Teri Woods: True To The Game III

Quadir went for his wheelchair. He pulled it close, put the brakes on it, and then pulled himself up onto it. The therapists in the room clapped when he was finished. Quadir looked at Amelia as if he wanted to kill her.

“I don’t need your fucking help! Yours and nobody else’s!”

“You owe these people in here more than that! You owe them more than your scorn. You owe a whole lot of people some goddamned effort!”

“Everyone keeps telling me what I owe. Everyone keeps telling me how grateful I should be, how good of a goddamned doctor you are, but you know what? I can’t see it! All I see is a fucking pain in the ass!”

“You fucking quitter. If you don’t believe that you owe these people who have spent all of their time taking care of you, trying to get you better, then maybe I can take you to somebody who you do think you owe something to!”

Amelia grabbed Quadir’s chair, turned him around, and pushed him out the room. She headed down the hall, out of the therapy ward, around a few corners, and into the chapel.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Quadir asked.

“When’s the last time you sat and prayed, Quadir?”

“I prayed the other night.”

“You should pray every day.”

“Don’t tell me what I need to do. What are you, a priest and a doctor?”

“If I were a priest, I would drown your ass in some holy water.”

Quadir smiled.

“Someone wants to see you. Since you don’t feel like you owe any of us any effort, then maybe you’ll try to get better for her.” Amelia pushed him all the way into the chapel.

A woman rose from her knees, turned, and smiled at him.

“Mom!” Quadir’s eyes flew open wide with amazement and surprise.

Viola’s tears flowed, as she rushed to him.

“Baby!” She leaned forward and embraced her son tightly. “You really are alive. Thank you, Lord! Thank you!”

She pulled Amelia close and hugged her. “Thank you so much! Thank you for saving my baby!”

“Now we just have to get your baby to want to save himself,” Amelia told her.

“What do you mean?” Viola asked.

“Tell her, Quadir.”

“Tell me what?” Viola said as she shifted back and forth between the two of them. “What’s going on, Quadir?”

Quadir smacked his lips. “Nothing; she’s just crazy, that’s all.”

“Quadir, Amelia has been over to my house many times since we’ve met.”

“What?” Quadir recoiled.

Amelia smiled at him.

“And she may be many things, but one thing she is not is crazy. What is going on?”

“Do you want to tell her, or should I?” Amelia asked looking at Quadir.

“Do what you want; you’ve been doing it anyhow.”

Viola could see her son’s attitude and placed her hand on her hip as she looked down on him.

“Quadir here has given up.” Amelia told her.

“What?”

“Yep, he’s thrown in the towel. Doesn’t want to try in therapy, just wants to sit back and eat Jell-O and watch television.”

“No, that’s not my son. My son is a not a quitter. My baby’s a fighter!”

The two women stared at Quadir in silence. He could feel their eyes on him.

“Quadir…” Viola started off.

“Okay, okay!”

“Okay what?” Amelia asked. “You admit to your mother that you’re a quitter, or okay, you’re not going to let her down and be a quitter.”

Quadir peered up at her and rolled his eyes at Amelia. She was the most nerve-racking woman he had ever met.

“Baby, I want you to walk out of this hospital on your own two feet,” Viola told him. “I want you to hurry up and get well and get outta this place.”

Quadir nodded.

“His gunshot wounds are healing rather well,” Amelia explained. “He has one that I left open, because of infection. We pack it twice a day, and we’ve been giving him antibiotics for it. I want it to close up on its own. It’ll leave only a slightly larger scar than if we had sewn it up. But he’s coming along rather nicely.”

Viola caressed Quadir’s head and nodded.

“We just need for him to give us some effort, so we can get him walking.”

“I’m sore and it hurts like hell!” Quadir told her.

“Just try, baby. Do it for me. Just promise me that you’ll try,” Viola pleaded.

Quadir nodded. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

“Good.” Amelia smiled. “Well, I’ll leave you two alone so that you can catch up. I’ll be back in, say… thirty minutes?”

“Thank you so much, Amelia,” Mrs. Richards leaned forward and kissed her on her cheek.

Amelia turned and left the chapel.

“How’s Gena doing?” Quadir asked.

“She’s doing good. She’s just fine.”

“Where is she? Why didn’t she come here with you?”

“Baby, after this happened to you, I didn’t trust nobody. I decided it be best and I let her think you were dead.”

“What? That’s Gena! Why would you do that?”

“Baby, I know. But it was for your own safety.”

“My safety? She didn’t shoot me!”

“Listen, I didn’t even tell your father and no I didn’t tell her. Do you know what could happen if Gena finds out you’re alive? Do you understand that Amelia put her entire medical career on the line to help protect you? If Gena knew you were alive, the entire city would know. There’s no way she could keep this kind of secret. Please trust us, trust me, and trust Dr. Hopkins. Don’t worry about Gena. You just go ahead and get well. I want you to walk out of this place, then go get your precious Gena and get the hell outta Philly.”

“Get outta Philly? Where’s Rik? Where’s Rasun?”

“Baby, you can worry about them after you get better! But, son, you got to understand, you’re a ghost to these people. To them, you don’t exist.”

Quadir nodded. “I want to see Gena.”

“I know you do. I know, son, but she’s fine; she’s tough, and she can handle herself until you get yourself together and figure out where to go from here with your life.”

Quadir thought about his money. He knew he had been out of it for weeks. He knew that rent needed to be paid, mortgages needed to be paid, and all his other bills had to be taken care of.

“I need you to take care of a few things for me.”

“What?”

“I need you to pay some bills for me.”

“I already took care of all that, Quadir.”

“All of them?”

Viola nodded. She thought that she had in fact taken care of all her son’s bills, not knowing he had many others she knew nothing about, one important one in particular.

“Quadir, I’ve taken care of everything. You just relax, do your therapy, son, and get better. Okay, baby?”

Quadir nodded. He would do as she said. He would focus and he would hurry up and get the hell out of that hospital. Either that or he was going to catch a case for killing Dr. Hopkins.

Viola maneuvered herself behind her son’s wheelchair and began to push. “I want you to come up to the front of the chapel with me so we can pray together, okay?”

Quadir looked blankly at his mother. He didn’t know what she expected of him, but he didn’t have any prayers left. He had prayed, prayed more than anyone would ever know. Every time he tried to use his legs to hold him up, he prayed. And every time he tried to take a step, he prayed. Don’t she know all I been doing is praying? He knew his mother and he also knew that even if he didn’t want to, Viola wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“Okay.”

Six Weeks Later

Dr. Hopkins strolled into her patient’s room pushing a wheelchair.

“Up and at ’em, sleepyhead.”

Quadir was lying on his bed, staring out the window. He turned to face her.