ERMEGERD. Crispin and Nancy are back! Briefly. Sort of. Maybe.
He drove. Trees flicked passed, the colour of the grass along the mountainside changing from sunburnt brown to yellow and finally, a rich green, with each mile marker. Knuckles white, hands sweaty and too many words sitting on the tip of his tongue, Crispin felt the claustrophobia grow and bubble around him.
“We are all disabled to some extent.” He remembered these words from a lifetime ago, but back then he was whole. Complete – at least physically. The class he had been sitting in was big, and despite sitting in orderly rows, his classmates were the rowdy sort. The comment brought about a titter of amusement, and a pause from those who disagreed. That pause, though silent, was louder, more obstinate; engulfing.
He never had the chance to even consider the ethical implications. One minute he was smiling and the next minute he was flat on his back, surrounded by the thrum of machinery and the glare of bright lights. How do you even explain that to someone without being on some side of the metaphorical line?
Nancy shifted, bringing him back to the present. He glanced over at her, her hair looking harassed and her hands a fumbling mess. Crispin didn’t even need her to return his look for him to see the jumble of emotions she was feeling.
“How much longer?” Her words came out cracked.
“Not long now,” he replied, turning back to the road. It seemed to go on endlessly.