Walk this Way

Moonbird - Image author unknown

Iggy was glad to be in his own place. It wasn’t that Frank’s house, ok let’s be real, his mansion, was a bad place to be. What wasn’t there to like about it? He had his own room (there were plenty to choose from) with his own bathroom, recently fitted to provide for his needs, along with a heated indoor pool, cinema room, library – my god the library! He could quite easily move in there and not come back out for at least a decade. That was just the library. Frank’s fiber optic internet connection alone made his ball sack tighten.

That was part of the problem. It was too good there. Gretchen. He had never met a woman like her. Iggy was bisexual and preferred men. Men his own age. But Gretchen was special. He knew better than to lust after her. Any fool could see she had it bad for Frank.

That was part of the problem too. He had it bad for Frank. Iggy had definite father issues and he knew it. Frank ticked off all the boxes. Dark hair. Masculine. Fit. Fiercely intelligent and ferociously sensitive. His eyes were so deep and dense they exerted gravitational influence.

There was more than one occasion he had to excuse himself to frenetically masturbate in the renovated bathroom.

He was quite certain Gretchen knew. There was also more than one occasion he had wheeled himself out of his room as Gretchen slid past. She often had a knowing gleam in her eyes. But then he was pretty sure that was her default expression so he allowed that it might just be him projecting sexual guilt.

He liked his own place. It was modest and he was sentimental. It held all the little keepsakes he had collected over his 28 years. All the gifts from past boyfriends. And girlfriends. His tracheotomy tube from when he was in the hospital. He had insisted on it when they finally disconnected him from the ventilator.

He didn’t think about the night he became a paraplegic very often anymore. The dreams where he could still run stopped by the time he was 15. He was very comfortable with being seen as the guy in the wheelchair who was good at math. It also happened to be true.

And now. Now. It was hard not to think about her most of all.

What they had done. Rose.

She was going to change everything. It would take a long time but he was quite sure of that.

Frank thought, given what they had done, that restoring Iggy’s shattered spinal cord should be, well… for lack of a better phrase – child’s play. He really didn’t want to think about that. To be honest, he wasn’t sure he wanted to be able to walk again.

He didn’t know how to tell either Gretchen or Frank that fact. They wouldn’t understand. He wasn’t sure he did.

The doctors said it was a “spontaneous epidural hematoma” due to a pubescent growth spurt. A faulty blood vessel just big enough and in just the right spot so that when it burst, painlessly, the pressure of the resultant fluid killed his ability to walk, the use of most of his right hand (unfortunate that, he had to learn to be a lefty), control over certain abdominal muscles, and his ability to control when he pissed and shit. At least he recovered enough to where incontinence wasn’t an issue any longer.

He was 13 when it happened. His father wanted an athlete. He discovered his father dangling from a nylon rope in the garage when Ignatius was 16. His mother died of a heart attack during his senior year in college.

Iggy liked being alone. He liked being with Frank and Gretchen even more. He was deeply afraid of becoming too attached and even more afraid that it was already too late. Who was he kidding, it was too late. He was in. If for no other reason than Rose.

Before he transferred into his walk (wheel) in bath, he made himself a bowl of oatmeal with brown sugar, cinnamon, and raisins as he cued up some 70’s mellow rock. Frank had him hooked. He was a chillwave and dubstep fan but he had to admit that they made great fucking music in the 70’s.

He just got out of the bath when the phone rang.

It was Gretchen.

Fuck me, Iggy thought with a sigh. He should have known better.

It wasn’t good that she asked him to bring his hand controls for a car. Not good at all.

Something was going to happen.

Something bad.