Reality hits; Nathan realizes that his future will not include walking. The life he once knew of independence and excitement will be exchanged for dependence. A wheelchair will replace the bull riding, a new kind of ride that Nathan does not want to take. Will Nathan find the strength to embrace his new identity, or will his new identity give him a ride into despair and frustration?
Three Seconds
“Just remember your dad and I will always be here for you, no matter what!”
****
As the weeks melt into months, Nathan finds his time filled with grueling therapy, a training harder than bull riding conditioning. The simplest tasks of sitting in a chair, eating, and dressing are tiring and awkward. He no longer sees the athletic physique, balanced posture, and strong muscles that he once had; his body now consists of stiff, thin limbs and numbness. Everything he knew as Nathan Hendricks is gone: the handsome young rodeo star, the hardworking ranch hand, the fun loving, carefree friend, and his dad’s pride and joy. He is frustrated with the new Nathan Hendricks: the invalid.
****
“Hey, Nate, I gotta ride today. Jackson is out sick,” dad says. “Want to come along?”
“I don’t want to go.”
“Well, I need someone to cheer me on. Come on, it will be just like old times.” Dad sits down next to Nate, scoops up a bite of cereal, and puts it in Nate’s mouth.
“It’s not like old times, dad; it will never again be like old times. I’m not that little boy anymore; I’ve ridden. I’ve felt the sweat; I’ve smelled the bulls; I’ve had the rush. I can’t go back to that little boy by the fence!” Nate looks away. His dad sits silently for a moment before getting up from the table. Nate hears a few muffled whispers in the back room, a door slams, and then the shaky rumbles of his dad’s truck. He looks down at his half-eaten bowl of cereal; a year ago that same bowl of cereal would have been devoured, the chores would have been finished, and he would have been on his way to a rodeo before 9 a.m. He glances at the clock – 10 a.m. He is not finished with breakfast; he is still sitting in his pajamas, and he is clueless as to whether or not the chores are complete. He doesn’t care. Nathan knows life will never return to old times.
His mom walks into the kitchen, sits down, and begins spooning up the remaining cereal. She is quiet; Nate is thankful for the silence. As she places the last spoonful in his mouth, she says, “I really think you should have gone along with your dad today.”
“Mom, I don’t want or need to hear this right now!”
“I know what you don’t want to hear, but I also know what you need to hear. You need to hear that your dad lived for those Saturdays at the rodeo; you need to hear that he loved to see your smiling face at the fence; you need to hear that he was scared when you started training, but he wanted to support you; you need to hear that he spent every night with you in the hospital; he’s always been there for you; he’s always believed in you. That’s what you need to hear!” She grabs the cereal bowl, stands up, and walks to the sink.
“What time is he riding?” Nathan quietly asks.
“About noon, I think. I can drop you off on my way to town, if you wish to go,” Mom says, grabbing a towel from the drawer. Nathan watches as she gently wipes the dishes and places them in the cupboard; she makes no eye contact with him and says no more to persuade his decision. Nathan knows that his mom knew she had already convinced him to go.
“What time are you leaving for town?”
“As soon as we can get you ready,” she says, throwing down the towel on the counter.
No comments:
Post a Comment