“Are you superstitious?”
“No. I don’t think I am.”
“Mom,” I warn because I know what’s coming next. “I’m not superstitious either.”
“Hmm … mmm,” she responds patronizingly to me, but leans in to whisper to Cooper, though I can hear every word. “If I was a betting woman, I’d bet there was a four-leaf clover still tucked behind her license in her wallet. And a lucky penny hidden somewhere too.”
I shake my head and roll my eyes, but never deny my mother’s accusation. She peppers Cooper with questions for another fifteen minutes until Kyle yells from his room. I excuse myself and go to help my brother into his chair.
Kyle is a quadriplegic. Five years ago I picked him up from a soccer game on a sunny Friday afternoon in May. His team had won, Dad was on a winning streak, and I was about to move into my first apartment with Sadie. Life was good, the future was looking even better. Driving down the highway that connects Malibu to Santa Monica, the radio was blaring and Kyle laughed at my attempt to sing along in tune with Gwen Stefani. His smile is the last thing I remember from the thirteenth of May.
Later that night, a policeman explained to me what happened. A surfboard dislodged from the top of a Volkswagen Rabbit and went sailing into the windshield of the car behind it. The driver swerved, lost control of the car, and veered into oncoming traffic. And head on into us. Somehow I walked away with only a broken arm and a few cuts and bruises. My brother wasn’t so lucky—he never walked again—paralyzed from the neck down.
The first few years were really rough. Kyle was a 14 year old trapped inside a cage of a body that would never set him free. I, on the other hand, was free to move about, while my mind was caged with guilt over being the one who got to walk away. I was the driver, what if I had swerved faster? Did the blaring music distract me? No matter what the witnesses said, I needed to replay that night over and over in my mind in order to know for sure it wasn’t my fault. But I couldn’t remember a thing. Every time I tried, I saw my smiling face singing. Then I woke up in the hospital. Being told the news of Kyle’s condition replayed over and over in my head, taking the place of what I couldn’t remember.
Until recently there was no prospect of recovery … but a new drug running in a clinical trial has given him a modicum of hope. Some early studies have shown that certain rehabilitation programs increase the effectiveness of the drug. I spend a few minutes with Kyle before helping him into his chair and we both return to the living room.
“My sister either thinks you’re superman or she doesn’t like you very much … leaving you alone with Mom,” my brother says as Cooper walks over to meet him.
“My cape’s in the car.” Cooper smiles. “Nice to meet you, Kyle.”
“You too.”
“Check this out.” Kyle’s eyes point toward his feet. Two toes wiggle. It’s not much, but we’re able to see it.
“Oh my god, Kyle! That’s amazing! What did the doctor say?”
“They said not to get my hopes up. I can see their advice is lost on deaf ears with you too.” He grins.
“Do it again.” I say and he does. He moves his toes again on command. My brother tries hard to act like it’s not that big of a deal, but we both know it’s huge.
“What do you think?”
“I think it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve seen since the day your fat head came into this world.” Bending down, I plant a kiss on my brother’s forehead.
“Dude.” My brother looks to Cooper for help. “You gotta make her stop kissing me.”
Cooper smiles. “Not sure I’m much help there. I like when she kisses me.”
“Gross.”
We all sit around and talk for an hour. Cooper talks sports with Kyle, and Mom and I catch up on her updates from Kyle’s doctors. The conversation between the two men grows a bit heated when Cooper mentions he’s a Raiders fan, rather than a Chargers enthusiast. Sitting back in my chair, I silently watch as the two argue over statistics and players. Most people are uncomfortable around Kyle. They don’t want to upset him—pity stops them from disagreeing with anything he is saying, even if he’s dead wrong.
But not Cooper, he treats Kyle like a regular nineteen-year-old kid. I didn’t bring him here with the intent of observing his interaction with my brother, yet the simplicity of what I see speaks volumes about the complexity of this amazing man.
I lose track of time, spending hours more than I’d planned. Cooper’s quiet in the car on the way back. “My brother liked you.”
“Don’t think he liked my taste in sports teams.”
“Well, your taste sort of does suck.”
“I’ve been reconsidering my loyalties anyway.”
“Why is that?”
“Didn’t really see the appeal of the Chargers before you.”
“And now you do?” I eye him suspiciously.
“First time I met you, you were wearing a Chargers t-shirt.”
“I was?”
“Pink, with a gold lightning bolt. Jeans with a tear at the left knee and right thigh. Black flip-flops.”
Inwardly, my peacock feathers fan that he remembers so many details, but I don’t let him know it. “Not sure we want such an easy-to-flip fan on our side of the bleachers.”
“That didn’t take long.” I hear the smile in his voice, but his eyes stay on the road. “You’re back to being difficult I see.”