I Stand Within Cause and Effect, Awaiting All Things' Return

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To save Chester Harding, I lost a leg in a car crash.

He took care of me for three years.

Then, out of nowhere, he fell in love with soccer.

Every time I woke and he wasn't there, my separation anxiety came roaring back, and I swallowed more than half a bottle of pills.

I didn't ask until he came home that night, my eyes red.

"Didn't you say you'd always stay with me?"

Impatience flickered in his eyes.

"You can't play soccer anyway. Just be good and wait for me at home."

"Be good, and next time I'll come back early and bring you a present."

But I was tired of waiting at home.

I paid someone to film him playing and send me the video.

During a break, one of the girls playing with him asked.

"Doesn't your girlfriend have separation anxiety?"

"You're really okay leaving her home alone to wait?"

Chester spun the water bottle in his hand and gave a mocking little laugh.

"A cripple with one leg gone. Does she really think faking sick can chain me for life?"

"My legs work fine. Why would I rot away stuck with her?"

I held the video, still playing, in my hand.

I had never once wanted to chain him for life.

If he'd been sick of me all along, then I'd just set him free.

The two of them finished their game.

Arms slung around each other, off to get a hotel room.

"Didn't you want to be free?"

"Then let's be completely free today."

"Move somewhere else and keep working up a sweat."

Chester didn't refuse. He pinned Catherine Stevens against the wall.

"You little minx, you're the one who came on to me."

"Whoever loses tonight has to call the other one daddy."

I knew that hotel.

Three hundred meters east of the soccer field.

That was where Chester took my first time.

Now they were going inside.

And the video cut off right there.

The sudden quiet left me dizzy.

I looked down at my legs.

Below the right knee, an empty pant leg folded against the footrest of my wheelchair.

The year of the crash, I was twenty-two, and he was twenty-four.

Later, countless people surveyed and reconstructed that crash scene over and over.

If I hadn't lunged forward and yanked Chester back.

If I hadn't taken the hit for him.

The wheel would have crushed Chester's head on the spot.

His life would have ended right there. It wouldn't have been as simple as losing one leg.

But after that crash.

The doctor said I would never stand again.

Chester knelt at my bedside and cried all night.

"Pammy, I'll take care of you for the rest of your life."

Looking back now, those three years, he really did care for me in every little way.

Bringing me water, feeding me, wheeling me out for sun, carrying me to the bathroom in the middle of the night.

He quit his job and scraped together our living from daily-pay odd jobs.

The neighbors all said I was lucky, that I'd landed a boyfriend who would never leave.

Even though the pain of the amputated leg was beyond words.

Still, I felt lucky. It took a disaster like this to see that Chester really was a good man.

The more I thought about it, the more it felt like trading one leg for his life.

Worth it.

Until half a year ago, when he started playing soccer.

That day he said he wanted to get some fresh air, that he'd be right back.

And I felt guilty that caring for me had eaten up most of his time.

"You don't have to run it by me. Go on, hurry."

When he came back, he was drenched in sweat.

His eyes were bright, like he'd been given a new life.

"There's a field down in the neighborhood. I kicked the ball around with a few guys for a while."

The "guys" he mentioned.

Later turned into "her."

That Catherine Stevens. Short hair, sunny and easygoing.

She'd trained as an athlete, her footwork slicker than any man's.

The muscle on her was more beautifully cut than a man's, too.

The first time he brought up Catherine Stevens, I was stitching a hole in his jersey.

The needle stabbed into my fingertip, and a bead of blood welled up.

He didn't see it.

He just kept going on about how gorgeous Catherine's bicycle-kick shot had been.

After that day, he went from going out twice a week to once a day.

Out at six in the morning, back at ten at night.

But what kind of game takes a whole day to play?

Besides soccer, what else were they doing?

I was trapped at home.

But my mind wouldn't stop spinning out.

Ever since the crash, I'd developed severe separation anxiety.

Only seeing Chester gave me a moment's peace.

So that day, to make myself feel a little better.

I swallowed nearly the whole bottle of pills.

My mind went hazy, and I passed out in the wheelchair.

It was the woman delivering the milk who noticed something was wrong and called 911 for me.

At eleven that night, Chester rushed to the hospital with red eyes, still in his jersey.

"You scared me half to death, you know that?"

Chester crouched by the bed, gripping my hand, his eyes red.

"I'll go easy on soccer from now on. I'll spend more time with you."

I gave him a smile.

"I believe you."

I thought Chester would finally stop seeing Catherine so often.

That we'd go back to the way we used to be, the two of us leaning on each other to get through the days.

And he did cut back, for two days.

By the third day, everything was back to normal.

He'd grab the ball and head to that same field.

Sweating it out with Catherine.

The second time I swallowed the pills was last month.

I didn't do it on purpose.

It's just that when the separation anxiety hit, the panic that rose up was more than I could bear.

As it happened, Chester came home not long after I'd taken them.

He pushed the door open, saw the empty pill bottle clutched in my hand, and froze.

Then he sighed.

"You're doing this again."

He pulled the bottle out of my hand and tossed it in the trash.

His face went dark as he looked at me.

"Pamela, you've already lost a leg. Now you think your life's too long too?"

"You won't be happy until you've worn me down to nothing, is that it?"

He flung those two lines at me in a fury, then dragged me off to the hospital to have my stomach pumped.

After that, the whole ordeal dragged on till dawn before he was finally worn out.

"I'm tired. You should get some rest too."

I didn't sleep at all that night.

I stared at his back and counted how many times he turned over.

Seven.

Not once did he turn to look at me.

That night he never turned over, so of course he never saw my tears fall.

Now I turned off that video of the field.

I opened our chat.

The last message was still the one I'd sent two hours ago.

"Chester, when are you coming home?"

No reply.

Hands shaking, I dialed his number.

"Hello?"

There was the sound of heavy breathing on the other end.

And Catherine's laugh, coming through the receiver.

"Where are you?" I asked.

"The field. Getting in extra practice."

Chester's voice was casual.

"What's up? If you're hungry, fix yourself something to eat."

"I'll be back late tonight."

On the other end, Catherine laughed on purpose, her laugh right up against the receiver.

"Who is it? Your girlfriend?"

He grunted a yes, then lowered his voice to me.

"I'm hanging up. Coach is calling."

Then the line turned into a busy dial tone.

I looked out at the pitch-black night outside the window.

Picturing how the two of them were sweating it out in some hotel room.

While he could still lie to my face without a flicker of shame, telling me he was out playing ball.

Anxious enough that my hands were trembling, I turned my wheelchair and struggled to reach the pills on the cabinet.

Just as I was about to pour half the bottle down my throat.

I stopped.

Chester's two lines kept echoing in my head.

"A cripple with one leg gone, thinking she can chain me for life by faking sick?"

"My leg's not broken. Why would I go rot away with her?"

I put every pill back.

Since he'd never wanted to "rot away" with me anyway.

Then this rotten life of mine.

Was something only I cared about now.

It was already two in the morning when Chester got home.

He felt around in the dark for the living room light.

Switched it on.

When he saw me sitting wide awake on the couch, Chester froze.

"You're still up this late?"

He came over to feel my forehead.

I dodged it lightly.

"You're back so late tonight."

Chester was quiet for a moment, then suddenly smiled and held out a gift box from behind his back.

"I'm late because I went to get a surprise ready for you."

"Your birthday's in three days."

"Go on, take a look. Do you like it?"

Chester handed me a birthday present. I opened it. Inside was a soccer ball.

I looked down at my amputated right leg.

"Chester, you're giving me a soccer ball. Is it just for me to look at?"

He froze for a second, then breezily took it back.

"Sorry, wrong one."

He swapped it for a big stuffed toy.

Looking at that Duffy bear, I sank into thought.

Ever since the crash took my leg.

My freedom had been cut off.

Every birthday he'd give me a stuffed toy.

He said that when he wasn't home, the toy could keep me company in his place.

But in the bedroom, an entire cabinet was already crammed with identical toys.

Even though I'd said it more than once.

"Chester, I already have two Duffy bears."

"If you're going to get me one, could you make it a StellaLou next time?"

Afraid he'd notice I was unhappy, I made my voice as sweet and playful as I could.

He said he understood.

But this time, what I got.

Was still a Duffy bear.

Now, watching me stay silent, Chester frowned.

"What, you don't like it?"

I lowered my head and smiled.

"I like it."

"You gave it to me yourself. How could I not like it?"

Only then did Chester let out a breath of relief.

"Good, as long as you like it."

He peeled off his jersey and tossed it by the entryway, then walked into the bathroom to shower.

And out of the corner of my eye I stared at that jersey, my gaze turning colder inch by inch.

Chester always came home smelling of sun and sweat.

He'd been on the college team back then. I was the one in the crowd cheering for him. Every game, he'd drink only the water I handed him. Every game, he'd toss his jacket into my lap and no one else's.

Once, I loved that smell. I couldn't get enough of it. Like the young hormones coming off a college boy.

But the jersey in my hands now carried something else, something cloying mixed in.

There was a lipstick print smudged into the collar.

And I hadn't worn makeup or lipstick in three years.

Why aren't you in bed? What are you sitting there staring at?

Chester came out of the bathroom with his hair still dripping. What he saw was me in the wheelchair, holding the jersey.

Where did this lipstick print come from?

I asked him straight out.

He froze for a second, something evasive flickering in his eyes before he smoothed it over.

I was busy playing ball the whole time. How would I know?

Probably during that sweaty stretch. I threw my shirt down in a corner and someone brushed against it by accident.

Then he snatched the jersey out of my hands and took it off to wash.

The next day, my fever suddenly spiked to a hundred and two.

Chester was picking up his ball to leave. Weakly, I caught the sleeve of his shirt.

Can you take me to the hospital first?

He frowned and came to feel my forehead.

How'd you suddenly spike a fever out of nowhere?

A hundred and two?

Mm.

Did you take anything?

We're out.

He frowned and glanced at the clock on the wall.

Then lie down for now. I'll go buy you some medicine.

But an hour passed and he still wasn't back.

Then my phone buzzed with an alert. His heart rate had spiked.

That was when I remembered his fitness watch was synced to my phone.

He wasn't playing ball right now.

So what was making his heart pound like that?

I struggled to move the wheelchair out to the balcony, and sure enough, there was Chester's car parked downstairs.

He got out first.

Right behind him, that girl he called one of the guys, Catherine, came out pulling her clothes back on.

Chester, you've got some nerve. Your girlfriend's up there burning with a fever.

And you drag me out to the car for this. You really couldn't hold out?

Chester had two boxes in his hand, cold medicine and fever reducer.

Then he slid an arm around Catherine's waist.

This is just the start.

Want something more exciting?

Catherine met his wicked grin. What? You want me to come home with you?

Right in front of Pamela?

Chester was careless about it.

Is that a problem?

I read the shapes of their mouths, and my hands shook with rage.

Two minutes later, a key turned in the lock and the door opened from outside.

Pammy, I'm back with your medicine.

Chester waved the fever reducer in front of my face, then walked in.

Ran into a teammate on the way. Told her to come have dinner here.

Catherine gave my severed leg a cool once-over.

Tossed off a careless hello and went to find Chester in the kitchen.

She slapped him on the backside.

No wonder you can't get enough of me.

Your girlfriend's pretty enough, but one look at that stump and it's a real turn-off, isn't it.

How long has it beensince the two of you slept together?

Chester kept working on the food. Three years.

Their whispering carried, so clear against the quiet of the living room.

Over the next few days, Catherine kept coming over for dinner under the excuse of playing ball.

Then one day the rain came down hard and she couldn't get home, so she stayed the night.

I woke up to find her in my slippers and the new pajamas I'd just bought.

She was drying her hair with my hair dryer.

Like the woman of the house.

I asked Chester, What is this?

You know I'm a germaphobe. Why would you let someone else wear my pajamas and my slippers?

He shot me a look.

It's pouring out there. You'd really make a girl walk home in that rain?

Your leg's gone. What does germaphobe even matter anymore? You really have to have that one pair of slippers?

In that moment I went completely still, only my red-rimmed eyes fixed quietly on him.

Chester suddenly panicked and rushed over to soothe me.

Pammy, I'm sorry, that's not what I meant.

I don't look down on you for losing your leg.

He gentled his voice. She's just one of the guys to me. I've never thought of her as a woman.

So what if she stays one night at our place?

One of the guys staying over for a night, sure, that was nothing.

But does anyone book a hotel room with one of the guys?

Looking at the righteous certainty on Chester's face, I swallowed the words back down.

Do whatever you want, then.

I turned the wheelchair back toward my room. Chester didn't come after me. He took Catherine to make up the bed in the guest room.

Listening to them go from soberly making up the bed to falling into each other in the end,

I closed my eyes.

And dialed a number.

Sir, could I rent a car with a wheelchair space the morning after next?

And a driver too.

The owner knew me.

"Hey, Pammy. You headed out?"

"Yeah."

I nodded.

"I can't spend my whole life a cripple, or living off someone else."

"I have to stand on my own."

That night, Chester told me, brief and to the point.

"The team's leaving for Bayport in a couple days for a match."

"I set aside two cases of instant noodles for you. Be good, Pammy. I know it's rough for a few days."

"I'll make you something nice when I'm back."

I watched, quiet, as delight rose in Chester's eyes.

He'd been looking forward to this match for a long time.

Three years ago, Chester was the best player on the court.

If it weren't for me dragging him down.

He might have gone pro.

But now, because of me, all he could take were odd, day-to-day jobs.

"Okay, go."

"You're free, after all. You shouldn't be tied to me."

Chester's eyes went a little red.

He kissed me on the forehead.

"Wait for me. Be good."

The day he left.

I took the wheelchair out for the first time.

I tried to work out how to walk a stretch on my own, all the way to the station.

But on the way I ran into a fortune-teller.

He stroked his beard and looked at me with a sigh on his face.

"Young lady, you were born to great wealth and fortune."

"It's only because you took on someone else's karma that you've ended up like this."

"Do you want everything to go back to how it should be?"

The whole of me went still. I stayed silent a long while before I turned around.

"Sir, is there a way?"

I did what the fortune-teller said and went to the hospital to be fitted with a prosthetic leg.

Every few days I went in for rehab training.

The doctor looked at my condition and offered a gentle word of comfort.

"No need to rush. When a prosthetic's brand new, walking is slow at first. Take it a step at a time."

"Once you get used to it and recover, you'll be free of the wheelchair for good."

At the end, the doctor asked me, puzzled.

"It's been three years. Why didn't you think about a prosthetic from the start?"

I lowered my head.

Because there'd been no need.

Chester had said he'd stay by my side forever, that he'd be my legs.

So I let the one empty leg under my skirt just hang there.

But now, I didn't need anyone to be my legs.

A prosthetic was just fine too.

Chester had gone to Bayport for the team match. He wouldn't be back for two weeks.

He'd set aside two cases of instant noodles for me.

Thought I could hold out until then.

But I didn't want to live like this anymore.

Needing someone else just to survive, like a dodder vine clinging to another plant.

The day before I planned to leave, Catherine got hold of my phone number from somewhere.

She sent me one obscene, intimate photo after another.

And beneath them, message after message.

All of it a taunt.

"Pamela, to Chester you're nothing but a dead cripple."

"See that? On the days he's not with you, he's either on the court with me or in bed with me."

"At first I just wanted to have some fun with him."

"But now I think this man's actually pretty good."

"No one dares fight me for what I want."

"So, Pamela, do the smart thing and clear out on your own."

"Otherwise, you'll lose to me anyway."

I stared at the messages, quiet, and then I smiled.

"Fine. I'll give you what you want."

The next day I moved the prosthetic with effort, packed two simple changes of clothes.

I left the keys on the entryway shelf.

Then, one step at a time, I made my way downstairs.

"Driver, take me to the airport."

Just before leaving, something occurred to me and I opened my phone.

All those messages and photos Catherine had used to taunt me the day before.

I forwarded every last one of them to Chester.

The next second, my phone started buzzing like mad.