Wrecked

  “Jesus Christ, months? In a few months I’ll be waiting to die?” I felt hollow, like I should vomit but there was nothing inside of me. I’d faced difficulties before but this thing was different. This thing wasn’t real. It came out of nowhere. It wasn’t something I could grab, punch, or knockout. I had no idea how to fight this.

  The doctor shook his head. “The prognosis largely depends on how severe of a case you have. As for you, it’s too early to tell how aggressively the disease will progress. The good news is that we caught it fairly early, so we can plan a course of treatment. ”

  I clenched my fists, my insides roiling. Fuck this shit. Why did this have to happen to me? I thought I had done it. I’d finally gotten away from the drugs, the filth, and the petty crimes that were forced on my childhood. Even though I still got in trouble sometimes, I busted my ass in school so that I could get into college and go somewhere far far away from the negativity and bullshit of my parents. School, wrestling team, boxing club—that was my routine throughout high school. My life was fucked up, but at least there were things that I could control.

  But now this. Now I had a death sentence hanging over my head, just waiting to crush me.

  Two and a half years ago

  After receiving my diagnosis, I threw myself one-hundred percent into ROTC. The doctor couldn’t tell me how quickly my MS would progress, but from what he said, I figured worst case scenario was I would still have a few years. Maybe ten, definitely five at least. I was young, and other than the MS, pretty healthy. I could still do it, I could still get into the Air Force.

  I’d work my ass off even if I could only fly one mission. I just wanted to fly, to be up in the air, free and away from it all. That was all I needed, all I asked for.

  The doctor gave me some resources for cleaning up my diet and pointed me to some alternative therapies I could try, like yoga and meditation. He also encouraged me to continue my exercise routine. Leading a healthy lifestyle in general was something I could do to manage my condition.

  Living a disciplined and healthy lifestyle fit well with my goal of being an Air Force officer, so that’s what I did. Everything I read about dealing with MS said the worst thing you could do was feel sorry for yourself and dwell on it, so I threw myself into training. I felt pretty shitty when I first found out, but I wasn’t big on long pity parties. This thing wasn’t going to stop me from doing what I wanted to do.

  After training hard all summer, I was a beast in Physical Training when school started. I finished first in every drill, and the supervisors were noticing. It made me feel good to be recognized for all the work I’d done. I was beating these guys even with my condition. It proved to me that there was still plenty in my life I had control over.

  I was still sweaty from another session of dominating PT in the late summer heat when Captain Mitch McHenry called me into his office. It was September of my sophomore year. I was a little worried that he was calling me in. Most of the time, unscheduled visits to McHenry’s office were a bad thing.

  “Sit, Jensen,” he said pointing to the chair in front of his desk when I entered. His face looked grim, but I couldn’t think of anything I’d done wrong.

  He grimaced before he spoke. “There’s no way to put this lightly. I’ve seen how hard you’ve worked, both last year and the beginning of this year, so I know how much you want this. But the Air Force is going to have to release you from the ROTC program.”

  I bolted upright in the chair and caught myself before I stood up. This couldn’t be happening. McHenry could be a hardass, but he was always fair.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, racking my brains desperately for where I had fucked up. “Why? Was it the B+ I got in freshman writing? Look, I’ll take it again!”

  He shook his head and glanced back down at the file in his hand—my file. “No you haven’t done anything wrong Hunter. But I was looking at your physical record today and saw that you have multiple sclerosis.”

  “I know, sir, but it’s not that bad. I’ve been managing it with my doctor. He said that we caught it early. I haven’t even had any flare-ups since—”

  McHenry looked down and held up his hand.

  I studied his face desperately. I could feel it slipping away by the minute. The only thing I ever cared about was slipping through my fingers. I tried again. “I’ll do double Physical Training. I’ll do the night sessions too—”

  “Jensen, stop. It’s not about how hard you can work. I know you’ve put in more time than anyone else in the program. This is Air Force policy. The Air Force doesn’t accept candidates with your condition.”

  I shook my head slowly in disbelief. “But I’m fine!” I said, as much to myself as to him. “You’ve seen me in PT.”

  “Jensen, look. The Air Force can’t risk you having a flare-up while on active duty with lives at stake. The Air Force thinks it’s best to avoid the potential for that situation altogether. I’m very sorry, Jensen, but that decision is final.”

  “The Air Force thinks? What about you? What do you think?” I yelled, feeling betrayed by both McHenry and the organization I had worked so hard towards. I knew I was crossing the line but I didn’t care.

  McHenry relaxed and looked at me, his eyes softening. “Son, it doesn’t matter what I think. I can’t change Air Force policy. You’re a capable, smart, young man. The military isn’t everything, and with your condition, why do you want this anyway? There are a lot of other opportunities for you beyond the military.”

  A flash of pity flashed across his face and the anger boiling in my chest threatened to spill over. He pitied me. He fucking took away the only thing I ever wanted and he pitied me.

  McHenry was talking but I wasn’t listening. “I bust my ass, whip everyone in PT, and this is what I get? Kicked to the curb because of some stupid shit disease I have no control over? This is fucking ridiculous!”

  His eyes became hard and commanding. “Watch it Jensen. Just because you can no longer be a part of this program doesn’t mean you can say whatever the hell you want.”

  I got up and stared him down. I was shaking with rage and there was a furious pounding in my head. “Fuck you McHenry, and fuck the Air Force.”

  I left his office bouncing between helplessness and anger as I entered the locker room. I smashed my fist into a locker, rattling the entire row. Other guys looked at me and backed away as I went to my locker; it took every ounce of control to not punch someone. Why did this have to happen to me? What was I going to do now?

  I shoved the contents of my locker into a gym bag and slammed the door shut. All that grueling work was down the drain for nothing.

  I punched the locker again, leaving a fist-sized dent. McHenry could have fun getting that thing out. My fist aching, I threw my bag over my shoulder and stormed out of the building. After dropping off my stuff back at my apartment, I went straight to the bar. I woke up hungover the next morning and got my first tattoo.

  Two years ago

  We were in my apartment having the same argument yet again. Ada and I had been together for around fourteen months; it was now February of my sophomore year. Our relationship wasn’t going to make it to the next month if she wouldn’t shut up about this.

  “Hunter, you can’t keep fighting!” she yelled from the couch. “It’s just irresponsible! Every time you have a fight I feel like I’m going to get a call that you’re in the ER.”

  I was seated on the floor after another set of pushups, wearing nothing but a pair of mesh gym shorts. “Really? I thought you said it was hot that I was a fighter.” I knew that it would piss her off but I said it anyway.

  “That was before I knew you had MS!” Ada threw her hands up in the air in frustration.“I mean, what if you get hit in the head, or even get knocked out? Don’t give me some bullshit about how it won’t make it worse. I’m not stupid.”

  I grinned at her, knowing that I was just pissing her off even more. “I just won’t get knocked out. No big deal. Haven’t gotten kno
cked out yet.”

  “Ugh! You’re impossible!”

  “I don’t need your pity, Ada. I can take care of myself in the cage. Besides, I’m being as safe as I can.”

  “Being as safe as you can is still killing yourself!” she yelled.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know, I’m pretty sure I’m still alive.”

  “You’re so selfish,” she said bitterly.

  “Selfish? It’s my fucking body and I can do whatever the hell I want with it. Having MS doesn’t change that.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I’m not saying you can’t do what you want. I’m saying what you want to do is really, really stupid.”

  I shrugged and got back into position for more pushups.

  “This conversation isn’t over,” she shrieked. “Get up!”

  My knees hit the floor and I sat up. “Okay. What else do you have?”

  It looked like she was trying to use her eyes to bore a hole into my chest. “You don’t respect me. If you won’t stop fighting when it’s obviously so stupid, I don’t think I can be close to you. Every time you fight, I’m worried you’re going to get knocked out and die! It drives me crazy.”

  I locked eyes with her. “Ada, I do respect you. Still, nothing’s gonna stop me from making my own decisions. If you don’t respect that, then I don’t know what to tell you.”

  She narrowed her eyes in anger. “Oh my god, you’re impossible! I can’t do this anymore. You’ve changed, Hunter. I remember when you were driven and had goals. Ever since you got kicked out of ROTC, it’s been the same shit with you. Showing people you’re in control of your life. Maybe you’re showing yourself—I don’t know—but all you’ve shown me is that you’re a selfish child.”

  Fuck her shit, no one was going to tell me what to do. I stared at her for a moment and got back down to doing pushups. She sighed angrily one more time before picking up her bag and walking out the door. We broke up for good the next day.

  Yesterday

  I lay in my hospital bed, hooked up to more monitors than I thought possible. This was the worst I’d ever felt. I’d had another flare-up. I couldn’t ask Lorrie for help so here I was, with Ada. She had driven me to the campus health center a few days before, and since then she had visited every day. I appreciated her help, but I was just waiting for the other foot to drop.

  Ada and I had fun when we weren’t dealing with my MS. But whenever my MS came up, a bitter argument was soon to follow. If Ada didn’t agree with something, she would keep arguing until she got her way. She didn’t seem to grasp the words “it’s not your business.”

  Lorrie was different. She didn’t know the full story, but she never pried, never tried to tell me what to do. That night, after the fight, I could see it in her eyes: a cool disapproval for the face bashing I just gave the other guy. Even though she didn’t know me at the time, I could tell she didn’t like it. A girl like her didn’t need the fighting, the violence, the feeling of going toe to toe with an angry, out of control monster in a tight confined space, but I did, and she never asked me to stop. I knew I should have told Lorrie about my MS but I couldn’t.

  Ada broke into my thoughts. “I’ll be right back Hunter, going to grab something from the vending machine.”

  I nodded.

  The first time Lorrie ran into me outside the health center, I almost told her. Told her about the disease that was eating through my nerves and would destroy my body eventually. I’d been in the health center getting my monthly treatment. A 10cc dose of corticosteroids, injected directly into my left thigh. Thing was, it always put me in a sour mood. I’d be weak and tired for at least forty-eight hours. Couldn’t train, couldn’t fight, couldn’t do shit. A useless bag of flesh.

  Usually, I’d spend those days holed up drinking, watching TV, and fucking girls whose names I barely knew. On the worst days, I’d never let anybody see me. Doctor said no alcohol, but fuck him. Sometimes I’d melt one of the stupid model planes I collected in high school over my stove top until it was a puddle of gray plastic.

  I’d clean up the apartment once the side effects wore off. Toss out the beer cans, take out the trash. Get ready to do it all over again in another month.

  But that day was different, I ran into Lorrie on my way out of the health center. I told her I’d been getting a couple fight injuries patched up and asked her if she wanted to hang out. Usually I didn’t like being around people after my treatment, but Lorrie was different. We ate popcorn and watched some movies. When she fell asleep on my shoulder that night, it almost made me forget about my problems. That was the first night I broke from my post-treatment tradition of getting wasted and feeling sorry for myself. I didn’t tell her about the MS though. I didn’t want to risk ruining what we had.

  Ada came back into the room from grabbing a snack and I snapped back to reality. Ada was the first person I told about my diagnosis. Crazy as it was, that was the tightest bond remaining in our friendship. The only other people who knew were Gary and the hospital staff responsible for my care. Well, them and McHenry.

  “How are you feeling?” Ada asked.

  “Just tired,” I said. I felt a lot better ever since the doctor had come in the previous night and told me I could probably leave midday today.

  Her eyes found mine. “Seeing okay?”

  Sometimes my vision got blurry during flare-ups but it wasn’t bad this time. I nodded. “Yeah, today I’m seeing fine.”

  “Good.”

  We sat in tense silence for a moment. The monitors I was hooked up to continued to flash regularly.

  “You should tell her,” Ada said pointedly, breaking the silence.

  I closed my eyes. If there was one thing Ada didn’t mind doing, it was having the same argument over and over. I sucked in a deep breath.

  “Here,” she said, handing me my own phone. Lorrie had texted me a few times, but I hadn’t responded. What the hell was I gonna tell her?

  “Not now Ada. I’ll tell her when I’m ready.”

  “If you really think she’s different from other girls, you should tell her. The fact you won’t makes me wonder if you really like her or if there’s something else going on.”

  “What do you mean?” I growled, struggling to keep my voice down. Ada was just trying to goad me.

  “Don’t take that tone with me Hunter. It’s a legitimate question. Are you sure you’re not just into her because of her whole ‘my-life-is-so-tragic-save-me’ act?”

  I tried to keep a steady tone, but my chest was getting tight from the way Ada was talking about Lorrie. “Fuck you Ada. You don‘t know the first thing about her.”

  Ada glared daggers at me. “Fuck you too. Are you going to tell her or not?”

  “I’m crazy about that girl,” I said evenly.

  She threw her hands up. “Well that’s nice, that you’re crazy about her! If you’re so crazy about her, why not ask her to come to the hospital right now? Do you realize the gossip I’m putting up with because I’m here with you? People think you fucking knocked me up, Hunter. You might not give a shit about what people say with your bad boy rebel act, but I do.”

  I took several deep breaths and managed to calm myself down. “I’m sorry, Ada. I didn’t know people were saying all that stuff. Thanks for coming and checking on me, I appreciate it, but I told you before that you didn’t have to come see me every day. Gary’s been stopping by to check on me. I’ll be fine.”

  Ada crossed her arms. “If that girl really cares about you, how come she hasn’t called you yet?”

  It was strange, but I figured it was a good thing since I didn’t have to explain being in the hospital. “I don’t know. Look, she’s got plenty of problems of her own.”

  Ada continued like I hadn’t said anything. “I mean, a few texts, that’s it? Come on, you’ve been gone for almost a week now, what kind of self-absorbed bitch ju—”

  “Ada . . . ” I clenched my fists, the IV a sharp pain in my forearm. Before I could say something I’d regret,
my phone buzzed from the table next to me. Lorrie was calling me.

  I froze, watching it vibrate, my insides churning. What would I say if I picked up? Hi Lorrie, in case you didn’t have enough to worry about, let me tell you about my chronic and potentially terminal illness. Fuck that.

  I looked up to see Ada staring at me. “Hunter!” she shrieked. “What the fuck is the matter with you? Why won’t you tell her?”

  Fucking Ada, everything was always cut and dry for her. Why didn’t she understand that it just wasn’t that simple.

  The moment I first saw Lorrie’s face—after fishing her out of that lake—I knew there was something about her. It wasn’t the shock on her expression from a near-death experience or even the way her body shivered from the freezing cold. It wasn’t anything on the outside. It was that look in her eyes that pierced me to my damn core. I didn’t know anything about her, but I instantly recognized that look from seeing it every day in the mirror. She was beautiful. And broken.

  Even if she didn’t tell me her whole story, she let her walls down for me. I understood her need to protect herself and never pried. I just needed to be there for her. When that asshole at the Tau Beta Pi party said that shit about her parents, he was fucking lucky that Lorrie stopped me. I don’t know what I would’ve done.

  No. Lorrie didn’t need my sob story and I didn’t need her to pity me. She needed me to be strong for her, to wipe away her tears, to hold her shuddering body tightly against mine. Lorrie needed me to take away her pain, not add to it.

  I needed her too. Before she came along I was a fucking mess. Maybe she thought I was her savior when I pulled her out of that lake, but I knew the real score. If I hadn’t found her, I’d be so lost right now. I would’ve lost myself in the drinking, brawling, and groupies. Lorrie never let me get away with that bullshit. She saw right through me, but she was never pushy like Ada. Lorrie knew how hard it was to try to make it through each day. She made me feel alive again, like there was still something to look forward to, like I wasn’t just waiting for the MS to knock me out.