A Long Time Coming (3 page)

Chapter Three

He was officially a college
freshman.

Damn.

He shook his head, rubbing his
hands briskly up and down the front of his face. How and when had this
happened, especially since he’d never actually believed that the idea of
college was feasible after the accident? But hey, it got him out of the
house—out of his mom’s smothering hold, too. After two years of homeschooling,
with no real friends other than his sister, he was finally ready to develop some
semblance of a normal life again. Granted, it wasn’t a scholarship playing
football for the Huskers like he’d always dreamed, but still, it was something.
And something was better than nothing.

Besides, this time last year
he had been more than positive he’d never even
go
to college. But with a
little coercion from his twin the night of their high school graduation, he was
pretty much left without a choice. It was basically a
she moved to
California, he went to college and got his new leg,
kind of deal. He really
couldn’t back down from it even if he had wanted to. He needed Harley to know
that he was trying to get on with his life. Otherwise she wouldn’t have moved
on with her own.

David sat up, reaching his
hand into his backpack that sat on the floor next to his bed. He rifled through
it in search of his trusty, black pen. He pulled it out, smiling as he wiggled
it in front of his face. Yes—success on the first try, it
would
be a
good day now. Sure, judging a day on finding a pen in his backpack wasn’t exactly
fortune–telling by any means, but it was something to him.

He laid the notepad on his
right thigh, and began to jot down the words on paper that he’d been playing
around with now for days. Nobody knew about this book—not Harley, not his
parents, and definitely not Abigail. Good thing too, because most of the lines
were about her. These were the words his mind just randomly spouted off at
times—the sentences and phrases that had come to him since his accident. It’s
like his once sports–affiliated brain had turned into mush—word mush.

The first one hundred or so
lines and words he had jotted down made no real sense—they were literally
ramblings of a madness he seemed to have developed in his brain. He didn’t get
it entirely, so he just went with it. But today especially, the words were
becoming clearer. He didn’t consider them poetry, though, by any means. It was
more of his personal therapy, something that managed to help him with the
emotional struggles that he so desperately wanted to let go. Something no
therapist could ever pull from him in a meeting that was for damn sure.

Time doesn’t end—it only loops
in an endless cycle of hell that never ceases to exist.

He shrugged, closing his
notebook. Whatever—it worked, and it wouldn’t be stuck in his head anymore,
that was the best part.

He tossed his three hundred
one–liners into the front pocket of his book bag and zipped that, as well as
his pen, inside for safe keeping. The last thing he wanted was for his parents,
or anyone else for that matter, to know he’d gone soft for no real reason. He
carefully attached his leg a few minutes later, groaning as he stood and put
his full weight on it. Damn thing; it hurt like a bitch still. He leaned over,
brushing the spot where it attached. The blisters were red and raw, but
manageable at least. He tried to will the pain away, but it didn’t work. It
never fucking did, actually.

Quietly, he made his way
towards the kitchen, praying his mother wasn’t there. As he peeked into the
room, he grinned wolfishly at the emptiness there. Ahh, peace…exactly what he
needed. He blew out a huge sigh as he poured a bowl of cereal. He smiled,
feeling good about the morning as he burnt a couple pieces of toast. The best
part about the day so far was that he got to eat in silence. Alone.

The last thing he wanted to do
this morning was play the fifty million question game with his mom. And if he
was being completely honest, he actually
needed
this time alone to try
and chillax his mindset before he headed off to school He hadn’t been around
people his own age for a few months. Well, other than that one party he’d gone
to where he had beat the shit out of that surfing freak his sister was so in
love with. What he didn’t realize though, was that the anxiety of being around
people his own age again, would be so killer on him.

Community college was nothing
more than a bigger version of his high school. It was just another day, another
place to learn pointless shit. But for some reason, the idea of being around
people now, even without his wheelchair, was sending his nerves into overdrive.
His sister claimed that mantras helped her get through stressful situations in
life, so maybe he’d have to take her advice and do just that today. He wasn’t a
girl by any means, but damn if this shitty feeling of anxiety didn’t still suck
ass.

He grabbed his empty cereal
bowl, downing the remaining droplets of milk in less than two seconds. He wiped
the wetness lingering on his chin with his wrist, carefully hobbling over to
the sink—crutch–less and wincing with each agonizingly painful step he took. He
stacked the dishes, leaning his hip against the counter for support. For a
glitch of a second, the thought of actually doing the dishes crossed his mind.
And yeah, it’d be the perfect way to apologize to his mom for his crap attitude
yesterday after therapy. But doing the dishes would mean he’d have to stick
around longer.

Then the sound of shoes hit
the linoleum, echoing behind him, making him realize that he was not in a
dishes state of mind after all. If anything, he couldn’t get out of there soon
enough. There would be no make–up with mommy time, but there would definitely
be no more avoidance on his behalf either.

He circled around the table,
clearing his throat to hide any grunts or groans he may or may not put forth
because of his leg. He didn’t bother with the eye contact either, even as she
moved in close on his right. Call it guilt, or call it just plain irritation,
he wasn’t sure. He did know though, that it was time to get the hell out of
there.

“Good morning David. Did you
sleep well?” She questioned with a soft, uneasy tone to her voice. A tone that
was both tough, as well as smooth. He watched her uneasily from the corner of
his eye as she moved to pour herself a cup of coffee. She was playing it
safe—sticking with niceties, obviously. Good. That way he didn’t have to be an
ass again.

But still, he was a little
freaked out by her nonchalance. Weirded out was more like it, because not once
did she mention anything about him school starting today. He expected the
onslaught of tears too, but they never came. Not that he was complaining or
anything.

“Mom?” He finally hollered to
her backside as she quietly sauntered to the door minutes later. This was
weird.

“Yes David?” She stopped,
looking over her shoulder at him with some seriously eager eyes. Okay, so she
was just waiting for him to make the first move. That was a start.

“Umm, are you going to be able
to take me to class today? I can get a ride home on the bus afterwards, so you
won’t need to worry about picking me up and all…”

She didn’t respond right
away—just looked at him with not a hint of emotion on her face—not a smile, not
a frown, nothing but the in–between. Minutes of uncomfortable silence passed
between the two of them, and just when he opened his mouth to ask her once
more, she beat him to the punch in an entirely different way.

She cleared her throat and
nodded, “I can’t today. I’m…sorry.” Shock reverberated throughout his chest,
pulsing and pulling at his lungs.

What. The. Hell? She was
actually going to let him find his own way to his first day of college? He
fought against a smile, sucking in his cheeks as he nodded. Hell. Yeah. “Oh.
Okay, no problem Mom, I’ll just, um, catch the bus or something.”

She nodded back at him, a
small, sad smile pressed tightly across her mouth as she did. “Sounds good,
David.” And without another word—without a bit of fight—she turned the corner,
dropping her invisible leash from behind, leaving David to finally spread his
legs—in a sort of metaphorical way.

A slow giant smile erupted
over his mouth though when he leaned over to grab his book bag. “Hell yeah,” he
mumbled under his breath, hitching the straps over his shoulder.
Oh–fucking–yeah was more like it. This was good. He could do this.

Too bad he didn’t have a clue
what the bus schedule was…

* * *

“What the hell?” he snarled
out loud to nobody in particular. His eyes roamed over the expanse of the main
lobby.

He shook his head, rubbing a
hand over his forehead. Seriously…he’d been eyeing the same rooms of this
tiny–ass campus now for over twenty minutes. Did this place even
have
an
elevator—or any kind of ramp for that matter? How in the holy hell was he going
to get his gimp ass to his first hour if he had to walk up two huge flights of
stairs?

He bent over at the waist,
rubbing his palm over the infamous spot where his knee and new leg met. The
straps pressed tightly to his thigh and the socket of his once–there knee—even
with foam covering the prosthetic—burned so badly that he wouldn’t be surprised
if it was bloody. He needed to suck it up and tell his parents that the thing
was screwing with him, and needed serious adjustment again, but that would mean
more trips to the doctor. Unfortunately, the last thing he wanted was to go
back before his six week appointment.

Sweat poured down his neck,
dampening the light grey tee he’d grabbed from his drawer this morning. He
lifted his other hand off his crutch, rubbing it through his shaggy curls in
frustration. This day was not going how he’d planned. Getting there hadn’t been
so bad at least. He had Googled the bus route on his phone, finding the nearest
stop only a few blocks away from his house. In all the years living in
Hillsdale, it was honestly the first time he’d ever taken a bus. But still, no
matter how strong he was, no matter how many reps he did, or curls he threw in
during his morning upper body workout, dealing with the prosthetic was still a pain
in his ass.

He glanced around, sighing,
noting a clock on the wall ticking the hell away. Shit, it was no wonder he’d
felt so inclined to write about time in his notebook this morning because there
was no way he would be able to slip into his class unnoticed with only ten
minutes left to get there.

“Hey dude, you look lost. Need
some help?” A raspy voice sounded at his backside, and David whipped his head
around, needing to put a face to that familiar sound. His eyes widened in
surprise as instant recognition hit him.

He didn’t know the guy’s name,
but he
knew
him, somehow. David squinted his eyes together the closer
the tall, lanky form got. Wasn’t he in the marching band in high school or
something? Hell, Harley would probably know. Automatically he turned to his
left to ask her, but of course she wasn’t there.

David cleared his throat, “Uh,
yeah, kind of. I need to get my ass upstairs but I, uh… ” he stared down at his
feet. Fuck, why was this so hard? Oh yeah, right, he hadn’t talked to another
guy, other than Mason and his dad, for months now. He was apparently socially
inept as well as physically fucked up. He blew out a frustrated breath, finally
meeting the guy’s questioning gaze again, “I can’t find the damn elevator.”

The guy blinked, surprise registered
on his face as he stared down at David’s legs, “Um, elevator?” His eyes
narrowed for a brief second, as if he was trying to remember something. David
swallowed, hoping like hell the guy wouldn’t
go
there. Seconds later, he
nodded, knowingness showing in his blue eyes for a brief second, but he hid any
other emotions well. He was not in the mood for
that
inevitable
conversation this morning.

“Yeah, um, you have to
actually get a key from the registrar’s office and a note from the doctor too,”
he motioned over his shoulder towards a long hallway, suddenly all cool and
collected in his true to form skater boy appearance. “Well at least
I
did when I broke my ankle last semester at the skate park,” he shrugged,
laughing, his hair falling over his eyes, his black beanie hat slipping along
with it. “I guess the crutches and cast were not a good enough excuse for
me
back then, but maybe you’ll have better luck since you’re um, well…” he
shrugged, losing his smile, and motioning towards David’s leg.

David nodded, raising a hand,
saving the guy from having to go there, “Thanks man, I didn’t have to deal with
the office before because I wound up doing all my registering online,” he
swallowed, leaning on his crutches as he thrust his hand out in greeting, “I’m
David by the way.”

“I know who you are,” he
nodded, with narrow eyed recognition, “I remember you from HHS, but it’s still
good to officially
meet
you,” he smiled back at David, slow, easy. The
guy was chill, “I’m Jason Thompson, but you can call me JT.” He met his hand,
shaking David’s with a ferocity that shocked the heck out of him. The guy was
all skater skinny, but he had one hell of a grip.

They walked side by side
silently, passing through the quiet halls with a camaraderie that David had
actually missed with a dude. He used to have friends falling from his ass, but
since the accident happened, he’d apparently developed leprosy or something
because everyone he was ever close with had stayed the hell away from him. He
couldn’t really blame them. Nobody knew what to say beyond
sorry you lost
your leg, dude.
It was probably better that way though—he didn’t want to
talk to anybody as it was. But still, it was sort of messed up to be abandoned
like he had been. The entire football team had pushed him aside after he’d
gotten home from the hospital, after he had finally recovered from the
concussion, the internal bleeding, and the lost leg of course. They’d all moved
on too, not one of them ever gave a shit again. No calls, no emails or texts,
nothing—exactly the reason why he’d never again gone to another game. Football
was
his life, as
were
his friends once too. But none of that mattered
anymore. He’d given it all up the night he flipped his car.