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Feel That
“Okay, Matt,” said Tasha, his physical therapist. “We’re going to start with some light sensory stimulation. Let me know if you feel anything. Pressure, vibration, even the faintest tingling.”
He nodded, barely. The brace held his torso rigid, neck included. Not much to expect. Tools tapping against skin he couldn’t feel. Always unanswered.
It wasn’t frustrating anymore. That would’ve meant he still hoped.
But… there might have been something once. A tiny twitch in his left thigh, days before he was cleared to leave the ICU. So small he doubted it even happened.
Tasha adjusted her gloves. His right leg, waiting on surgery, sat fixed in its frame. She started on the left thigh. Matt kept his gaze on the floor, mind drifting.
Then a flicker.
Faint. Like static from a weak radio signal, deep under the skin.
His brow tightened. One hard knock in his chest. He tried to catch it again.
“Matt?” Tasha said. “Anything?”
“I think… I think I felt that.”
“That’s great, Matt. Let’s keep going. Tell me the second you feel anything else.”
She moved to the right thigh. At first, nothing. Then, subtle as a match strike, it came again.
“Yeah,” he said. “I felt that. On the right, too.”
“That’s real progress. It’s a good sign the neural pathways could still be active. We’ll keep building on this.”
A good sign. Progress.
Maybe. But it was only that.
The session wrapped with more tests, more notes, Tasha talking him through the plan. Matt went along without absorbing a word.
“What did it feel like? Was it sharp? Tingly? Oh my god, Matt, this is huge! I mean, it’s early, but you felt it, right?”
Lucy kept talking as the orderly wheeled him back, still going as she helped settle him in.
“I told you,” she said, teasing. “This is what progress looks like.”
“If you say so.”
“I do. You felt something. That means we’re not stopping.”
She meant it. He knew that. But hearing it only made it harder.
“Alright. You look like you need a minute. I’ll come back in a bit.”
The room went quiet. Matt stared into nothing above.
You don’t have to be here, if it’s too much.
What he threw at Ben didn’t feel the same as it had then. With something new stirring in him, he wished—he didn’t know what. That Ben had been there? That he’d seen it? That he wasn’t still gone?
He could pretend Ben had his reasons. Maybe he even did. But the silence didn’t feel like space. It felt like being left to deal with it alone.
Taking it one step at a time.
Easy from someone who gets to walk away.
He thought of the ICU. That first trace, there, then gone.
This one had been stronger. Real.
It was progress. He could admit that. But it sure as hell wasn’t enough.
The echo in his legs lingered. He watched the overhead lights, willing it to count for something. Anything he could hold onto.
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