Excuses, Excuses
#38 of Hockey Hunk Season 5
Hehhey, and welcome to the Hockey Hunk!
I'm so glad to see you back here in such numbers, and the feedback on the first chapter after the break was joyful to read - so many thankyous for your feedback! It's what fuel the story on, and maybe it was that which meant that I wrote down the synopses for 10 next chapters, so I think we're pretty well set for now! *chuckle' But I do hope that you'll keep reading and commenting, and of course, remember that all votes, faves and watches will help others to find these stories to enjoy as well!
Have a good read!
*
"Damn, it's hot today!"
Simpson rolled himself around after barking that stuff, before he slowly moved onto his place on the ring of regular chairs and wheelchairs and then hit his brakes. Safety first, I guess.
"And I'm feeling it too!" Alyssa, the scary wolverine said, sitting next to Tate, on the other side of Christina and Dwayne on our ring, "my stump's right irritated."
She lifted her big arm and showed that instead of her usual prosthetic she was only wearing a white sock-like cover over her stump. Somehow even the sight of it made my own itch...or was that just me feeling something similar, with the weather being what it was.
"Sweating sucks," Tate grumbled, "I also thought I might be getting a sore but it's alright after I put some zinc oxide cream on it."
"Well that's one important topic indeed!" Simpson clapped his paws together. "Stump care! Has everyone with amputations been doing alright? Harris?"
I guess he picked the rat first because he'd been playing around with his phone. He looked at Simpson quickly and put the phone into his pocket.
"It's pretty cool," he said, "It's alright. Mom makes sure I am really careful with it."
He didn't sound happy about that.
"Moms are good for stuff like that," Christina was smiling.
"How about you, Marker?"
I looked at him quietly.
"My arm's okay," I said, "I haven't had any problems. I'm...okay."
"That's great!" Simpson replied. "Are you dealing well, Alyssa?"
The wolverine waved her socked arm and grumbled.
"I'm giving it a lot of tender loving care," she said.
"How about you, Tate?"
My fox roommate shrugged.
"Like I told you, it's alright," he said, "had to put some cream on it."
There's something bugging Tate.
"How about you, Sarge?" he said, looking over to Simpson. "Don't leave yourself out of this."
"Oh, these?" he waved his paw over his knees, just about where his legs did end for good. "They're fine. Old wounds."
"But you don't walk on yours," Harris commented, "they must've not hardened like mine is doing."
"My right knee was left so unstable that they would've had to amputate even more to try prosthetics," Simpson replied, a story we'd heard before, "at the time I didn't want to, and since I've gotten so used to my chair, I prefer this as a choice that fits me the best."
He clapped the wheels of his small, low chair (apparently they're called active chairs, a fact you'd probably never need to learn unless you needed one, but there you have it) and that was that.
"There are always choices to make," he continued, "whether you want mobility and comfort and security versus visual appearance, for example, when it comes to prosthetics. And of course the same goes for wheelchairs, what kind of model fits your needs best."
I knew mine wasn't too bad. The dark rubber almost looked like it could blend in with my fur. It was better than nothing. At least something was done about it now, unlike my face. Not much could be done about that, not before the skin was better healed. Maybe then. Maybe.
"I...think mine's...okay..." Dwayne spoke, "but...talking about...one that...I can drive...myself..."
"Cool!" Harris yelped. "Like that scientist guy does?"
"Yeah," Dwayne was smiling brightly now.
"How would you control it?" Christina spoke curiously from her own chair.
Dwayne waited for the machine to breathe for him before he answered.
"With my cheek," he said. "It's...a button...thingy."
"Well that's another new step towards further independence," Simpson said in that voice he always used when trying to make us feel more confident about ourselves, "it can be small things, or bigger things, like that."
"Would probably....crash a lot," Dwayne smiled again.
Harris snorted.
"Yeah, don't," he said, "you'll get grounded."
Everyone looked at him curiously, myself included.
"What?" the rat replied, sounding almost offended. "I can hit the gas pedal just right even with my prosthetic!"
"So is the problem with hitting the gas pedal maybe?" Alyssa said.
Harris let out a big, noisy breath.
"Maybe the problem was with my neighbor's mailbox," the rat said.
"You didn't!" Christina yelped.
Simpson rumbled.
"Something you want to share with us, Harris?" the Sarge leaned towards the rat sitting to his left.
"Well, just that," he said, "I was taking dad's Audi for a spin but that stick shift was a bit weird so I slammed the car backwards across the street and onto the Crippen's mailbox."
"Ooooouch" Dwayne was smiling more than speaking, but we all got the message.
"So, not driving my own car for a month," he said, "and no Audi ever."
Even Tate chuckled. We all did.
Something's wrong with him, though. He hasn't been normal for the past couple of weeks. Always quiet and always sad and drinking more beer than he should. That Elavil stuff was vicious. When I took it, I couldn't piss. He doesn't have that problem, but he's got some other problems, now. I just can't figure out what it is. Maybe he's just feeling blue because he's been hurt. I know sometimes the days are really, really bad for both of us. I wasn't sure what was going on with him now, though. He'd seemed alright for so long, as alright as I was, at least. I just didn't know...and I didn't know how to ask, either. Maybe he was hoping after that big reunion with his old school buddies didn't go so well because his stomach decided to explore right in the middle of dinner ors something. It seemed so strange, and a kind of a shame. He was so looking forward to it beforehand, I mean, he'd even asked if we had a clothes iron...and we'd only found an ironing board from the apartment, but no iron, so that sucked a bit, but he'd still spent some time in front of the mirror, which he also never did. Maybe he just wanted to look neat. Maybe there were going to be girls there...I wasn't sure. He hadn't talked about it or his old buddies since.
"Well, sounds like your parents took it seriously," Simpson spoke, obviously not sound too much like Harris' dad, I thought.
The rat folded his arms over his chest. He still had a little bit of fur missing from one of his arms, showing bare skin. It reminded me a bit of the skin on my own face. How ugly it must look like.
"Can't even use the cancer as an excuse anymore," he muttered.
Damn, that kid...
"Well that could be an interesting topic for today," Simpson cut in right away," hiding behind a disability or an illness."
"Hiding?" Alyssa muttered. "Isn't it usually the other way around?"
"What do you think?" Simpson leaned forward on his chair, arms bulging in his olive-colored shirt as he put his weight on them.
"What do I think?" she waved her white socked stump. "Do you think I'm gonna get a boyfriend with this? It's not my great boobs they're gonna see first when they see me. It'll always be this."
"She's right," Christina say, "we're only what we're missing now, or have gotten as new, like a wheelchair. It's them doing it. Not seeing everything else there is to us."
My skin itched.
"Those things can be get around, with the right furs and the right time," Simpson said.
"The kid's right," Tate said suddenly.
We all looked at him. Even Dwayne. Tate shrugged.
"Cancer, cancer, cancer," he said, "isn't that right, Harris? When you've got cancer, isn't the only thing that anyone will ever think about you? That cancer kid Harris. There goes Harris, the boy with cancer."
I glanced at Harris. His lips looked a big tight.
"Cancer, cancer, cancer," Tate continued, "be quiet, Cancer Harris tries to sleep. It's okay you didn't do your homework, Harris, you've got cancer, it's okay. It's okay you crashed your dad's car, you were just having fun because you know...you've got cancer. You might not be here around next summer crashing any cars."
The silence felt a bit awkward. Harris looked tense, and everyone was looking between him and Tate. I looked at the floor. I didn't want to get involved if this became a fight.
"What do you think about that, Harris?" Simpson spoke calmly. I was glad for that.
"Dude's got a point," the rat said in a strange voice.
I looked up to him, carefully. He didn't look happy, but at least he wasn't holding his hands as fists like before. He must'be been pretty angry with Tate for a second, or maybe with Simpson.
"What do you mean?" Simpson continued.
"What the fuck do you think?" he patted the floor with his tail, "it is everything to them. He's right. It's all they can think about. Cancer, death, hair loss. Everything else is forgotten."
"Our scars are very visible," Simpson said, "it's not easy to get past them. But some are wise enough to."
"You're right about the rest too," the rat kept speaking. "It's easy to use it as an excuse for not to do stuff, even if you're not too tired or sick."
"Your cancer's gone," Alyssa said, "what excuses do you have now? The same as the rest of us?"
"Fear of tripping," Tate said.
"Fear of getting stuck on a ramp or a lift or finding that you want to go somewhere and there's neither?" Christina said, "you wouldn't believe how many times that has happened to me, and this city claims to be easy access."
"Says...on...the...home...page," Dwayne said. "Lies..."
He laughed.
"Maybe they think that a few wheelchair ramps and automatic doors will do it, but obviously it doesn't," Simpson said.
"Esca...lators..." Dwayne said.
"Those are a pain," Tate said," I know I've got one good leg and I'm holding onto the rail but it still feels like I'm gonna get stuck to it or something."
"How about magnetic feet?" Harris said.
"Might be cool to walk on walls," Tate retaliated.
"Boys, boys," Simpson shook his head sternly, but he was smiling.
"It's true!"
"Well, it might be," Simpson said, "and it really is a lot of food. Do we use our disabilities as excuses to not to do things? What do you think, Christina?"
She shrugged.
"Can't be really picky when you've got kids to feed," she said. "At first I felt terrified going out of the house but...but I had to get over it and do it."
The way she said that made me want to pull on my hood. I knew that feeling. Standing there, holding the doorknob, trying to gather the courage to step out. To maybe be seen.
"I guess all of us have gone through a period of agoraphobia of some sort," Simpson said. "How about you, Marker?"
Speaking time. I tried not to blush. I think I still did.
"Well...yeah, is this a question about...excuses or...what?"
"Whatever you like," Simpson replied, "I think we've been all over the place today, but that's not a bad thing, I suppose. We've covered a lot of ground."
"Well..."
"Tell about trying to avoid stuff," Christina said, "that was the first question."
"I know," I said. "Guess...uhh...I dunno...besides...besides not wanting to go out much...I guess I'd like to use it somehow as an excuse to not to do all the homework...my head kinda hurts in the evenings from doing all the reading..."
"Oh?" Simpson sounded curious.
"Yeah," I felt shy now that everyone was looking at me again, "my eyes and my head hurt."
"It could be bad ergonomics," Alyssa said, "my neck gets bad sometimes from staying on the computer all day at the recruiting office."
"You also need proper lighting so that you don't have to squint or strain your eyes," Simpson said, "though of course I'm already a grey muzzle, so I'm allowed to wear these too..."
He patted his pocket and took out some reading glasses which he popped onto his muzzle.
We all laughed a bit.
"But my my," he looked at his wristwatch, "Looks like the time has flown while we were talking, and Dot will want her therapy room for her next group soon, so we should clear out in a bit. Let's all see you on next...Tuesday, I think?"
"Yep!" Christina said.
"Great!" he clapped his paws together again. "We'll see you then!"
There was a lot of fussing about as we all started getting up, except Dwayne, who'd always ask Christina to fetch his personal assistant, Jerry, from the hallway where he usually waited. This was kind of a private time for Dwayne, this meeting stuff.
"Tate, do you mind staying for a bit to help with the chairs?" Simpson said then.
I looked at my roommate, standing there with his crutch, staring at the seated canine.
"Okay," he said, then he looked at me, "can you wait outside?"
"I always do," I replied, quickly, as I tugged on my hood.
"Good," Tate said," I'll see you in a bit."
"Yeah, see you," I said.
I walked carefully next to Harris, who was doing so well on his new leg.
It was noisy in the corridor outside.
*
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See you on Friday with another chapter!