Walker
I bench-press until my arms burn and the physical therapy guy has to come over and tell me to stop. I’m dripping with sweat but I don’t want to stop. I didn’t want to come down here, but José pep-talked me into it and Sanchez wouldn’t get off my back either. I remembered, too, Doctor Monroe’s admonishment yesterday about acting like a marine.
That bugged me. More than I let on at the time. But when I got myself calmed down, I realized it was because I knew he was right. I’ve been moping around for too long. Sanchez isn’t lying around feeling sorry for himself. He’s back in the game, setting himself goals, working toward them. In the end, as well as being sick of hanging out all day in my room, it was the taunt about being able to beat me in a physical that got me going. I was always top of the class—no one could ever beat me in endurance training. Now a three-year-old could probably slay me, no trouble. So I keep going, switching to the rowing machine with the help of the physical therapist. He warns me to go gentle on my shoulder and knee, but I tell him it’s fine. In truth, I like the burn. It gives me something to focus on. And I’m also thinking that if I push myself to the edge, maybe tonight I’ll sleep right through, no nightmares.
Last night I woke up screaming again, but this time there was no Didi waiting in the dark by my bed to chase the dreams away.
“Hey, Lieutenant.”
I don’t recognize the voice. “Who’s that?” I ask.
“It’s me. Dodds.”
“Oh, hey,” I pant, keeping up my pace on the rowing machine.
“You training for the triathlon?” he asks in a strong Alabama accent.
“Nope,” I say.
“Why?” he asks. “You scared Sanchez is going to beat you?”
I slow my pace. “No.”
“That’s what he says.”
“Oh, is that right?” I grit my teeth and push harder, feeling the pain flare hot in my knee as it bends and straightens, bends and straightens.
I should probably give it a rest, but I can’t seem to make myself stop.
“I’m thinking I might take part too,” he says. “In the wheelchair race.”
“Awesome,” I say drily, but then I feel a flicker of guilt. “I’m sure you’ll ace it, Corporal,” I say with more feeling.
“Thanks,” he says, and I hear the slight swell of pride in his voice.
I remind myself to make more of an effort. That’s another thing the doc’s talking-to did—reminded me that I’m an officer. I should be setting an example—it doesn’t take much. And there are people in here worse off than me. Dodds has lost both his legs and Sanchez told me that he’s got no family. Not that having family necessarily makes that much difference, in my experience, but still, offering him a little support isn’t going to hurt me.
I start trying to think of a question to ask him that won’t seem awkward or tactless, but my conversational skills seem to have dried up these last few weeks. Before I can think of anything, he speaks up anyway, in a low voice.
“Oh hey, Lieutenant, someone’s checking you out.”
I tilt my head up. “What?”
“Didi—you know, Doctor Monroe’s daughter? She’s over by the door. She’s staring at you.”
I frown and swipe at the sweat pouring down my face. She is? She hasn’t been by my room for a few days now. I hate to admit it, but I’ve been anxious about it, wondering whether it has something to do with her being embarrassed to see me because of the other night. I figured I wouldn’t bring it up if she ever did come by, then I got annoyed with myself for thinking about her so much. It’s another of the reasons—probably the real reason—I wanted to get out of my room. To take my mind off her. I couldn’t concentrate on anything, or even listen to any audio books, because I kept listening for her footstep in the hall.
“She’s gone now,” Dodds says. “Man, she’s hot. I’d get in there if I were you.”
I stop rowing and fumble for the towel I thought I’d left on the side. Dodds hands it to me. “She has a boyfriend,” I tell him.
“If I was her boyfriend, I don’t think I’d be happy about the way she was just looking at you.”
I wipe the sweat off my face. What’s he saying? He’s probably just shit stirring. Maybe Sanchez put him up to it. But . . . I pause for a minute. What if it’s true? I shake my head, laughing at myself. No, of course it’s not true. Who am I kidding?
I chuck the towel back at Dodds and stand up gingerly, my knee throbbing, out of breath. But as I make my way with the physical therapist’s help toward the door, I feel a lightness in my step and in my body that wasn’t there before. Whether that’s a result of the endorphins flooding my bloodstream from all the exercise or because of what Dodds just told me, I couldn’t say.