Unstoppable (24 page)
Authors: Tim Green
“THE MAJOR.” BECKY NODDED
her head to reinforce how right she was. “If he saw what you already can do, he could convince your mom that you're okay
and
teach you to cut. We need to get him back.”
“Do you think he'd even come back after the way my mom acted? It's like she blamed him.”
“She blamed me, too, and I'm right here.” She patted her chest. “Your mother is tough, but she's not mean. When I tell the major I'm not scared, I can't believe he would be.”
“The major's not
scared
of anything.”
“See? Plus, when he finds out that you've been doing his program. . . .”
“He'll like that, I know.” Harrison beamed with pride. “He said I was as good as a Green Beret. And when he sees me run?”
“You look fast.”
“I
am
fast.”
“When he sees you run, he'll know you're ready to do that cut, or whatever it is you're talking about. He'll
want
to teach you, and your mom will realize it's okay because she'll see how far you've come.” Becky's excitement wavered when she looked at him. “So what's wrong?”
Harrison ran his fingers over the metal joint of his knee. “I had a mom, a real mom. I know she loved me, but . . . I don't know, I guess she was sick. She couldn't take care of me. She couldn't even take care of herself. Then I had people take care of me, kind of, but they never loved me.”
“Now you have both, right?” Becky said.
“I know, and I feel like an idiot saying this, but it's like she loves me
too
much.”
“What do you mean?”
“She's so afraid of me getting hurt that she doesn't want me to be
me.
”
“Maybe you could just tell your mom that.”
“Maybe I should.” Harrison wrinkled his forehead and looked at the clock. “She'll be home pretty soon. Hey, want to see some of my workout routine before she gets here?”
“All of a sudden you're showing me all your secrets?”
Harrison shrugged. “I just figured, after the last time I overdid it, that I didn't want to make you uncomfortable, like you'd feel you should say something to my parents. I had to do this. You get it, right?”
“You know I do.”
Harrison led her out to the garage. He found his handwritten notes for the week on a shelf, folded in half, behind some bee spray. “See? Today's a heavy upper body day.”
Becky moved around the equipment with him. She tried one of the exercises after he did it, using much less weight.
“You're strong,” she said.
“I know.” Harrison beamed.
He lay back on the bench press, lifted the bar off the rack, and began pounding out reps with the steel plates clanking against each other like a factory machine. When he finished, he reracked the bar with a crash of metal. The work made him dizzy, and when he stood, he staggered sideways and started to fall.
“ARE YOU OKAY?”
Harrison grabbed hold of a machine to steady himself. He liked the note of worry in Becky's voice. “When you work hard, it makes you a little light-headed. It's supposed to. Here, you can help strap me in. These are my âevery-days.'”
“What's every-days?”
Harrison lay back on the bed-sized bench and put his thighs up against the padded rollers that through a series of chains and gears raised a stack of weights up by his head. “The things I have to do every day, not just every two or three days. This is one of them because it keeps my hips and butt muscles tuned up.”
He put the belt around his waist and handed Becky its end. “Pull it tight for me.”
She did and he began to crank on the machine, blowing air out of his twisted face to get the final few reps.
“Ahhh!” he shouted, letting the weight stack slam down after the last one.
“Here.” Becky handed him a towel. “You're sweating like crazy.”
Harrison took it and wiped the sweat away with pride. She stayed with him until he finished, then said she had to get home for dinner.
“Thanks for helping me,” he said. “I think it's the best workout I've had since the major left. It helps to have someone watching.”
“I'll come anytime. I think you're awesome, Harrison.” Her smile warmed him to the core.
He watched her walk down the driveway just as Coach pulled in. Coach got out and said hello to her before heading into the garage.
“You're busy,” Coach said, sitting down on the bench of the leg curl machine.
“Dad? Can the major come back and visit?”
“I don't know.”
“Will you ask him? What if Mom said it's all right?”
Coach glanced at the door leading to the kitchen. “Did she?”
“I'm going to ask her. Because I'm doing so well. He's gonna be proud of me.”
“You sure spend enough time in this garage.”
“Just fooling around.” Harrison tossed the wet towel over his shoulder. “Nothing like when the major was here.”
Coach looked around at the equipment and nodded. “You look like you're getting your strength back pretty good to me, and I like that sweat. You're working hard, Harrison. You can't fool me.”
Harrison blinked. “I'm fine, Dad.”
“I think you're more than fine.” He stood up. “Don't worry. I'm all for it. You're doing everything you can to build back your strength and I think that's great. As long as you take it easy on your leg, that's all.”
Harrison couldn't lie, so he changed the subject. “So, what do you think? If Mom says yes, should you call the major and invite him, or can I do it?”
“Do you want to invite him?”
“I'd love to.”
“Good.” Coach headed for the door. “
If
she says yes, you can do it. Tell him we had to arm wrestle for it.”
“And the winner got to make the call?” Harrison wagged his eyebrows at Coach.
Coach turned and smiled. “You're not there yet.”
“Yet.” Harrison smiled back and picked up a dumbbell.
The outside door to the garage swung open, and his mom walked in.
“Yet, what?”
HARRISON'S MIND SPUN. HE
lowered the dumbbell and replaced it without a sound.
“What?” his mom asked.
“I . . . wanted to know if I could invite the major back,” he said, “to see how well I'm doing.”
His mom tilted her head. She seemed to study the wet towel and the sweat on his brow. “You're doing really well, aren't you?”
“I think so.” Harrison ran a hand over his head. The hair was thick and soft.
His mom looked at Coach. “You'll have to ask your father about the major. I know he's very busy.”
“But . . . you'd be okay?” Harrison asked, blinking at her.
“Me?” His mother touched the middle of her chest. “Why wouldn't I be?”
Harrison looked at her sideways. “Okay. Thanks.”
“Well, I'm going to get dinner ready.” His mom gave Coach a sharp glance. “No more lifting. He's done enough for one day.”
Coach looked like he wanted to explain that he had nothing to do with Harrison sweating like he was, but he stopped before any words came out and simply nodded his head.
She swung her stare back at Harrison. “The major can come for a visit, but we're taking this rehab
slow
, remember?”
Harrison swallowed. “Yes, I remember.”
IT WAS THREE WEEKS
before the major could get away, but he finally arrived.
The rental car pulled into the driveway with the warm sun glaring off the windshield. Harrison ran his fingers over the J72 and hopped up from his seat by the window. “He's here!”
Coach and his mom came out from the kitchen and went with Harrison to the front porch. When the car door opened, Harrison's heart leaped into his throat.
He walked slowly down the steps and marched proudly toward the major without crutches or a cane. The major wore Army fatigues and a tight olive-green T-shirt that showed off his sculpted chest and arms. He cut a formidable figure, like a superhero from a movie disguised as a normal person. Part of Harrison felt outrageously proud to be just like him, a man with just one leg but stronger and more confident than most who had two.
They hugged each other until his parents arrived for hugs of their own. When the major looked at Harrison's mom, his eyes got glassy.
“You know, I'm sorry,” he said. “I love him like you do.”
“Yes,” his mom said, putting a hand on Harrison's arm and squeezing. “I know you do, Kirk. Sometimes I forget everything's not a battle.”
“Well”âthe major looked at Harrisonâ“let's see what you got. Walk to the end of the driveway and back, will you? Let me see some technique.”
Harrison looked at his parents. His mom nodded. Harrison took a deep breath and strode down to the end of the driveway.
“Well done,” Major Bauer cried out. “You look great.”
The praise gave him courage.
“Okay.” He glanced back at them all and took a big gulp of air. “Watch this.”
HARRISON COUNTED OUT THE
rhythm in his mind, just as he'd done a thousand times since he started to use the prosthetic leg. His walk got faster, then he gave a little lurch forward and caught himself. He began to swing the leg for all he was worth. He started to run up the block.
In his excitement, he lost the rhythm.
The misstep let his leg get too far out in front of him. His balance gone, he began to veer off into the street. A car coming the other way blared its horn. He lurched back the other way and tumbled to the pavement.
He heard his mother's scream from the driveway.
Before she even had time to move, Harrison shot up and started into his run immediately. The shock of the car and the fall didn't allow him to think. The rhythm was there, just like riding a bike, just like milking a cow, or just like running, before any of this had ever happened to him.
He kept his eyes straight ahead, not wanting to lose his concentration on where he was going. He picked up speed and glanced back to see the shock on the faces of his parents and the major. Instead of stopping, he kept going. He left them behind, running free on his own.
The rhythm was like a machine now, a pump or an electric motor, running hot and fast and smooth.
His feet carried him without thinking into the heart of town. He ran past Mrs. Peabody's house and saw her planted in a wicker chair on her front porch. He was almost certain as he passed that she recognized him and that her hand covered her mouth to stifle a cry. He ran past Doc Smart's mansion on the hill. Becky and her dad were getting into the Suburban. They stopped when they saw him and shouted his name. The sound of their excitement filled him to the brim.
Harrison kept going, up the slight grade, until the brick of the school came into sight. He went right and ran up the street in front of it, past the towering old windows and the fluttering flag. On the corner, a cluster of boys were up to no good. Harrison recognized Varnett and Howard among them. No one said a word as he flashed by, eyes straight ahead.
FOUR MONTHS LATER, THE
lights shone down, blinding Harrison from the crowded stands. Spectators swarmed the bleachers; among them he spotted his mom sitting next to Becky and her dad. Coach offered a thumbs-up from the sideline. No one expected Harrison to return to his original prowess, but that wasn't what it was about. It was about simply being there, even if it was just to play on special teams, to go out onto the field, run, hit, and hopefully make a tackle that would contribute to a win. With the major's help, he could now move and cut, changing direction so that he was more than just inspirational window-dressing. He was a player.
The night air stroked his cheeks and whistled in his helmet's ear holes. He flexed the titanium pistons and stainless-steel springs and checked the rubber foot in its shoe. The shoeâa football cleatâbore the name MARTY, scrawled in big black capital Sharpie letters across the toe, just like the shoe on his real foot. The name stood out, like black ink spilled on a blank page.
Marty had been right. A boy playing football with a titanium leg was big news. All the local TV stations were at the press conference, an AP wire writer, a freelancer for
Sports Illustrated Kids
, and even a camera crew from ESPN.
Harrison smiled to himself, remembering the reporters' questions about the significance of the name on his shoes. The memory of his friend choked him up, but he swallowed it back and took a deep breath because Marty would have been the first one to tell him that right now he needed to focus.
The kicker set the ball on the tee. The referee's whistle sliced through the noise of the crowd. The kicker raised his hand and, in unison, the kickoff team turned to run.
The wave of bodies caught Harrison in its surge. He ran right along with the rest of them, ready to crash through blockers, leap bodies, and seek out the runner, the prize. The pressure behind his face pushed tears free from his eyes, sorrow mixed with joy and tears of love for the friend he had lost and for those who believed in him. The salty taste filled his mouth. Harrison felt it then, as he ran through the nightâhe felt it, and he knew it.
He was unstoppable.