I remember leaving her lipstick smudge where it was on my cheek, exactly like I did every time, no one could see it with my helmet on, I just hated the thought of wiping it off, plus it made me feel nice. She always gave me one of those special big hugs before I went out on the bike, one of those silent ones that screamed volumes.

"Be careful"

"No speeding"

"Watch out for those lorries"

"come back if it starts raining"

"I love you"

I know she was always anxious every time I went out riding, but I loved the freedom too much to give up the bike. The endless landscape that became a hypnotic blur as the road took me wherever it wanted to. The roar of the exhausts and the exhilaration as the bike powered out of stomach-churning corners.

I remember that day in particular, because the weather was so fine, the sun was shining without being uncomfortably hot and there was not a single cloud in the sky, perfect for riding.

I also remember the fox, or was it a dog, either way it came out so quick. The bike was at full throttle having just come out of a sharp right-hander. Hard on to the brakes and all my weight lurched forward, then the feeling I will never forget. The front wheel lost its grip and slid side ways causing the bike to topple, feeling weightless as I was catapulted through the air. The Tarmac bit me hard as I landed, clawing its way inside my leathers and into my skin, as I slid down the road. The taste or was it the smell of blood, I quite cant remember, probably a bit of both, was overwhelming.

Then the oncoming car, I stopped remembering.

Day #1

I needed to cough, it felt like there was something in my throat. It didn’t hurt, just felt uncomfortable, I couldn’t work it out. My head throbbed incredibly, and I felt tired. I think I fell straight back to sleep.

Day #2

Day #3

I don’t know if it was the panic or the voices that woke me, something was very wrong.

"When will daddy wake up?"

The pain in my daughter's voice cut me like a razor. "I’m here, daddy’s awake" I replied, somewhat confused.

"He’s just very tired, he had a little accident and needs to get some sleep" my wife replied, a quiver in her voice as if struggling to get the words out.

"But I’m awake, baby, I'm fine" I said, sitting up so I could be close to her.

I cupped her face in my hands and gently stroked her hair behind her ears so I could see her eyes, she was sad about something. Her blonde hair framed her face perfectly; she was so pretty, her light blue eyes always had a quality about them that always made me feel at ease. She smiled as I gently kissed her forehead.

"What’s wrong?" I asked, tilting my head to one side adding emphasis to the question. There was no answer, instead she stood up, leaving my hands cupping thin air in the shape of her face. Turning around she took Grace’s hand and slowly walked out of the room.

"Come on Gracie, we’ll visit Daddy tomorrow"

The realisation hit me so hard it made the horror of the bike accident seem like a gentle breeze on a sunny day. I wanted to scream until my lungs split, until my throat was so sore it couldn’t make any sound. I wanted my wife to come back. Instead, my prone body lay perfectly still on the hospital bed I hadn’t sat up, infact I hadn’t moved a muscle. The machine that kept me breathing bleeped ominously. My emotionless eyes cried invisible tears.

The Constructive day

After what I guessed was about a week, I stopped trying to count the days that I thought had passed. Instead, any time that I woke and remembered anything of note, I would name the day instead. I decided that if I was to get anywhere in this state I had to adapt the abilities I still had. The first day would be my constructive day.

Although all I could see was the inside of my eyelids, I could make out the bright lights on the ceiling, they cast dark shapes as people moved around the room and made even darker shapes when someone leant over me to inspect my damage.

My hearing was fine, and I got quite good at guessing at where people were in the room. The floor was tiled; because some of the doctors and nurses wore shoes that clip clipped a pattern as they entered from the left, then got louder as they approached the bedside. I guessed there must be another doorway, maybe a toilet or a large cupboard at the bottom right of the room because there was a strange echo when anyone walked around that side of the bed. There were two chairs for visitors, a heavy wooden one that scraped the floor as it was pulled out, and the other one was a metal and plastic one like the one schools used, because it sounded lighter only one of the stoppers on the feet must be missing because it gave a metallic screech whenever it was moved.

I was pleased with how I was progressing; now I knew what was going on around me and I felt almost as if I could contribute to helping myself.

My awareness of the presence of people would be my greatest comfort and greatest pain.

The Worst Day

"But I don’t understand, if i'ts not as bad as you originally said then why hasn’t he come round?" My wife’s voice, sounded resolute. She was such a fighter, that’s part of what I loved about her so much; she had the sort of steely determination that made anything seem possible.

"There appear to be complications, so even when he does come round, he broke several vertebrae in his neck, and although the spinal cord isn’t snapped it is damaged quite badly and may have severe mobility problems," came the doctor’s reply in a non-committal, professional tone.

"You mean a cripple?" my wife asked rhetorically, her voice cracking.

"For God’s sake stop talking like that, I can hear you," I screamed with every ounce of my strength, but I knew my lips couldn’t even muster a whisper.

I desperately wanted someone to touch me; I didn’t care where or how. They could have stabbed me with a knife, and plunged it deep into my stomach. I just wanted to feel something, anything that could prove to me that I wasn’t a cripple. The helplessness enveloped me, it clawed and scratched away every ounce of willpower I had as reality slipped away, and left me standing naked in the shadow of a mountain that was impossible to climb.

I had to let her know, I had to think of something that would let her know I was here. I desperately wanted to hold her, pull her head into my chest and whisper in her ear how everything was fine and it would all turn out ok. The light went darker as she leant over me, my heart raced as I felt her lips on my cheek, right where I’d left the lipstick before the accident. "I love you" she whispered before leaving the room.

The Best Day

I’d gotten quite good at guessing at what was going on around me just by listening, I could now have a good guess at what time of day it was and which doctor or nurse was due next to check on me. But something I had completely overlooked was my sense of smell, guess I had gotten used to the sharp pungent smells of medicine and disinfectant and disregarded them as common place. But this time something was different, I couldn’t quite figure it out as my mind was flooded with memories.

I found myself walking through a familiar woodland, my socks were soaking wet, as the morning dew on the grass saturated my shoes. My breath rose in swirling patterns every time I exhaled into the crisp morning air.

Gracie held my hand tightly as she skipped alongside me, trying her very best to jump in every single puddle we came across, muddy brown water covering my trousers as her big pink Wellingtons landed with a splash.

"Daddy I can see them" she would squeal with delight. As she loosed my hand and clumsily ran over to where the bluebells would grow every springtime. Only to return with mud encrusted fingernails, and an innocent smile, proudly displaying a handful of the violet flowers.

"Mummy will love these, won’t she Daddy?" she would say every time.

That’s what I could smell, as I lay on my bed. I was sure of it. In my daydreaming I had ignored what the people in my room had been saying.

Again the light went darker, and the feel of my wife’s kiss on my cheek made my heart pound. As I prepared for the loneliness of an empty room the light went dark again but not quite as dim and I felt a much lighter kiss.

"Here you go, Daddy, I picked these special for you" Gracie said her voice tinged with the distress of not understanding.

"Put them in his hand sweetheart, so he can hold them", my wife advised, her voice both soft and strong.

I think I heard someone crying, as Gracie’s pink Wellingtons squeaked out of the room and down the corridor. I only wish at that time my mouth could have reciprocated the smile glowing in my heart.

Today

I woke up this morning feeling invigorated. To be honest, I’m sick of my predicament now, the routine is quite laborious. It’s the same everyday. I'm usually woken up by the doctor who wears too much aftershave, with the thick Cockney accent, he makes some notes then leaves. The nurse who always has a pocket full of keys and loose change that jangles, them comes in, presses some button on the bleeping machine to my right. Then after being left alone for sometime, a pair of gossiping nurses then jostle me about, whilst I get a bed bath, despite the jokes, the feeling of vulnerability make this my least favourite part of the day. That leaves only one more visit before my wife, the Doctor who I guess must be Indian judging by his accent, and he always starts with the same introduction.

"So how’s my stunt rider this morning?"

It used to annoy me but now it makes me chuckle, it reinforces my decision to sell the bike once I’m back on my feet, maybe I’ll get a boat instead.

"I’m fine thanks, doc, but I won’t be popping any wheelies for a while"

My reply is always the same; only he doesn’t get to hear my equally dry humour. He makes notes on his clipboard. I imagine him to have an expensive silver or gold pen as it scratches across the paper, accompanied by sounds of him clicking his tongue. He exhales deeply as if deep in thought. Then I feel him pick my hand up. I don’t like this bit; it just proves the worst, but its ok because I can just block it from my mind afterwards.

"Ok then let's see how your reflex’s are today," he explains sitting on the edge of my bed, and still holding my hand he pokes it with his pen. I hadn’t even realised that it was weird I could feel him lifting my hand, let alone him poking it.

"Ouch that hurt" I cried out, again he couldn’t hear me. The realisation hit me like a freight train. I was breathless.

"Hmm, very good," mumbled the doctor under his breath. I wiggled my fingers for all my might surely he must see it. "Oh a wave as well, I feel we might be talking to you quite soon" He continued almost with a lighthearted chuckle. And with that he left the room.

In my mind I was jumping around like a little kid, bouncing on the bed squealing and laughing. I felt like it was Christmas and I’d woken early, only I wasn’t allowed to open my presents until the rest of the family were ready.

My heart skipped a beat as I could here the familiar sound of my wife’s high-heeled shoes as she approached clicking down the corridor. Although I knew my lips wouldn’t mouth the words. I yelled as loud as I could muster in my excitement.

"Look, baby, look what I can do!"