Jimmy Burns

KILLING TIME BETWEEN THERAPIES

May begins to heat toward summer. Jason Brille, an out-patient at a rehabilitation hospital near Houston. Between OT and PT he parked his wheelchair between cars as he smoked a cigarette.

The automated doors opened and a security guard screamed, " this is a smoke free campus, besides those things will kill you." Jason took one last drag and flipped it into the ornamental flower beds. Ashes and embers rose from its remains. He blew last remnants of smoke from polluted lungs. One last cough to clear airway. Mint to mask stale odor from a foul Lucky Strike. He knew cigs were bad for his health and would be a likely contributing factor to his demise. He promised his wife that he had quit, but old cravings never went away.

Nurses and Therapist exited the hospital laughing and arguing about where to eat. A convoy of wheelchairs gathered at an adjoining city park to brown bag lunch and feed the ducks around a small lake. Jason removed a flea market find of a slightly bent lunch box from his wheelchair carrier. When he opened it he found an egg salad sandwich, celery and carrots. "Just what I needed, another healthy meal," grimaced Jason of his wife's choices. "No candy! No pudding!"

"Beep! Beep"! honked an old man indicating that he had the right-of-way as he whizzed into the hospital. A city bus loudly bled its air brakes stopping at the loading dock. Disabled citizens maneuvered stationary walkers and ornate canes as each departed the bus. At the rear, an aide lowered a single wheelchair on a lift to a hard asphalt surface. The aide removed the restraints and the driver of the chair glided quickly from the parking lot to an accessible ramp. The bus departed as quickly as it had arrived.

Before a stroke, which affected his left side leaving him partially paralyzed, Jason Brille never paid attention to neither the disabled nor the mobility of their wheelchairs. Suddenly, life became a surrealistic adventure. Paramedics loaded his wounded body in a snow flurry to be transported to the nearest hospital. On arrival doctors and nurses prepped him for intensive care where they stabilized his condition. The treatment team placed him into a claustrophobictube where lights and clicks measured damaged to his brain. For days his recovery consisted of sleep and dreams acting as a subtext for healing. On the fourth day he awoke to find a wheelchair parked next to his hospital bed. Jason asked a nurse, "what is this?"

"It is a loaner until therapy can measure you and customize a chair for you." A voice interrupted his memory his memory of the beginning of disability. "Hello, Mr.Brille- Remember me?"

Jason looked up. It was the day nurse of the residential unit when he was an in-patient. "How are you?"

"Not bad and you?"

"Just creating a new normal at home."

"You look well-Mr. Brille."

"I wondered what became of Mr. Stokes, my suit mate?"

"He died about two weeks after you left. He never went home.

"I guess he had too much wrong with him for you to fix."

"I think you are right…" The nurse disappeared into the hospital to resume his shift. A gentle wind rippled the reflection of Brille in his wheelchair shimmering in the pool in front of the hospital. He progressed from a loner to a customized manual canvass chair to a second hand electric wheel- chair purchased from an advertisement in the local Greensheet. Jason's uncle repaired the bruised and torn leather chair body with duct tape and Gorilla Glue. He and his family cannibalized garage sale discoveries for salvageable parts. In addition, Brille hung a pair of fuzzy dice from the left arm, tied a lucky rabbit's to the joy stick and added numerous decals to the back of the chair.

A hunched back man wobbled past Brille on an impromptu walking stick. He laughed, "funny bumper sticker."

"You mean 'Crips Do It In Wheelchairs'?"

"Yeah…Where did you find it?"

"At a truck stop," replied Brille. "You got keep a sense of humor about this thing of mine."

"My doctor thinks I will eventually end up in one of those things. I dread it."

"You just learn to adjust and live your life the best you can. It's better than the alternative."

The man ignored Brille and walked ininto the hospital. Jason found speculation better when he was alone. He wondered if he had taken better care of his health when he was young if he would now in a wheelchair? He wondered if had saved his money and wisely invested it, would attorneys, debt collectors and process servers harass his family? His life was it was. He continued life on a pension, insurance and charity. He fumbled to light and smoke another cigarette. Jason Brille no longer worried about being caught. He enjoyed the moment.

As Jason finished his cigarette, the staff returned from lunch. He followed them into the Out-Patient gym. Therapy started anew.

Jimmy Burns, a survivor of a stroke, writes his poetry from his wheelchair. Recent poetry in Chest, Edgz, Mad Poets, Pegasus and Wordgathering.