Spoiler Meta Spoiler Meta
Stepping Up
The sight was familiar now: Ben in the visitor’s chair with a crossword book. Matt no longer wondered if he’d come.
“You’re early,” he said, picking at his tape square.
“Can’t resist hospital breakfast.”
“Yeah. Right.”
Before Ben could reply, the door opened and Tasha came in.
“Morning, Matt. Ready to get back at it?”
“Sure. Let’s pretend this was my idea.”
“And here I thought you’d be in a good mood after they cleared your leg.”
“I was,” Matt said flatly. “Until she showed up.”
Tasha laughed. “Alright, funny guy. Let’s see if you’re still cracking jokes after this session.”
“I’m mostly hoping to stay conscious and vaguely dignified.”
“Need me to clear out?”
“Not unless Matt wants you gone.”
Matt hesitated. “Stay. You might as well watch me embarrass myself.”
“Front row seats and a full report for Lucy. Perfect morning.”
Tasha had the wheelchair positioned beside the bed, the sliding board resting across the gap like a bridge. She then fitted a brace around Matt’s right wrist for support.
“Alright, Matt. Left hand here on the board, right hand on the armrest for balance. I’ll guide your legs, but I need you to focus on your arms. This is about control, not speed.”
Six weeks out from surgery, and everything about it still felt new again.
Matt braced himself. His left hand gripped the board—the only part of him that still moved like it used to—while his right dropped clumsily to the armrest, fingers curling sluggishly.
“Right hand for balance only,” Tasha reminded him. “No pushing with that shoulder.”
He shifted his weight forward as far as he could, arms trembling with the strain. His legs dragged behind as dead weight. The right lagged worse now, locked by the new knee brace meant to protect it.
“Right on track,” Tasha said as she guided his leg. “Control first. The rest will follow.”
Ben held the far end of the board. “Almost there. Take your time.”
Matt hauled himself into the chair, breath tight, arms barely keeping pace with his weight. The final effort took everything he had.
“That was a clean transfer,” she said. “You nailed it.”
“Barely,” he muttered, this time without bitterness.
“Barely counts,” Ben said, stepping back as Tasha adjusted his legs and footrests.
“This is a great start. Progress like this adds up faster than you think.”
“Sure. Let me know when there’s a formula.”
Once in the therapy room, Tasha secured him to the tilt table, wide bands holding his torso and legs in place. His arms were already past their limit, but he said nothing as she worked the controls.
“We’ll start at 20 degrees. Let me know if you feel anything. Pressure, tingling, anything at all.”
The motor kicked in, and the table began its gradual ascent. Matt kept his eyes on the ceiling as weight shifted into his legs, the ache distant but present.
Then, just beneath the knees, something else. Fainter. Harder to trust.
He drew a slow breath, forcing himself to relax.
“Anything yet?” Tasha asked.
“Thighs,” Matt said after a moment. “Knees, maybe. Shins… I don’t know. Something weird.”
“That’s good. Weird means progress. We’ll hold here for a bit before we go higher.”
Ben stood off to the wall, arms crossed, giving him space.
“You’re doing fine,” he said. “Better than you think.”
Matt focused on the pressure in his legs a moment longer before he spoke.
“Thanks. For staying.”
“I said I would.”
Back in his room, Matt was resting in bed, relieved to be out of the TLSO. Ben sat nearby.
“You didn’t crash the tilt table. Proud of you.”
Matt blinked, then gave the hint of a nod. “Low bar.”
“You know, we could always fire that up. A little Bruce Willis never hurts.”
“You and your movies,” he grumbled. “You’ve got a real theme going, you know that?”
“A theme? It’s called taste.”
“It’s called explosions. Every one of them’s the same. Guns, fire, and someone running through glass.”
“It’s a formula for a reason. Don’t tell me you’re too good for it.”
“Just saying... it wouldn’t kill you to mix it up.”
“Sure. I’ll dig up one of my dad’s old VHS tapes. Tractor maintenance, 1987. Narrated by a guy who lost a bet.”
“Better than Backdraft.”
“Pretty sure your origin story started with Ghostbusters.”
Matt went for a comeback, but the energy drained too fast. He left it there.
“Looks like you’re off shift,” Ben said, rising. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Don’t burn the place down.”
“Don’t bring another action movie,” he said, running out of steam.
“Fine. The Little Mermaid it is.”
As the door clicked shut, Matt reached over and tapped the play button. The screen lit up with helicopters and blaring music.
He let it play.
Outside the hospital, rain fell in a light mist as Ben held down Lucy’s number.
“Hey,” he said as soon as she picked up. “You’re gonna want to hear this.”
“Go on,” she said, quicker than usual.
“He gave me shit about explosions.”
That earned a breath of a laugh. “There he is.”
“He didn’t shut down. Stayed with me the whole session.”
Lucy was quiet for a second.
“He let you see it.”
“Yeah.”
“Took the energy to complain, huh.”
“Yeah.”
The rain gleamed in the sunlight.
“I didn’t think I’d get that back,” he said.
Her voice went wry. “You two really are a package deal.”
The call ended.
“You and your movies.”
He glanced toward the hospital doors.
Matt was in there. Letting him in.
Rain traced along his jacket as he jogged across the lot to his car.
- ← Previous
Pull Request - Next →
Getting Over