The Wheels of Progress

On triumph over adversity. And on karma.

This is the second instalment in a series of four. If you enjoy this one, please do check out the others:

• Part one: Healing Hands

• Part three: Light Dawns

• Part four: Finding a Level

She spun expertly up the ramp and into the coffee shop. Her friends were already waiting at one of the tables near the window, and after ordering her usual Americano, she pulled up into the space they’d cleared to join them.

It was one of those unusually warm early spring days, so she slipped out of her jacket, and one of the group popped it on the rack behind them. The others had just returned from a morning’s match against the neighbouring town’s hockey team, and were still glowing with the thrill of a close-fought game, and a well-deserved win. Privately, she missed the buzz of the pitch, but they’d been so incredibly supportive since her injury, she didn’t hold any ill feelings. And being on four wheels instead of two legs on their rowdier nights out did have its advantages…

She pressed them for a full match report. It seemed that the other team had made the classic mistake of underestimating the skill of their opponents. They had been caught totally unawares by the tightness of her friends’ squad, and by the time they’d pulled their A game together, it had been too late for them. On the plus side, it meant her team were now tantalisingly close to the top three spots in the league table.

After an outrageously carb-heavy lunch, which the others had virtually inhaled, but which she knew she’d regret later, they began to head out, after agreeing arrangements for the following weekend’s game. She was planning to join them to shout from the stands – and no doubt, to offer some pretty incisive post-match advice afterwards. It was one way in which she could still contribute, and she was more than happy to oblige. It was amazing how much you could spot from that vantage point, especially knowing the crew as closely as she did; they’d all been playing together for nearly a decade now, and knew instinctively what each other would do at any given moment – a powerful tactic that no scratch team could ever master.

She spun round to the coat rack, and without thinking, pushed herself up to collect her coat. Then froze.

As did the rest of the gang.

“Did… you… just…?!”, one of them stammered. “Oh. My. Actual. WHAT?!!”

The sound of shouts, cheers and squeals could be heard halfway down the street. Somewhat stunned, she slipped her jacket on, then gently lowered herself back into her chair, a grin slowly spreading across her face.

“THAT’S IT! Down the gym. Now!” And with that, the euphoric group of women swept round the corner to their training gym. She was still reeling slightly from the revelation, but with their support and positive energy enveloping her, she found she was able to stand for quite a while, holding onto a rail, and even ventured a couple of very unsteady steps, before the muscles in her legs, rudely awakened after all that time, began to protest, and she sank gratefully back into the safety of her chair.

~~~~~

Over the coming days and weeks, she continued to experiment. At first, just around the kitchen with stick in hand, but as her strength and confidence increased, around the flat, and even into the garden for a short while.

Her physiotherapist was delighted. After her fall down the stairs at home, there had always been some optimism that her injuries would heal to the extent that she’d eventually be able to walk again. It seemed that they had been right.

It was a moment of triumph; nobody could prove that he’d thrown her that day, and she neither knew nor cared where he was now, but she felt as though she’d finally triumphed over him in some way. She hadn’t held out out much hope of getting back to the pitch with her mates, but you never knew, did you? With a new sense of determination, she started to plan. To dream.

~~~~~

He already had a note on his record of a past incidence of possible self-harm, so when they heard the noise and found him at the bottom of the steps into the central corridor, yelling that he’d been attacked, they were inclined to take a fairly cynical view. When the guards asked around later, none of the other inmates had witnessed anything, and the camera footage clearly showed he was alone at the moment when he suddenly lunged headlong down the stairwell.

Whatever the cause, the fall had done some damage. The hospital confirmed temporary loss of feeling to his legs due to spinal trauma, though they speculated that with time, he might regain some level of mobility. Though nobody could adequately explain that bruising on his wrists.

He was moved to a ground floor cell on his return, and was put on closer monitoring. Those who knew him began to notice he was a bit warier than before; he still insisted that someone pushed him down those stairs, despite all the evidence.

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