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  I wasn’t always like this. I used to be nice. I used to care. Caring has gotten me nowhere and given me nothing but heartache. It’s easier to be this way. No one can hurt me. Still, sometimes I miss the person I used to be.

  As the evening winds down, I hear the wait staff and bartenders talking about a party they’re going to. If I’m walking by, their voices drop to a hush so I can’t hear. The last thing they want is for me to ask to join them. Like I would.

  The servers tolerate me. They’re not my friends. They’re a bunch of wannabe stars and career failures. I know they talk about me behind my back. Let’s face it, they think I’m a bitch. Mostly because I am. I’m not nice. I’m not sweet. I only do something for you if you do something for me first. In fact, my motto, which I’m proud to tell everyone, is, “What’s in it for me?” I don’t care if they’re slammed or having a bad day or their back hurts. I’ll seat you when it’s your turn dammit. Piss me off and you won’t get any tables. It doesn’t bother me that they don’t like me. Which is so funny, considering how desperately I tried to fit in back home. How much I wanted to belong. To be popular.

  Now I don’t give a shit, and I’m the cat’s fucking meow.

  By the end of the night, I’m tired. I guess passing out on the bathroom floor doesn’t make for a restful night’s sleep. I usually spend Friday nights at Chase’s city apartment. I wonder why he brought me home. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I was blacked out drunk. Again. The rest of the staff leaves in small groups of two or three, talking and laughing, looking forward to a fun time still to be had. I doubt Meadow will be home yet, if she comes home at all. On the way back to the apartment, I pick up a bottle of Grey Goose. Even though I’m tired, I’ll never be able to fall asleep. Illuminated in the eye-straining florescent lights of the liquor store, it sort of occurs to me that I may have a problem with alcohol. I can’t remember the last time I went a full day without drinking at least some. Slapping my money down on the counter, I rush out before I can explore these thoughts any longer.

  I don’t have a problem. It’s totally normal to have a little nightcap after a long day’s work. And so what if I like to party? I’m twenty-four. It’s what twenty-four-year-olds do. They have fun. Life is short; this I know. I need to make every moment count. You’re not guaranteed a tomorrow; I want to have lived life to the fullest.

  It never occurs to me that it’s my own behavior that could keep tomorrow from coming.

  CHAPTER TWO: MICHAEL

  I look down at the cell phone in my lap. I don’t feel the buzzing that alerts me to the call. I hear it. The name on the caller ID makes my heart race and my mouth go dry all at the same time.

  Lainie.

  Why is Lainie calling me after all this time? She made it pretty clear she was done. That was two years ago. What was it she’d said? Oh yeah. My situation was “too real” for her. Is it possible she misses me? Does she want to see me? Has she come to terms with my life? Does she want to get back together?

  I’ll never find out if I don’t answer. I look around my office, trying to compose myself.

  “Hello?”

  “Sal?” She sounds nervous.

  “You called my number, Lainie. Who else did you think would be answering?” So much for playing it cool.

  “Oh, yeah. Right. Hi.”

  “Hi, Lainie. What’s up?”

  She exhales, silence stretching on the line. I need to play it cool. I’m never going to win her back if she thinks I’m desperate. Well, I am, but she doesn’t need to know that. Finally she starts. “How’ve you been?”

  Still paralyzed. That’s what I say in my head. Aloud, I say, “Fine.” I need to play it cool.

  “I figured that. I knew you’d be okay.”

  “It’s still real here, if that’s what you want to know.” So much for playing it cool. I am a schmuck.

  “Um, yeah. I guess it is. Listen, I need to talk to you. It’s important.”

  Maybe I still have a chance. “Okay. You wanna meet for coffee or something?”

  “Yeah, okay. We can do that.” Silence again. I don’t know if she’s considering where she wants to go or, more likely, she has no idea where I can go.

  “How about The Coffee Table? You still like that place?”

  “Um, yeah. That’s fine. Are you available next weekend?”

  We firm up the time.

  I try not to freak out after we end the call. I can’t imagine why she’s calling me after all this time. I mean, she’s got to have reconsidered. Yeah, so I’m paralyzed. I’m still me. She’s still her. We could still be good together.

  A car may have broken my body, but Lainie broke my heart. I think that’s been harder to get over. You think you know someone. After dating for six years and talking about marriage, you really think you know someone. You think you know how they’ll act when put to the test. I guess she wasn’t about to sign on for the whole “in sickness and health thing.”

  I turn on my computer and put my phone headset on. I hate the stupid thing, but I have trouble holding the phone between my shoulder and my ear if I want to use my hands for something else. Another modification I’ve had to make. Before I can get lost in my own thoughts again, I call my brother Mitchell to tell him about this new development. If I’ve learned anything since my accident, it’s to deal with things as they rise. Don’t put anything off—you’re not guaranteed a tomorrow.

  “Lainie called.” I don’t even bother with a hello. Mitchell knows it’s me.

  “What’s she want?” He, likewise, feels no need to waste time on pleasantries or frivolities.

  “She wants to talk. In person.”

  “Why? What does she want from you?” Needless to say, Mitchell isn’t the biggest Lainie fan. I get it. If a girl dicked him around like she did to me, I’d probably have little tolerance for her too. Hell, I feel that way about most of Mitchell’s exes.

  “Dunno.” I click through my e-mail, looking for something that will engage my brain.

  “Why now? How long’s it been?”

  “No clue. She didn’t say. It’s been over a year.” I replay our brief conversation in my head. She didn’t sound right. “She didn’t say much, really.”

  “She gonna give you your ring back finally?”

  The ring was a bone of contention with my whole family. In order to afford it, I’d sold my motorcycle. She hated my bike anyway, thinking it was too dangerous. “Mitch, I don’t care about the ring. I’ve told you that. I just want to know why she wants to see me now.”

  “Dunno, but I don’t trust her. Don’t get your hopes up, man. She’s gonna crush you again.”

  Disconnecting, I know he’s right. Lainie is—was—the love of my life. And still, she destroyed me at the lowest time in my life. I mean, who dumps a guy six months after he’s paralyzed? Actually, I think most people. I’ve talked to a few others in rehab whose girls and wives left them high and dry. She at least hung around for the first six months. That was the toughest period. I wish she could have stuck it out until things improved.

  It was ugly. It was hard. I think the life-or-death thing wasn’t bad. There was just a day or two of “Is he going to live?” It’s what came next that she couldn’t deal with. The helplessness. The messy things—catheters and bowel programs. Learning to dress myself. And then the sex thing. That’s a whole other issue.

  As much as it devastated me, I get why she left. At least I tell myself I do. Shit got real. I can’t say I blame her. I just expected more.

  I think six years entitled me to more.

  I need to try to forgive her. This is what Mitchell doesn’t understand. Even though I was the one nearly torn in half by a car, the accident happened to her too. It changed everything about our lives. She went from being a partner to a caretaker. She didn’t sign on for that. Every aspect of her life changed. We weren’t going skiing anymore. I wasn’t going to pick her up and carry her to bed. I couldn’t even put my pants on.

/>   I can now.

  She doesn’t know that. She doesn’t know how far I’ve come. Not just physically. I’m a better person for having less of my body work. Kinda mind boggling if you ask me. But true.

  Before I can take the headset off, Mitchell calls right back. “We’re heading to Doc’s to watch the game. You in?”

  I sigh, torn. It would be nice to get out of the house. To see people. Doc’s never used to be our favorite place, but it’s accessible for me, so I appreciate the thought. Mitchell probably doesn’t want me stewing about Lainie for the next week. “What else have I got to do?”

  “As I suspected. You want me to pick you up?”

  If Mitchell drove, I could have a few beers. But then I’d be worried about him driving home after drinking. It’s why I don’t like going out anymore. All I do is worry about how people are going to get home.

  Plus, it’s not like I can really get drunk anymore. Trying to cath myself drunk is no fun. Not that I can feel it, but since I can’t feel it, the potential to injure my dick is real. Also, I end up with piss all over myself. So, yeah, not fun.

  “Nah, I’ll drive. I can drive anyone home who needs it.”

  I answer a few client emails and work on a design that’s been nagging me. For some reason, it won’t come together the way it needs to. That’s why I’m working on a Saturday. I mean, that and the fact that I have nothing else to do. Hooking my left bicep under the push handle on the back of my wheelchair, I lean to the left, giving my ass the pressure relief it needs so I don’t get skin breakdown. It’s an unconscious thing, and I don’t break gaze on the computer while doing this. In about thirty minutes, I’ll lean right. I’ll probably lie down on the couch for a while before I get ready to go out. I bet Mitchell is lying on the couch watching TV too. See, I’m no different from the next guy. Why couldn’t Lainie see?

  *******

  “Dude, where you been hiding?” Trevor leans in, gives me that guy hug and whacks my upper back. Good thing my arms are up and I can brace myself on him. With no back or abdominal muscles to keep me upright, a thump on the back could knock me out of my wheelchair.

  Tonight’s crew consists of Trevor, Phil, Marco, Mitchell, and me. We’ve been friends since little league. The guys make me feel good and like shit all at the same time. I’m not the social butterfly I once was.

  “Working on some big projects.”

  “That’s lame.” Trevor plops down in the chair to my right. We’re at a large round table that’s smack dab in the middle of the bar. The noise level increases steadily, indicating a good Saturday night for Doc’s. In addition to various sporting events on the TVs that line the perimeter, various trivia contests are also running. It makes for a certain balance of estrogen and testosterone in the bar, much to my appreciative eye.

  Mitchell’s seated on my left. “The decor is very nice tonight. Especially over at the bar.”

  I follow his gaze to a group of three women, obviously out for a girls’ night. Their pants are tight, their shirts are revealing, and their hair is big. Like real big. This is Upstate New York, not New Jersey. They’re trying too hard. No wonder they’re single. On the other hand, beggars can’t be choosers, and I might as well be holding a tin cup on the street corner.

  “Some definite potential. You got a plan?”

  Mitchell is a player. I think he feels he needs to make up for my lack of game. I’ve been out of commission for the two-and-a-half years since my accident, not to mention the six years I wasted with Lainie before that. So, yeah, I’ve been out of play since I was about twenty-two. With Mitchell being two years younger than me, I can’t help but worry about him. He’s had a few girls who stuck around for a little while before he managed to drive them away. I think Mitchell really wants to settle down but is too afraid of it. He’s afraid to get his heart smashed and ground into a thousand little pieces like mine was.

  “I think we use your panty-dropping smile to lure them over here, we get them plastered, and see what happens.”

  “So, the usual.” I have to laugh. We’d always had a reverse-wingman thing going on. I’d reel ‘em in, and Mitchell would reap the spoils. Never bothered me before, since I’d had Lainie. Now there was no Lainie. Even if she wants to get back together, it’ll be good to have some leverage. To let her know that girls want me, regardless of the chair.

  This is gonna be good.

  Except it’s not. It’s not fun. I’m too old for this shit. Not that thirty is old, but I feel old. Man do I feel it. Well, not really. I don’t feel anything below mid-chest. Paraplegic humor. Being in the bar is irking me. It’s loud. People keep bumping into my chair. As soon as a woman spots it, she practically runs in the opposite direction. It’s like woman-kryptonite. No one seems to care that there’s a handsome guy in the chair. They do their best to not see me, if they can.

  Mitchell is getting pretty lit. He knows I’ll bring him home, so he can afford to drink himself into oblivion. If I wanted to wake up in a puddle of my own piss and end up with a urinary tract infection from dehydration, I could get hammered too. Yeah, not worth it. Trevor and Marco are macking on some pretty cute girls. Phil is sitting sullenly on the other side of the table, scowling into his beer. He’s barely said two words to me this whole time. I wonder what crawled up his ass and died.

  Sort of sad. Phil and I were always close. Almost as close as Mitchell and me. He was never the same after the accident. Neither was I, but Phil didn’t really have an excuse. His visits to the hospital and rehab grew more and more sparse, and when I returned home, he slowly drifted into the background, until he never came around at all. To say things are awkward between us would be an understatement.

  I can tell he doesn’t want to be here. At this point, neither do I. Mitchell is scanning the room, looking for his next conquest. It’s gonna be hell getting him out of here. He glances at me, and his face falls. “Already, man?”

  My watch only reads 10:15. Dammit, it is too early to leave. What to do in the meantime? I’m not drinking any more beer, and it’s not like I can stroll to the bathroom to kill time. The games on the massive TVs don’t interest me. The last desperate thing I can do is play trivia. Pushing back from the table, I roll up to the hostess stand to ask for one of the consoles. She hands it to me, as if she’s handing a balloon to a crying child, all full of gushy sympathy. Her tone is thick with surprise that I would be playing trivia. Looks like she’s the dumb one for thinking that my inability to walk has anything to do with my intellect.

  That’s what I’m reduced to, in her eyes. The equivalent of a mentally challenged child.

  I wheel back to the table, pushing a little harder than I need to. I wish I could stomp my feet, but picking them up and dropping them somehow doesn’t have the same effect.

  Turns out, being the sober one playing trivia has some distinct advantages. Before I know it, I’m in the lead. Mitchell is looking over my shoulder, Marco and Trevor are paying attention, and even Phil seems mildly interested. My biggest competition in the bar is MAS. Which is coincidental, given those are my initials. I’ve entered my user name as SAL, which is my nickname. Everyone calls me Sal, except for Trevor who calls me Sally. I don’t think I’d answer to my given name of Michael anymore. Even at work, unless I’m dealing with a client, I go by Sal. It’s made for some interesting mix-ups to say the least. I’m neither a woman nor a middle-aged Jewish man, so the client never expects me when I come rolling in. It’s good to keep people on their toes. More paraplegic humor.

  I glance around the bar, wondering who this MAS is.

  “Mitch, I need you to do some recon.”

  “Aye, aye, captain.” He stands, rather sways, and then lurches out into the crowd. Why do I get the feeling this isn’t going to work?

  MAS pulls ahead, and cheers direct me to her location. At a booth in the corner, I spot my nemesis. She’s a solid girl. Pretty in a nerdy way. Great smile. I know she’s smart too. Maybe I should go talk to her when the game is over.
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br />   This is the first time I’ve thought about approaching a girl since the accident. Interesting.

  Of course, before the accident, I never would have given a girl like her the time of day. Even before Lainie, I never lacked for female attention. Like walking and taking a dump on my own, it was just another thing that I took for granted. Good people come in all shapes and sizes. Just because a girl is a ten doesn’t mean her personality is. This time, I think I should go for someone well rounded. No pun intended this time.

  The trivia game ends with me pulling ahead on the last question by fifty points. The next round doesn’t start for fifteen more minutes. Pushing back from the table, I tell the guys I’m going to talk to my competition. Mitchell still hasn’t returned yet, but I’m sure he’s wheeling and dealing like he does.

  The tables are close together, and it’s a bit tough to navigate. People step in front of me like I’m not even there. I want to punch the guy who I hear saying, “Move. There’s a wheelchair coming through.” Like it doesn’t even occur to him that there’s a person in the wheelchair. I never realized how invisible the disabled are until I became one. I didn’t see. No one does.

  Pulling up to the table, I flash my best smile. “You M.A.S.?”

  She looks back at me, warily. “Why do you want to know?”

  “I’m Sal. Good game. You really know your stuff.”

  Her face relaxes but only slightly. “I’m Mary Ann.”

  “I’m Michael Salinger, but people call me Sal. My initials are actually M.A.S.”

  “Interesting.” Her voice indicates anything but interest. Her gaze is darting around the room, trying not to meet mine. Right. This is how it’s going to be.

  “Okay, well good game.” I turn around, knocking into the guy behind me. “Sorry.”

  I hear Mary Ann and her friends stifling laughter as I roll away. Yeah, that sucked. Getting back to my boys, Trevor and Marco immediately start ribbing me.