Page 39 of Warrior's Walk
West gives Rhett a fist bump and then fires up the treadmill. He’s got his hydraulic prosthetic on, which is best for quick, repetitive movement of his knee. It also absorbs impact well and causes less strain on his hip and back than his blade leg.
Rhett takes a seat on the weight bench beside me and bends at the waist to strap on his ankle weights. “What’s that Warrior’s Walk he’s talking about? He’s training for something?”
“Like an obstacle course for PT patients. It's an endurance test.”
“Sort of like graduating from PT?”
I snort. “You never graduate from PT, soldier. With a leg like yours, you’ll be seeing the inside of this gym every day for a long, long time.”
He straightens and looks up at me, his lethal dimpled smile on full display. “I like the sound of that.”
Everything with him is innuendo, and though I’ve come to expect it by now, it never fails to charm me.
“You’re gonna like it a lot less when you find out what I have planned for you today.”
Rhett groans. “When am I gonna compete in the Warrior’s Walk?”
“Are you kidding? You’re a long way from completing an obstacle course like that. You can barely walk in a straight line. Focus on putting one foot in front of the other, literally, before you start dreaming that big.”
Nodding, he asks, “When I’m ready, will you train me?”
He looks so sincere, and I feel like he’s asking because he truly believes I can motivate him to get there, and not because he’s trying to spend more time with me one-on-one. “Yeah, soldier. When the time comes, I’ll train you.”
That seems to give him the motivation he needs to power through his leg exercises. By the time I move him to the parallel bars, he’s sweating, and I know he’s starting to feel the burn in his leg.
West slaps the stop button on the treadmill and wipes his face and neck down with a towel. He positions himself on the other end of the parallel bars, waiting for Rhett. A heavinesssettles in my chest and I take a deep breath to push past it, feeling my lungs expand with air. It’s moments like these that remind me how much I love my job. This is why I made the switch from nursing to PT.
There's nothing more powerful than watching a community of vets rally around the new guy, lending their strength to help him get back on his feet. It’s the kind of shit that makes my eyes water.
“These are the bitch bars,” West snipes, “because it makes you feel like one when you realize how much of a struggle it is to walk ten fucking feet to the end, but I’m gonna stand right here and wait on your ass until you get here.” He checks the black sports watch on his wrist. “I’ve got shit to do today, namely Brandt,” he smirks, “so don’t make me wait too long.”
Rhett chuckles and grabs hold of the metal bars. His first four steps are strong, but then his leg starts to wobble, and his knuckles turn white as he grips the bars tighter.
“Move that right leg forward. Don’t think about it, just do it. The longer you think about it, the heavier your leg feels.” He glances at me, looking determined, and moves his right leg forward.
He takes another two wobbly steps before he’s looking around in a panic for his crutches. “Don’t even think about it,” I bark.
“I gotta sit,” Rhett pleads.
“What you need to do is keep walking.”
“Riggs, I gotta sit.”
“The only seat you’re gonna find is when you fall on your ass and hit the floor, soldier. You’re not going backward and you’re not quitting. Even if it takes all day, you’re going to get to the end of those bars.”
Rhett is a passive guy, genial, fun. He’s not an angry guy, so when his face pulls tight, the prelude to his hissy fit is unexpected, but totally understandable.
“I can’t fuckin’ make it to the end!”
“Eventually, you can. You just might need to sit down first,” I insist calmly.
“That’s what I fuckin’ said!” he screams.
“No, you want to sit in a chair. I told you that’s not available. If you sit on the floor, you’ll have to get yourself back up again.”
His hazel eyes turn the palest shade of green I’ve ever seen them as he glares angrily at me. I know he’s dying to tell me to go fuck off, but he wouldn’t dare.
“Are you angry? Anger is nothing but an outward expression of fear, hurt, and frustration.” His nostrils flare, and he breathes harder as he struggles to maintain his stance. But he manages one more step forward. A step in the right direction. “That's it, keep moving. Don’t give up.”