Seven months ago
Dad was right about a lot of stuff.
He never had been angrier with me.
My entire future was straight-up ruined.
The shit show continued.
Senior year started with me in a wheelchair. I wasn’t allowed to put any pressure on my knee. My surgery was a week before that. They had to graft some of my hamstring to reconstruct my ACL. Yeah, it was as effing painful as it sounded. My surgeon said he’d only seen two other knees as messed up as mine, and one was a Philadelphia Eagle. He said he was “fairly confident” that I’d play lacrosse again, just not at the level I was used to playing. He told me and Dad as if he were breaking the news of someone’s death. I guess at a sports medicine facility that kind of news is like a death.
Even though Dad and I knew my scholarship was in jeopardy, we never talked about it. I didn’t mind, believe me. Looking at his face and seeing disappointment would’ve shredded me.
When I started rehab, it hurt so bad that I cried in the bathroom. In the stall, I decided I had to play lacrosse for Drexel. I had to make Dad proud again. Six months was all I had left to work as hard as I could to get my life back.
My lawyer (yes, I had to get a lawyer) had my court date for the weed possession pushed back till the end of September on account of my surgery. He swore my penalty would be reasonable since it was my first offense. He thought I’d get drug counseling and a six-month probation. We’d have to wait and see.
I usually went straight home at the end of the school day, and since Growler’s mom wasn’t letting him hang with me yet, Oscar had to drive me. But now that rehab had started, he had to drop me off there, and it was all the way over near the mall.
“Is the front seat back as far as it will go?” I asked Oscar as I crutched my way to the car. The full-time crutch use was new. I was glad I didn’t have to sit in that wheelchair anymore.
“You’ve asked me that every day, and the answer remains the same. Yes.”
“Whatever, dude. If you had to deal with this shit all day, you’d ask too.”
He huffed and mouthed, “Whatever.”
I refused his offers of help into or out of the car. I did let him carry my backpack though. It was pretty tricky crutching around with it, and I almost took a spill the first day on them. Some teacher caught me just as I was about to go down. He insisted I let Oscar carry the backpack. So I did.
“I’ve got a considerable amount of homework tonight so I’d like to get you to rehab quickly,” Oscar said. He took my crutches and laid them across the backseat.
“Don’t speed. You just got your license a month ago.”
He gave me a look. “I waited till I was seventeen, remember? And I’m not you.”
As we pulled into a parking space, Oscar said, “You still owe me for breaking the news to Dad.”
“I’m not in the mood to negotiate.” I opened the door and gingerly got my legs out. Oscar was right there with my crutches.
“Who said anything about negotiation? I’m simply reminding you. I still haven’t decided what I want from you.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’ll wait on pins and needles.” With as much speed as I could muster, I crutched away.
“Dad’s coming to get you,” he shouted after me.
I gave an A-OK without turning around and went inside.