And yet…I want to run in the other direction. Because I can tell his manners come with an ulterior motive. Does he really think picking up my earbuds is going to get him laid? And does he regularly touch women he doesn’t even know, and address them as “gorgeous?” Not a man I’d want on my arm.
“I’m good, thanks,” I say shortly.
His grin fades and he shrugs, mentally moving on. I hike the strap of my bag up over my shoulder and scan the platform for Ernie. He’s not in his usual spot, and I feel a twinge of worry as I look through the crowd in search of the little bald man.
I smile as I find him sitting with his back against a steel pillar, flossing his teeth. Ernie is particular about his dental health, as he’s told me at least a dozen times. He likes to say he may not have a home or a lick of sense, but he’s still got all his teeth, and that’s worth something.
“Good morning, Miss Graysen,” Ernie says when he sees me approaching. “Lovely day in the Windy City, isn’t it?”
“Good morning, Ernie. It could be worse out here, couldn’t it?”
He grins up at me, gesturing at a Styrofoam cup on the ground next to him. “I’ve got hot coffee and the sun’s shining; that’s about perfect in my book.”
The El Train announces its arrival with an approaching rumble. I reach into the pocket of my coat and take out a chocolate chip protein bar. Ernie’s whole face lights up when I hand it to him.
“Now I’ve got lunch, too! This day just keeps getting better. I thank you, Miss Graysen.”
I nod, giving him a quick smile and a wave as I head for the train. It’s too loud for him to hear me now. This is our daily ritual. Sometimes he turns down the protein bar if he already has something lined up to eat that day, but usually, he takes it.
The train takes off down the track again and I grab a bar for support, my mind still on Ernie. I know it’s not ideal to be homeless, but I admire his optimism. He doesn’t have much, but he doesn’t complain. Something as simple as a protein bar makes him happy.
Many of my patients could take a cue from Ernie. The Beckett Recovery Center is a posh, luxurious rehab facility that only the wealthy can afford. We have gourmet chefs, personal trainers and full-service staff. Many rehab centers give patients a room with a cot and a chair—maybe a window if they’re lucky. Beckett is more like a five-star hotel.
And still, I regularly encounter patients who blame everyone but themselves for their situation. The ones who see Beckett as an opportunity have a chance to complete the program and live a healthier life. But the ones who see it as a prison make my work a challenge.
Sliding into an open seat, I pull the patient files out of my bag and choose one to start reading. Time to find out more about my patients in this session. Will they do the hard work required to get sober, or roll their eyes at every question I ask them? I can usually tell based on their intake interviews.
And based on what I’m reading, this is going to be a very interesting session.3AlexeiThe auditorium at the Beckett Recovery Center is not made for people on crutches.
There’s not enough space between my seat and the one in front of mine for me to get my crutches stable enough to balance all my weight on my good leg so I can stand up.
Gritting my teeth, I shift up, using my upper body strength to balance myself on one crutch while I try to position the other one. Somehow, I manage to get upright without falling.
The hip I dislocated in the car crash fucking hurts, even three weeks after the accident. I had to wean myself off of all pain medications before Beckett would accept me as a patient, and I’m really missing whatever meds the doctors were giving me for my hip pain.
I couldn’t lay in that bed anymore, though. Hockey season is already underway, and just watching isn’t working for me. So I fibbed about my pain levels to get into rehab faster.
I told the nurses and doctors I was good to go, that the hip’s getting better every day. Really, though, I’m worried about it. Every day I’m not working out, my physical shape deteriorates. That’s not good for a pro athlete. I’ve been injured before, but nothing to this degree. It’s going to take a lot of physical therapy to get my hip back where it was.
I’ll do whatever it takes. I have to be able to skate at the same level as before the crash. I’d be much better off if I’d dislocated my shoulder instead of my hip.