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November 8, 2006

David: Never Tell Me The Odds

“Hey, Honey, let’s go dancing.”

“Dancing? Charles, you hate dancing. Do you even know how?”

Charles flashed back to the car accident, his legs crushed within twisted metal. The pitying looks of the nurses when they thought he wasn’t looking. The weeks in traction, months in a wheelchair. The agony of physical therapy.

They said it would be a miracle if he ever walked again, even on crutches. They said it would take an act of God to end the pain. They suggested amputation as the easy way out.

He kneaded the carpet with his toes. “I’ll figure it out.”

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