Stewart's Story

Stewart's Story

  by Ruth Madison

  Copyright 2011 by Ruth Madison

  ***

  “You just drove that dinky car of yours across the entire country?” Claire huffed into the phone. “Stewart, one of these days you are going to give me an ulcer.”

  “That’s why I didn’t tell you about it,” he said, rolling down his car window and closing his eyes, smelling the salt air.. He was in California again, sitting in his car in the parking lot of his best friend’s apartment building. His Aunt Claire continued to tell him how stupid he had been until Stewart finally interrupted her. “Claire, listen, I’m fine. I’m here, everything is good. Can I talk to you later?”

  “Oh, we will talk later. I have more to say to you. What if you had broken down in the middle of the country? What if you couldn’t get help? Giving a little bit of latitude to your weaknesses is not a bad thing, it’s a safe thing.”

  “I’m twenty-six years old, Aunt Claire, I can make my own choices.”

  “You just think about how your choices are going to affect everyone else if you die out on the road, unable to get help.”

  “Thinking about it right now, I’ll get back to you.” From here he could see his friend, Jeff's, apartment on the second floor. The window was open; he must be home.

  “Oh Stewart,” his aunt said with a sigh. “You know I only worry because I love you.”

  “I need to get a place to stay sorted out, okay? I’ll talk to you later. I promise.” He hung up his phone and pushed it into the front pocket of his jeans maneuvering against some resistance. He opened the car door, then leaned across to his passenger seat and grabbed the frame of his wheelchair, putting it on the pavement. Upended on the ground, the little caster wheels spun. He held it steady with one hand and attached the larger wheels one at a time with the other. They clicked easily into place. Getting a grip on the seat cushion, he shifted his butt onto the chair, then lifted his legs over one at a time. The whole maneuver took about thirty seconds. He slid his hands across the rails on his wheels, closed the car door, and locked it. He rested his hand on the door of the car for a moment, smiling at its faded blue. “Good girl,” he said softly.

  No one was in sight. It was a classic Los Angeles day with a comfortable heat and hardly a cloud in the sky. He pushed inside the building, glad that there was no reception area with a person to try to open the door for him and get in the way.

  He entered the elevator and pressed the button for the second floor. During the brief ride up, he moved his cell phone from where it was threatening to burst back out of his pocket and stashed it in the pouch behind his legs. He rolled slowly down the hallway, pushing against the low carpet, and stopped at Jeff's door, giving a quick knock.

  Jeff swung open the door and the look of surprise on his face was quickly replaced with a grin. “Back already,” he remarked. “You just couldn’t stay away.”

  That was the truth. “Good to see you too,” Stewart said. Jeff moved back and Stewart rolled into the small apartment that he remembered so well.

  “Do you want a beer?” Jeff said.

  “Absolutely,” Stewart said. He parked himself beside the sofa in the living room where he could see out the window to the balcony and the street that he had once run down in complete panic. Just looking at it, his heart began to beat a little faster. Jeff walked in and handed him a glass bottle beer, then slumped onto the sofa.

  “Not that I’m complaining,” Jeff said, “But I didn’t see you for seven years and now I’m seeing you twice in six months. Didn’t you have to get back to Massachusetts for the start of the school year?”

  Stewart was in his last year of getting a teaching degree to become a high school science teacher. He looked away from the window and back to his friend. “I transferred,” he said. “I was wondering if I could stay with you until I get set up here.”

  Jeff sat up straight suddenly. “Are you saying you’re moving back?”

  “That’s what I’m saying.”

  Jeff clapped his hands and said, “This is going to be awesome.”

  Over the summer Stewart had reluctantly agreed to come back to California at Jeff's insistence. His friend had wanted him to give a speech at the annual surfing competition. There was a time when Stewart dominated that competition.

  He had been surprised how nice it was to be back in the ocean, surfing again. When it came time to travel back to Massachusetts, he found himself reluctant to go. Stewart hadn’t expected to feel torn as he left. The ocean was pulling him, drawing him to stay. California was his home. It was where he had been born. Despite all the running he had done, what he had left behind here would not stay quiet in his mind.

  “You going to see your dad now that you'll be here longer than a few days?” Jeff said.

  “Wasn't planning to,” Stewart answered.

  Jeff didn't pursue the subject. “You're totally welcome to stay here as long as you need.”

  “Great, my bag is in the car.”

  “Why don't we get it on the way back after the bar? I need to get down there. The kid I hired part time gets off in about twenty minutes.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Cool, I'm going to call Lee and Leah and see if they want to meet up with us. It'll be just like old times.”

  Stewart chuckled to himself. Jeff's optimism was unbeatable. It was unlikely to be just like old times. The summer he was sixteen Stewart was the local surfing champion, Leah was his girlfriend, and Lee was always in his shadow.

  Outside they started down the sidewalk towards the sunset.

  “Are you okay to, you know, well...walk?” Jeff said.

  Stewart looked up at his friend's concerned face and couldn't help the edge of his mouth twitching towards a smile. “I know where the damn bar is, Jeff. How many times have I crashed at your place?”

  “Okay, yeah, but that was seven years ago. Things are different,” Jeff said.

  “Right,” Stewart said, beginning to push down the street towards the bar. “I wasn't paralyzed.”

  “Now that you mention it,” Jeff said, “I thought something was different.”

  Stewart laughed. “I'm not offended by the word 'walk,' okay? So don't worry about it.”

  Sand was brushed up over the sidewalk and it caught in Stewart's wheels, showering down over his hands. The warm air picked up salt from the ocean as it whipped down the beach. Jeff's small wooden shack rested right at the edge. People crowded around the doorway smoking, more leaned against motorcycles or strolled slowly down the boardwalk nearby. As they got closer, Stewart noticed the wooden ramp on the side of the stairs.

  “This is new,” he said, pushing himself up it.

  “Someone told me I'd get a tax break,” Jeff said, “But I think he lied.”

  "You need an incentive not to break the law?" Stewart called over his shoulder. Jeff followed him inside.

  Stewart paused in the doorway to take in the scene. He had missed this place. Not much had changed in the years he'd been gone. There were a few tables, a long wooden bar, a small dance floor, everything in dark wood. This was where all the locals came. Jeff lived for this place, building it into the perfect hang out.

  Leah was already there. She was leaning over the bar, wearing a mini skirt that didn’t quite cover her butt and a sport’s bra. Her warm honey skin glistened, still wet from swimming. The few patrons inside were all riveted to her. As Stewart’s wheels rumbled onto the wooden floor, she turned and fixed him with her well-honed siren smile. Jeff gave her a wave, then went into the kitchen to get them food. Stewart slowly wheeled forward and Leah joined him at a table. He pulled a chair out of the way and slid into its place.

  “No girlfriend this
time, huh?” Leah said.

  "Nope."

  "Good. That kid was strange."

  "Be nice, Leah. I care about Elizabeth a lot."

  "Whatever." Leah leaned back and her eyes slowly looked him up and down. “Is your foot supposed to do that?”

  “Huh?” Stewart looked down to see his foot shaking. “Oh yeah,” he said. “Don't worry about that.” He grabbed his knee and pulled the leg further in. “It'll stop in a minute.”

  “That's some weird shit,” Leah said, throwing back her drink.

  “I guess. Does it bother you?”

  “Yeah, I'll be honest. It's hard to see you like this. I remember you in such a different way, you know?”

  “You've changed too,” Stewart said with a smile.

  “Have not.” Leah laughed, smacking his shoulder. “Hey, I didn't hurt you, did I?”

  “Are you kidding? These shoulders are as solid as granite,” Stewart said, lifting the sleeve of his t-shirt.

  Leah touched his neck and slid her hand down to his shoulders. “Oh my God, they are like one enormous brick wall.” Her hand slid farther down his back to the top of the wheelchair.

  “Hey, hey, “Stewart said, “Let's keep those hands where I can see them.”

  “Your foot stopped.”

  Stewart looked down. “Oh yeah.”

  “What does that mean? Like does that mean you could get better?”

  “No.”

  “Sorry, I shouldn't have said.”

  “You can ask me whatever you want, Leah, we're friends. Really, whatever you want to know, just ask.”

  Leah smiled and put her bare foot against his crotch. “Does it still work?”

  “Woah,” Stewart said, rolling back. Her foot fell to the floor in front of her, an anklet jingling. She smiled at him.

  “I really don’t want to do this with you.”

  “Do what?” She leaned forward and smiled again, twirling a piece of her ocean-soaked hair in front of her.

  Jeff came over with baskets of burgers and drinks and put them down. “So,” Jeff said, “I was thinking that tomorrow we should catch the surf together, like old times.”

  “I can’t,” Stewart said, “I’m starting student teaching in the morning.”

  “Oh right,” Jeff said.

  "Saturday, though," Stewart said. "We can go Saturday morning."

  Leah hadn’t taken her eyes off Stewart and he was purposely not looking back at her. She wasn’t really interested in him, this was all a game. A game she was good at and always had been. All she wanted to do was win, not actually follow through on any flirting. But Stewart liked to win too.

  He decided to make her as uncomfortable as he possibly could. He pushed his hands against the seat of his wheelchair, shifting his body and thought score one for me when Leah looked away and fidgeted with her hair.

  “If we get out early enough to beat the tourists,” Jeff said.

  “Yeah, maybe,” Stewart said, looking at Leah. “But you know it takes me a while to get ready in the mornings these days.”

  She met his eye and he couldn’t read her expression. She certainly didn’t look disgusted or put off.

  “What about Lee?” Stewart said. “It’s not the old gang without your brother.”

  “He probably won’t make it,” Leah said.

  “He hasn’t been able to look at me since I came back in a wheelchair,” Stewart said, slapping his lap for emphasis.

  “Oh, so he’s an ass,” Leah said, “What else is new?”

  Stewart started laughing. He couldn't keep up the pretense. “Tell him I want to talk to him.”

  “He's scared to death of you.”

  “I know. And it's ridiculous.”

  Jeff went back to the bar to serve more customers.

  “Are you staying at a hotel?” Leah asked.

  Stewart shook his head. “I’ll crash on Jeff’s couch until I find a place.”

  “Isn’t a hotel easier for you? With, you know, the wheelchair and all?”

  “No. Most hotels are not nearly as accessible as they think they are. A lot easier to get Jeff to help me out than try to deal with them.”

  While they ate, Leah's eyes wandered around the place. Stewart guessed she was looking for a new victim to charm.

  “I'm going to head back to Jeff's, I have to get up early tomorrow for teaching.”

  Leah smiled. “You're getting old. And yet, somehow I stay the same.”

  “Ha. Ha,” Stewart said flatly. He rolled over to the bar and got Jeff's keys.