you come to know each other. That's how it's supposed to work, anyway. The parents look at options, then meet each other and do background checks on the people they're serious about, then if everyone thinks it's a good idea, they have the two meet. If the two agree, they marry. I won't pretend that I will be doing it without some regrets, but yes... I probably will marry in 6 months," she said to our clasped hands.

"But... even if you don't know the guy? Not really? You'd just trust your parents to--"

"Trust them? Cole, every choice I have ever seen my parents make was about what was best for me and my family. Do you think they would take the decision lightly? They know me better than anyone ever has. They have known me my whole life. There are under 100 female neurosurgeons in India -- that's only 2.5% of all of them, but my parents supported me in becoming one. They knew it could mean I might never marry or have children because it's so damn busy, but they still supported me. They did it because they knew it was right for me. Yes, I trust them with this decision. I trust them more than I trust myself with it," she said looking up at me, the fierce pride in her eyes telling me all that I needed to know.

"They were right to do it... to support you being a neurosurgeon," I said, accepting my fate. "I got the medical records from my stay. Two doctors tried to call me as DOA. They didn't think there was a point in trying to save me. You disagreed," I said.

"Well, don't tell anyone else this, but I kind of kidnapped you, actually. They were off discussing organ donation when I re-wrote the orders and took you to surgery. Got me reprimanded for not playing well with others... again," she said, chagrined.

"They had probably seen hundreds of motorcycle accident victims die with the same injuries..." I said, nodding in understanding.

"Yeah... but they hadn't seen you play that Sounders game, so they probably didn't realize how little of your brain you were accustomed to using," she said, her eyes lighting up wickedly. I rolled my eyes and groaned at the jab. God, she never failed to give me crap about that damn game. I loved her for that. I loved her for a lot of things.

We sat there in silence until I felt her squeeze my hand. When I looked up, the wickedness was gone and her eyes were brimming with tears that I couldn't wipe away for her. "I'm... I'm really going to miss you, Cole," she said, her voice thick with emotion.

"Good," I said, making her laugh as the tears fell out of her eyes and rolled down her cheeks and into the deep crevice left by her tight N95 mask. "Well, even if you won't be dancing with me in 6 months, I'm still going to need you to help me get another doctor. Someone in San Francisco... I'm moving, see," I said, getting up from the bench, resolved. She still held my hand in hers, not like she was supporting an invalid, but like her hands felt so at home with mine that she had forgotten they were there.

Her face went blank, stunned, so I shrugged apologetically. "Oh... I didn't know," she said, wiping the tears off her cheek with her shoulder. "I'm actually from the Bay Area, originally. I'll have my office send you a few names. So... this is goodbye then?" she said.

I nodded, putting my other hand where hers were holding mine, meaning to shake hands, but instead we just stood there like that. "It's goodbye, and thank you Leela... thank you for my life. Hamaare punah milane tak..." I recited Hindi phrase I'd memorized, hoping that Google Translate wasn't horribly wrong about the phrase "until we meet again...."

"Goodbye Cole," she murmured.

I nodded, squeezed her hands, released them, and walked away without looking back. I didn't trust myself to. I walked with my wavering gait out to the hospital's parking lot and flagged my waiting Uber. Before getting in, I looked back at the building, my gaze lingering on the 8th floor. "Goodbye," I whispered, more to that time of my life than to anyone in particular.

As I climbed into the car, my watch sounded a notification. I frowned because I knew I didn't have any more events until the moving truck came for my stuff tomorrow morning. On the screen was the text message: "You should have kissed her, Cowboy..."

I looked back at the building as the car pulled away, growing smaller in the distance. I looked back at the message again and cleared it. Must've been a wrong number.

*** *** ***

My body rose up off the bed at the erotic torture of Leela dragging her long wavy hair up my naked body, crawling over me like a giant cat trying to decide which part of her prey to devour first. I hoped it was my cock, but really, I'd be happy with anything. When she reached my face, she lay down on me, her warm, curvy body molding to mine. I opened my eyes to see her beautiful face, framed with that shiny black hair reaching down to me, enveloping me. I leaned up to kiss her, but she pulled back slightly, a teasing look on her face. Her eyes wanted the kiss even more than I did, but she wouldn't give in easily. She wanted me, but she wouldn't give herself easily... because in her eyes, I wasn't a cripple, but her work of art.

Pretending to lean up again to try kiss her again, I put my hands on her hips and moved her onto my cock the moment she backed away again and the sweetest sound of outrage and bliss came out of her lips as I slid up inside her warm, wet kingdom. I'd get that kiss out of her, I just had to work a little harder...

My watch ended my dream just as I was beginning my workout with Leela and announced the phone call from my tormenter at 5:26 am, because he must have realized that I had just begun setting my alarm for 5:30 am for his calls and he wanted to make sure he woke me because he enjoyed torturing me.

"Good morning, Sir," I said, yawning to give him the satisfaction of hearing it. "How 'bout we go out for breakfast after my run this morning?" I asked, hoping that repeated exposure to me would warm the cold dead tissue where his heart used to be.

"And why do you think I would want to be awake at that hour, Cole Howard? To drink the slurry you call 'chai' and watch you defile your body with the flesh of animals?" he asked, his voice bubbling with enjoyment at my misery, and not a bit sleepy.

"You're right of course. I don't know what I was thinking, sir," I said, grinning. "What can I do for you?"

"In which city did your mother whelp you in the street?"

"Whelp? I don't think people use that word anymore, Sir. Um... I was whelped in Punxsutawney. Didn't it say that on my birth certificate?"

"Your documents could have been forgeries. I only trust the guileless confessions of the wakening mind," he said. I heard him typing on a keyboard nearby. "Aha! There is no such place, Cole Howard. Our agreement is void," he said, gloating.

"Check how you spelled it, Sir. It takes a few times to get it right," I said, running my fingers through my hair and ruffling it to get the blood flowing. I heard more tapping, then what sounded like a curse in Hindi, then more tapping. Sometimes I think Punxsutawney just spelled it that way to mess with people.

"This certificate of birth does not say how many seconds after 1:18am you were born," he said with disgust at the lack of information.

"If I recall, that was one of the reasons I was crying at the time of my birth, Sir..." I replied, staring at the ceiling of my bedroom, willing myself not to fall asleep again.

"Hm... this says you score 33 out of 36 as a match," he said.

"And scores as low as 18 get approved as a match, so that's a very high score. That's what I showed you before you mocked me for doing a kundali horoscope matching in this day and age, sir," I said, wishing I could get up and go to the bathroom, but I didn't want him to hear me do it. I just had to get through this.

"As well you should be mocked, Cole Howard. Your request was ignorant and preposterous. This says you have no mangal dosha... no surprises there... and she is low manglik. As if she would score low on anything," he muttered. "This says she will need to be married to a tree or mud pot first, and that her groom would need to avoid wearing the color red," he said, almost to himself. Then, he started humming. He hummed a lot.

I waited. He backed out of our deal every other day, but I was encouraged that he was actually looking into the idea. "So, are we back on, Sir?" I asked when my bladder was near the breaking point.

"I do not have season tickets yet, Cole Howard. There is no 'on' without them, as you know," he reminded me.

"You'll have them, sir. I'm working on it," I said with more confidence than I felt.

"You are not good enough for her," he said, "Before my daughter gave you back your life, you were a frivolous, shallow and unfocused man. Show me that you are one no longer. Season tickets."

"Yes, Sir," I said, shortly before he hung up and left me in silence.

I ambled to the bathroom and took care of business. Season tickets... to a San Francisco MLS team that didn't fucking exist... yet.

*** *** ***

Three months ago, after the initial shock, Arunkumar Vaidya pretended to take me seriously at the impromptu meeting he granted me at his home, and so I provided him with my birth certificate, credit history, copies of recent bank statements, last five addresses, all my social media accounts, a list of all my previous relationships, and after an on-the-spot demand, a screenshot of my browser search history. The guy was good. Thankfully, it was all articles on arranged marriage in India and not PornHub. In the file, I also had my attempt at doing a kundali horoscope match test between me and Leela that I'd gotten from a website. I didn't have the time of her birth, because I wasn't a total creep, but I did know her birthday and her birthplace in San Francisco.

He sat there looking through the file on the Colorado Rapids USB drive that I'd given him. I felt like I was waiting to see if I'd be approved for a loan. As it turned out, the loan was declined.

"I see nothing here to recommend you as a husband, Cole Howard. You have no job," he said, matter-of-factly.

"No, Sir. I wasn't able to do my job after the accident, so I'm on Social Security Disability while I build up my abilities to do another job," I said, nodding.