"Warm up and then some stretching," I said. "Terrific. Maybe you should be the therapist.'" "Believe me," I said. "I wish I could," His smile widened and he stepped toward me.
With tentative hands, waiting for my cooperation, he
urged me to lift myself from the wheelchair. I knew
he was waiting to see just what I could do with my
right leg. I started and he came around behind me and
put his hands on my hips.
"Don't worry," he said. "I have you." His face was so close to my hair. I could feel
his breath on my neck. I put all my weight on my
right lea and started up. Then he took over and with
ease gently lowered me to the mat. He had me lay flat
and then he hovered over me a moment,
"You okay?" he asked.
"Yes." I closed my eyes and pressed my lips
together and kept myself from screaming. I opened
them and looked up. He was on his knees beside me. "We're going to rotate every joint
in your body
and what you can't do yourself. I'll help you do," he
said.
"Why am I doing this?" I muttered to myself. He smiled down at me, those beautiful eyes full
of laughter. "So I can have work, why else?" he said. Even if I wanted to. I couldn't stop a smile from
settling on my face.
"Oh, one other thing," he said rising and going
to his Gym bag. He unzipped it and took out a small
tape recorder. "I like to work with music. Is that
okay?"
"Yes," I said. He turned it on.
I was expecting elevator music, soothing, soft
melodic tones like they had at the hospital.
Instead, there was a wham and a barn and the
rock music began.