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I lower my chin, and cast my gaze at ocean. “No, I haven’t.”
“Hey, man. No hard feelings.” Steve nudges my forearm. “You know I’m just busting balls.”
“No, you’re right. I stopped coming to group, and I never kept in touch with you.” I shake my head. “And I don’t know why. I don’t know why I do a lot of things lately.”
“We can help you sort it all out,” says Harold.
I survey the equipment sprawled out on the sand. “What is all this?”
“This is Adaptive Adventures.” A brunette-haired woman in a wheelchair wearing a life vest smiles up at me. “The organization provides physically disabled people with opportunities for outdoor sports.”
My eyebrows jump. “Wow. What are you guys doing today?”
“We’re paddle boarding. Want to try?”
I watch as several people secure someone’s wheelchair onto a long metal board attached to two wide flotation devices on either side. “That will hold up a wheelchair?”
“Yup.”
Harold grins. “I never did half of these things before my injury. Now, I’m living life to the fullest in my wheelchair.”
Live life to the fullest.
A sharp pang shoots through my heart.
“I’m Greta,” says the woman. “Will you be joining us today?”
“Uh, I think I’ll watch first.” I give her a small wave. “I’m Bryce.”
Steve glances at the newcomers I haven’t met yet. “This is Bryce Holden. He used to play for the New England Patriots, but he doesn’t ever tell anyone that, which is beyond me. I’d roll up and down the streets of this town shouting it to anyone and everyone who’d listen.”
Greta rolls her eyes. “You already roll up and down the streets shouting to anyone and everyone who’ll listen.”
Another man in a wheelchair looks at me, and tips his chin. “Good to meet you, Bryce. I’m Chris.”
I don’t move to shake his hand. I’ve learned that if someone in a wheelchair doesn’t extend their arm for a shake, it probably means they can’t. I nod. “Hi, Chris.”
Harold parks his chair between me and Steve. “Why don’t you tell us what’s going on while the group gets situated?”
I shift my weight onto my other leg. “I thought I was doing fine, you know? I accepted what happened to me. I accepted life with a spinal cord injury. I’m not ashamed to use my cane, or my wheelchair when I need it. I worked through a lot of tough shit. But it turns out, I wasn’t done.”
Harold nods. “I don’t know if we’re ever done. Life ebbs and flows, and changes. We need to make adjustments to learn how to go with it.”
“I’ve been struggling with forgiving myself for what I did.” I gesture to Harold. “I didn’t serve my country.” I point to Pete. “I didn’t fall off a ladder at work.” I place my hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I didn’t get into an accident. I got into a fight with a guy for mouthing off to me at a bar. There’s no dignity in that. I didn’t get labeled a hero. I’m the dumbass who lost his temper, and cost himself his career.”
Harold’s eyes narrow. “You think you deserve the shit you’ve been through because you made a bad call one time in your life?”
I shrug. “Maybe I do.”
Pete shakes his head. “No one deserves anything. There’s no black and white, no good and evil. Even the worst of the worst sitting in a jail cell right now doesn’t deserve the life he has. We’re all human, and we all have issues. But the thing that sets you apart is what you learn from it. How you rise from it.”
“The world patted me on the back, and gave me a purple heart,” says Harold. “Then they forgot about me, and wouldn’t give me a job. They treated me no different than the homeless man they pass on the street. So, I can tell you firsthand: It doesn’t matter whether you got injured doing something honorable. Society doesn’t know how to handle people with disabilities either way.”
“What if they’re right though?” I spin my cane in my fingers as I stare down at it. “What if I’m everything they said I was in those articles? What if I’m not good enough for ... for anyone?”
“You’re here because of a girl, aren’t you?” Greta asks.
Everyone turns to look at her, and I nod. “I guess I am.”
