Page 134 of Something Like Forever

Were they supposed tofollow? Tim turned to Kelly. “Whelp… This is awkward.”

“He’sworried about you,” Kelly said with a smile. “It’sadorable.”

“It is,” Tim agreed, “butI’m starting to wish—”

“That he would treat youlike he did before? Less pity? More normality?”

Tim nodded insurprise.

“I’vebeen there,” Kelly said, walking closer to him. “When I wasrecovering from the car accident, people drove me crazy with theirconcern. I wanted them to act like I was the same person as before.What I didn’t figure out until later was the obvious. They weretreating me differently because I wasn’t behaving like the sameperson. That makes the solution easy.”

“I’m notthe same person,” Tim argued. “I’m missing apart.”

Kelly wasn’t impressed.“You have one and a half lungs. I have one and a halflegs.”

“Sorry,” Tim said quickly.“I shouldn’t have—”

Kelly held up his hand andsmiled. “Less pity, more normality.”

Tim laughed.“Right.”

“Part ofmy problem back then,” Kelly continued, “is that I convinced myselfthat running would never be the same. Does that concern you? Areyou worried you won’t be able to run as far as before, no matterhow much you practice and heal? Would that make you feel like lessof a man?”

Tim had considered thepossibility, but until now, he hadn’t said it out loud. “Yeah. Thatwould suck.”

“I was the same way. I wanted to be thefastest, and if I couldn’t be, I decided not to try at all. I’ll behonest with you. Istillcan’t run as fast as I oncedid, but now I feel good about what I can accomplish, and this iswhy.” Kelly hiked up his shorts, revealing an artificial limb thatwent halfway up his thigh. “I lost my leg. I don’t just mean myfoot, or some of the calf. I lost my knee. I’m working with aserious deficit, and I still kick ass on the track. That’s why I’mprouder now than ever before.”

“And itlooks cool too,” Tim said, nodding at the prosthetic, “but I don’tknow if I can be that brave.”

“If Ican hit the pavement with only one leg instead of two, then you’lldo fine. But only if you let yourself.”

“Please,” a voice said. “Just try.”

He turned to find Benstanding in the doorway between the entryway and the living room.In his hands were jogging shorts and an old shirt. Tim wanted toput them on and feel good about himself again, so henodded.

Ten minutes later, he wasstanding out front with Kelly, the sun setting on the horizon.Thank goodness Ben had given them privacy, because failing in frontof him would have been harder.

“Do you need to warm up?”Tim asked.

“No,” Kelly said. “Thisfurnace goes from ice cold to a blazing inferno in three secondsflat.”

“Okay,” Tim said with agrin. “Let’s see what you’ve got!”

Despite all their bravado,they started slow, the sort of jog that was the right motion butwithout the speed. They stopped at the end of the drive, Kellyassessing him. “And?”

“I’mdoing okay,” Tim said, puffing a little, but not feeling anydiscomfort. “There’s a path just down the road. It winds throughthe woods and back behind the house.”

“Sounds nice,” Kelly said.“Lead the way.”

Tim did so, still goingslow. When they reached the path and one of the few straightstretches, he took a break and asked Kelly to show him what he wasreally capable of. Kelly was happy to demonstrate. He took off downthe path, disappeared around a curve, and returned again withimpressive speed. Tim watched with fascination, the artificial legworking seamlessly with the rest of Kelly’s body, but it was thegraceful movement and liberating speed that had him longing tocatch the wind again.

“Shallwe keep going?” Kelly asked.

“Yeah,”Tim said. “And I won’t make you go as slow thistime.”

He took off in acontrolled run, and when that proved sustainable, Tim let go of hisfears, letting them fall behind and tumble to the wayside, soonforgotten as he rediscovered one of his greatest joys.

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