Teri Woods: True To The Game III

“You are a pest. You should get an award for being the peskiest doctor in the world. Why you won’t stop?”

“Because, Mr. Smith, you are a fighter. You fought for your life on that operating table, and now it’s time to fight for getting back into the game of life. So, up, up, up.”

Amelia lowered the bed railing and clasped Quadir’s arm. He snatched it away from her.

“You’re not even my doctor anymore. And you’re not my therapist. I don’t feel like it today!”

“Look, Mr. Smith, I didn’t save your ass to see you sit here and wither away. Now stop acting like a little bitch and get your fucking ass in the wheelchair.”

Quadir frowned at her, trying to figure out why she was constantly calling him Mr. Smith. Damn, she won’t stop; she just won’t stop.

“You’re like the Energizer bunny. You should wear a bunny outfit and get some Rollerblades,” he said, laughing at her. “Look, you could roll down the hall and shit, in and out of all your patients’ rooms, constantly being a disturbance, you know how you do,” he said, looking at her with his eyebrows raised, waiting for her to agree with his jokes.

“You know what? You really are an asshole.”

“And you’re really a pain in my ass. You know what, doc, that’s all the fuck I do feel, the pain in my ass from your constant bullshit.”

“Get the fuck up, and get in the goddamn chair,” she hollered as she took his vitals chart and used it as a weapon, ready to attack him.

“Please, you can’t hit me; you’re a doctor and I’m a sick patient.”

“Get your ass up and get in the chair! I’m not leaving until we’re done.”

“Fuck, man, come on,” he said huffing and puffing, but he did it because he knew she had to win and she wouldn’t stop. She meant every word she said. He sulked his way off the bed and into the wheelchair.

She pushed him to the elevator and they made the short trip to the rehabilitation center.

“Can I just pay you for your services?” Quadir asked.

“Are you serious?” She stopped the chair and walked around in front of him. “You could never repay me. Do you understand that, Mr. Smith?” she said, looking like Bette Davis.

“Yo, you ever see that movie What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? That’s you.” He started laughing at her again.

This black man must be out of his mind.

“I got your Baby Jane; shut up before I really show you how Bette I can get,” she said, slapping the back of his head.

“I’m going file a report against you. That’s the second time you’ve hit me.”

“Listen, Mr. Smith, I’m really tired of your shit. I know you can do this. I know you can. If you could come back and cheat death the way you did, I know you can make a full recovery. I know you can. Gosh, if you believed in yourself as much as I do, you’d have walked out of here by now. Now come on, it’s showtime.”

She hit a button on the wall and the double doors to the rehab center in the west wing of the hospital opened. She wheeled him up to a set of walking bars.

“Okay, here we go. God, do you believe all that energy? You are so draining, Mr. Smith, I mean really,” she said as she unbuckled him, raised the foot bars, and gently set his feet on the floor.

She set the brakes on the wheelchair, unbuckled Quadir, and pulled him out of the chair. Quadir gripped the bars tightly, holding on for dear life. Amelia made her way behind him, and placed her hands on his waist.

“How many times are you going to bring me down here to do this?” Quadir said, gritting his teeth. “I can’t do it yet!”

“You can do anything you put your mind to. You can do this, Quadir. You’re stronger than you even know. I watched a soldier who refused to give in, who stared death in the face and told it to go to hell. You can do this. One step, Quadir, it just takes one step.”

Quadir closed his eyes and gritted his teeth again. He wanted this pesky, silly bitch gone and out of his life. He wanted to be alone and if he had to be around someone, he wanted it to be someone who would understand what he was going through. He wanted Gena.

“Don’t look at me like that. Only a coward gives up, Quadir.”

A coward? Is she calling me a fucking coward?

“What? You heard me; you’re not even trying. A fucking coward, I can’t believe this shit,” she huffed under her breath, loud enough for him to hear.

Bitch, please. He couldn’t help it. She must be crazy to offer such an analysis. Quadir had been through more than Amelia Hopkins could ever dream about. He was a soldier, a warrior, and a gangster to the fullest. He ate niggas for breakfast, and bitches like her were nothing but a midmorning snack.

“You going to let a bar beat you?” Amelia asked.

“Shut up!” Quadir exploded. “Will you just shut the fuck up!”

“That’s right! Get angry! But what are you going to do with all that anger? Are you going to yell at me and sit back down and quit? Or are you going to get angry at the people who tried to take life away from you, the people who put you in this wheelchair? Are you going to let them win? Are you going to let them beat you, Quadir?”

Quadir breathed in heavily and gripped the bars tightly. He lifted himself up as much as he could, while staring at his right foot.

Move, dammit, move, he commanded.

And it did.

The left foot slowly followed, and then the right one. He walked to the end of the track and turned around gasping for air. He was exhausted.

“Oh, my God. No, no, stay there. Oh, my God. Quadir, oh, my God. That’s good for one day; just stay right there. I’ll bring the chair to you,” said Amelia in amazement and disbelief.

“No, leave the chair where it’s at,” Quadir told her. He stared at his feet again and willed them to move.

Amelia cupped her hands over her mouth, as tears begin to stream down her face. These were the moments she lived and breathed for. These were the moments that made every sacrifice in her life worthwhile. She watched as Quadir took four tiny steps and collapsed into her arms.

“Yes! Yes! I knew that you could do it!” She hugged him as if he were her child, taking his first baby steps in life.

Quadir held on to her, hugging her back and fighting back his own tears. He wanted to cry, he wanted to cry so bad, but Baby Jane wouldn’t have that on him. He had shown her; he had walked. He couldn’t believe he had walked. He hugged Amelia tightly, kissing her cheek, and he felt her kiss his cheek back. And out of all the hugging and kissing, their lips met, and she kissed him back, a long and passionate kiss. Amelia completely forgot her position and role as a doctor; she didn’t even realize the road that they had started down in that one kiss.

The next day, after her rounds, Amelia entered Quadir’s room with her trusty wheelchair and was met with a happy face.

“I take it you’re ready.”

“Might as well be; I don’t have no choice.”

“Well, today, I have a surprise for you,” she said, helping him into the chair, as she placed his feet on the foot holders. She pushed him down the hall and onto the elevator as usual, but this time when the doors opened she made a left instead of a right.

“Where we going?”

“I told you I had a surprise for you today.”

Amelia took her patient for a stroll through the hospital’s gardens, hoping that some fresh air would do him good. He had accomplished so much in such a short period of time. His recovery bordered on miraculous.

She stopped his wheelchair next to a bench in front of a statue commemorating the hospital’s founder. She took a seat on the bench close to him.

“Are we about to have the conversation?” Quadir asked.

“And which conversation is that? We have a couple of them that we need to have.”