During my first year at the university there was a lot of buzz going on throughout the campus. Moral amongst the student and faculty were at an all-time high, riding the high from the state championship win two months prior. The star quarterback threw for an amazing 500+ yards and five touchdowns clinching the first championship win in twenty years. I thought that the hype would have subsided after two months but there was a lot the school had to celebrate as the basketball team won their fourth straight game. The star quarterback that led his team to win a championship was now dominating the court and once again leading his team to another championship.
Just a few weeks before March Madness and after an astounding 123-78 win, The coach had cut weekend practice and gave everyone a deserving day off. With a huge win underneath them and no practice the next morning, the team partied through the night. The school hero was not a drinker and rarely stayed out that late; but at that party he partook in a few drinks, making out several girls, and overall just let loose. Just before the sun was coming up the party was still going strong but he had enough fun for one night. Not a single responsible person was at that party and let their hero drive home.
Eventually the school calmed down as their dream for a second championship came and went, disappointed that they didn’t even make the playoffs and that the rest of that semester was without their hero. Tears flowed from everyone for the unfortunate event that occurred to their fallen hero. His former team played with all heart as they dedicated the rest of the season to him, but disappointment when they fell short and realized exactly how important and irreplaceable he was. That night after the party was the night that the school died.
The following semester after the summer break students and faculty returned to their classes and it seemed there was a hint of normalcy. That first day back I sat outside my class room and watched as friends ran to each other to catch up in the previous months. Everyone was excited and full of life; I watched in amazement as it was seemed as if nothing happened the year before; how an entire campus could die one day and thrive the next. I watched until 8:00am when class was to start, held the door for the few stragglers I saw running to class. A few minutes into the class and while discussing what was expected we were interrupted when the door opened. The room filled with gasps and then a deadly silence as everyone looked to the door. Motionless and utterly shocked, everyone staring as a fallen hero enters the room.
For the remainder of the semester awkwardness filled the room. Students walked on egg shells around the once hero. Everyone tried so hard to assist and accommodate him; holding doors open for him, picking up dropped pencils, and never spoke out aloud about what happened or how he looked. Towards the end of the semester he would wait until everyone left the room after class before he would leave. I would sit with him sometimes and talk to him; I’d asked about classes, home, and even asked about the accident. He would open up to me and pour out his soul. His eyes would fill with tears when he talked about the pity and how he was being treated differently. He had accepted that he made a mistake and owned up to it. He was old enough to know he shouldn’t have driven and described how he felt being the university hero and how he was untouchable and indestructible, or so he thought.
His writings were some the best I had ever seen before and since. In the beginning he wrote of a life he should have had; first round draft pick for the NFL, married to college sweetheart, making lots of money and praised by everyone, he was going to be a household name. As we continued our talks and with each passing day his writings started to change; they became stories of recovery, healing, happiness and overcoming the odds. Those stories were touching and heartfelt, they were about a boy once out casted treated like a leopard or a wondered dog and returns victorious. Not as a hero as he was done with that dream, but as a man that is accepted into society, a man that can walk again, a man without a wheelchair.
The semester soon ended and little had changed by the end of the year. He was still being treated as a crippled in a wheelchair. He wasn’t invited to parties; the football or basketball games, or really even talked too. The thing he felt was the worst part about the whole situation was that no one talked to him about it or sincerely asked how he was feeling. Had they asked then maybe they could have understood better about what happened or about him; that he accepted what happened and doesn’t blame anyone. Maybe then they could have moved past the wheelchair and see that he was still a person, he was still the same person as before.
During that summer he met with his doctors and there was a lot of discussion about some of his options. Quickly he decided that he wanted to walk again; he wanted to be as close to normal as he could, he wanted to walk again. He told me a week before the surgery that he was tired of the looks and the special treatment. As strong as he was on the outside and when we would have our talked, there was still a large part of him that cried at night. To be accepted by all his peers one day and then forgotten the next was too much for him to handle and that was why he went through with the surgery.
The day of the surgery I phased out and quietly sat with him in the doctor’s office. When they came for him I say him kiss his parents and with a big smile quietly got wheeled away knowing that in a few hours he would be walking. I walked with them down the hall to the operating room as they set up and prepared for the 12 hour surgery. As the anesthesia was applied they asked him to count backwards from a hundred. 100, 99, 98, 97, 96 and quickly he started to doze off. 95, 94, 93, 92 he’s was almost out completely, but just before he was out I made myself visible to him. He saw me but was confused why I was there, I mouthed “I’m Sorry” and his face dropped, but I wasn’t sure if he knew why I was there or if the drugs too hold. I sat in that room for 11 hours of that surgery and watched over him. At the 12th hour the monitors went off and made all kinds of noise, doctors began running around in a panic at which time I stood up and slowly walked out.
No comments:
Post a Comment