Walker
So, did I win the bet?” Sanchez asks, storming into my room before they’ve even brought breakfast round. I sit up. What the hell time is it?
“Shit,” Sanchez says. “I guess not.”
I hear him walk around to the nightstand and pick up the condoms. “Unless she brought her own?” Sanchez asks. When I don’t answer he sits down on the bed and whispers, “So did you get to third base at least? Come on, I want details. Everyone’s waiting.”
I don’t answer. I can’t hide my smile, though, as memories from last night rise to the fore. Fuck, that was a good night.
“Oh man, you dirty dog, you did get some!”
“A gentleman never talks,” I say, getting off the bed and making my way to the bathroom.
“Come on, it’s me, Sanchez. We’re like bros, you gotta tell me. Dodds said he heard a lot of noise coming from here last night. I’m guessing you two weren’t playing Scrabble.”
“Monopoly,” I tell him, shutting the bathroom door behind me. It doesn’t fully mute Sanchez who I can hear still peppering questions my way. Didi only left a couple of hours ago. I should be tired—I’ve only had about an hour’s sleep—but I’m not. I’m fully awake. And I think I need a cold shower. I’m still buzzing, and the memories are now racing through my mind on play-back. I can smell Didi on my skin, can still taste her on my tongue.
“You up for some pool time?” Sanchez hollers through the door. “Or are you all spent after last night?”
“Give me five minutes,” I yell back. Maybe ten, I think to myself. I think I want to relive last night again, on my own, in the shower.
“Okay, I’ll see you down there,” he says.
• • •
I don’t make it to the pool. I make it to the doorway where I bump straight into José.
“You got an appointment down with occupational,” he tells me.
I sigh and roll my head backward.
“Come on, let’s get going,” he chides. “I’ve spent all morning clearing up petals from the pool, and now I’m running late.”
Oh shit. I forgot about the clearing-up part. I was too distracted last night.
“You have fun last night?” José asks as we walk to the elevator.
“Yeah,” I say. “Thanks for your help.”
“You’re a lucky guy,” José answers. “She’s a catch. If her mother’s anything to go by, Didi’s going places.”
I fall silent as we get into the elevator, and by the time we make it to the occupational therapy room my good mood has evaporated. I don’t even know why for certain, but José’s words echo around my head, sticking there like a burr. Didi’s going places, he said. And I’m going exactly nowhere. That’s the crux of it. She has this bright future ahead of her. She wants to move to LA, for Chrissake. My future involves learning how to use a white stick and probably moving in with my brother, because it’s not like any other options are cropping up. I’ve got no job, no prospects. How can I tie a girl like Didi down? I’d be crippling her.
“So, Lieutenant Walker, how we doing today?” the occupational therapist asks in a bantering tone. “How was last night?”
I arch my eyebrows. Is there anyone in this place who doesn’t know about last night?
“Right,” he says hastily, seeing my reaction, “let’s get you set up. Are you ready to start practicing with a stick? I know you’re resistant, but the sooner you learn, the sooner you’ll be out of here. I also have some information here about seeing-eye dogs.”
I grit my teeth. Welcome to the future.