Sophie sighs, and it sounds long-suffering, as if this is more trouble than I’m worth. It’s done in such a dramatic manner, I give it no credence at all.
“Fine,” she drawls with mock annoyance. “If you insist, I suppose you can stay at my house until such time you irritate me to the point of eviction.”
I grin, thrilled that I’ll remain a close part of her life. “You know damn well I would never irritate you. I’m the perfect roommate and friend.”
She smirks at me. “You are a good friend. But… if you don’t stop leaving your shoes in the middle of my living room floor, I’m going to stop cooking for you.”
Once again, I bust out laughing, and not giving my action a second thought, I pull her in for a hard hug. She hesitates only a moment, her hands tentatively going to my ribs before wrapping around my waist. It’s nothing but a friendly hug, and yet it warms me throughout.
I release her, because holding on any longer would get weird and might speak to things other than friendship. I stare down at her, an idea brewing. “You interested in doing something fun?”
Her eyes light up. “What did you have in mind?”
I’m taking a big risk here.
Going to attempt something that I have no clue if I can do with any degree of achievement. “I’d like to go ice skating. You have an idea of where we could go?”
Worry flashes in her beautiful eyes, but I also see excitement at the prospect that I want to try something outside my comfort zone. God knows, I diligently push Sophie out of her fear-bordered box—now she’ll get to see me do something that causes me a bit of angst.
“I know just the place,” she says.
?
Sophie chose a rink just outside Mount Lebanon where she grew up.
It’s an outdoor rink complete with a tiny, worn shack that rents out skates and serves watery cocoa. She spent a lot of time here as a kid, and it’s where she learned to ice skate.
This was spur of the moment, so we have to rent skates. They feel odd on my feet, not because it’s been months since I’ve been on the ice but because they’re recreational skates compared to the custom made hockey skates I’m used to. Not only are hockey skates better constructed with padding, but the boot portion angles the foot forward slightly.
When I stand from the bench after lacing up, I whisper a prayer that I don’t fall flat on my face. I feel steady, though, and it’s a testament to how far I’ve come in my recovery.
My doctors cleared me for a full return to normal activities. I don’t need the aid of forearm crutches, canes, or specialty vehicles. My spinal repairs are well healed, and the disconnect between my brain and spine has been fixed. When I was paralyzed, sometimes I’d shout in frustration at my legs to just move a fraction of an inch, and it was hard for me to understand that the messages weren’t getting through because of the damage done.
After my spine was repaired, I underwent intensive therapy to relearn how to walk. This wasn’t just strengthening my body, which I worked diligently at, but it was about reteaching my legs and brain to communicate.
All that is second nature now. I can walk and climb stairs, and I can now run on a treadmill. I’m pretty sure I can run the streets of Pittsburgh and plan on attempting it as soon as the weather warms up. I’ve maintained a grueling workout schedule for the last seven months and continue it to this day to make my body even stronger.
While I’ve mostly maintained the strength in my chest, arms, back, and shoulders, my legs still have some catching up to do. They can handle squats and dead lifts and short runs on a treadmill, but they’re still recovering from the significant muscle mass I lost over months of not being able to exercise. No doubt I look a bit odd with a well-built upper half and much thinner legs, but I’ll keep working to get them back in top shape.
Despite how far I’ve come, though, I still have insecurities, and that first push up from the bench is a little frightening.
But… I’m steady. There’s no wobble, and I feel secure.
Between the benches and outer wall of the rink is a layer of cheap Astroturf-type material, presumably laid down to protect the skates since there aren’t any blade guards. The ground under the turf isn’t smooth, so I take a few careful steps before turning to face Sophie.
She rises from the bench and steps toward me, far less steady than I am. She holds out her arms for balance and totters my way.
Not surprising that despite being paralyzed, I’m still steadier than she is. I’ve got thousands and thousands of on-ice hours compared to this woman who only skated a handful of times each winter during her childhood. She admitted on the way here she hasn’t been on the ice since high school.