Chapter 41 Skylar
Skylar
By Friday night, I’m desperate for Pike to call already. I had to wake up early this morning for craniosacral therapy, and now, I’m already in bed at eight with my ice hat and kale chips, trying to de-stress.
I’m having annoying dreams about Pike, I admit.
Emy sends expectant “I’m listening” eyes. sex dreams?
Future dreams. Like we’re old and married. I wake up yearning because it’s not real. But how can I change that if he won’t call me?
Analia sends a hug. He said he was away.
But it’s Friday. He said he’d call Friday.
It’s not a good sign, she admits. Maybe his ego’s hurt. Kalle said Pike never wanted to break up.
Oh well, I say quickly. I’ve got you two. What are you up to tonight?
i actually gotta go, Emy writes. my brother is making me go to water street to see some rock band he follows on youtube (kill me).
Kalle’s coming over, Analia says. Sorry! But I’ll be on later depending on when he leaves.
That’s okay. I’m relieved they can’t see my disappointment. Have fun, both of you!
Let us know if Pike calls! Analia says.
They log off. Emy will likely be out late, and Kalle usually occupies big chunks of Analia’s time. I’m not jealous. I’m not.
But as I lie in bed trying to entertain myself by making a care network task list, it’s hard not to feel like something’s missing. Both of my best friends have other things going on in their lives—other people to connect with.
It’s me who doesn’t have anyone else.
It didn’t bother me before, because there wasn’t anyone I wanted to connect with offline. Good people in my life have been rare. But now that I’ve been with Pike, I know there are other people besides the girls. One other person, specifically. I don’t want just anyone.
I want him.
I dial his number. I don’t need to wait for him to pluck up the courage to call. I come up with a list of things to say as it rings. I want to meet up. I need to explain. I may have reacted too hastily. Can we give this another chance? I miss you.
But he doesn’t answer. I hang up before I can embarrass myself with a voicemail.
In the middle of a teary spoonful of cookies and cream, my phone vibrates. Pike!
But it’s just a text. Hey Skylar, sorry I haven’t called yet. Could you please put on NBC at 11:30 tonight? Or if that’s too late, could you stream tomorrow?
Eleven thirty on NBC? That’s a late-night talk show. Why? Are you going to be on TV?
I’m being vague on purpose. I promise it’ll all make sense if you watch.
I put down my spoon. Okay, I’ll watch.
Thanks, Skylar. Talk soon.
I stare at the hearts he sent, then press the group call button for Analia and Emy.
“I know you’re both busy, but something just happened.” I fill them in, hope blooming with every word. “What do you think he’s doing?”
Analia squeals. “Kalle said there was something he wanted me to watch on TV. It’s probably Pike!”
“It can’t just be about his career, right?”
“I mean,” Analia says, “maybe a change in his career.”
Emy says something muffled, probably to her brother, then comes back. “I’m so mad I’m missing this. Send me updates, though. I’m excited to see what he says!”
“Hang on, let me ask Kalle,” Analia says. “Is Pike being on TV a good thing?”
Kalle makes an exasperated noise in the background. “I obviously can’t say anything.”
“But should Skylar watch?”
“Wait, are you on the phone with her? Stop trying to trap me, woman!”
There’s a muffled screech and a thud. Scuffling ensues, and when Analia returns, she’s breathless. “I’ll text you again when Pike is on!”
“Is he—”
She’s already hung up.
I putter around my apartment for the next three hours, unable to accomplish anything. Five minutes before eleven thirty, the TV’s on and I’m vibrating with nervous energy. I’m usually horizontal by now, so I sprawl across my sectional with my ice hat.
The announcer says, “Making his first television appearance in two years, Olympic gold medalist Brandon Pike!” A picture of Pike soaring through the air with his snowboard fills the screen, and I melt into the cushions.
Johnny Clapton’s cold open feels endless.
After the first commercial break, I sit up when they announce Pike’s name.
He makes his way out with his black cane, wearing designer jeans and a black zip-up hoodie with RIDE stamped across the front.
He adjusts his gray flat-brim beanie before giving the audience a wave.
They are *not* playing “Fight Song” right now, Analia texts.
“Pike!” Johnny exclaims. “We haven’t seen you in forever.”
“It’s good to be back.” He leans his cane against his chair. “How’s everyone doing tonight?”
The audience cheers.
“New haircut, I see,” Johnny comments.
Pike takes off his beanie and runs a hand over his hair with a wink, making the audience scream. Confidence radiates off him in a way I’ve only ever seen in his videos. Would I have gone through with our arrangement if he’d been this cocky when we first met? He’s intimidatingly hot.
“So, how are you doing?”
“I’m doing good.” Pike shifts, giving an almost imperceptible jerk of his right foot, but I catch it.
“Liar,” I say under my breath. He does that when his sciatica’s bothering him.
“The last time we talked was before your accident. Walk me through that moment when you knew you were going to crash.”
I recoil at a picture of Pike sprawled out in the superpipe, his body bent at unnatural angles.
“It didn’t hit me that I was going to crash until it happened. Sometimes you feel it when you take off, like you didn’t hit the angle right or rotate enough. But I’d had a solid run, and things were going well.”
“I remember watching it. You were so unlucky with your legs.”
“I was lucky my pelvis took the brunt of it. If I’d hit my head harder, my brain probably wouldn’t have recovered.”
Johnny gestures at Pike’s cane. “How’s recovery going?”
“I was in the hospital a long time, then in a private rehab center learning to walk again. Now, I’m happy if I can walk without pain for even a minute.
But I’m working with an amazing trainer who specializes in rehabilitation and fitness for disabled athletes.
” He makes finger guns at the camera. “Shout out to Ranielle Thompson.”
A picture of Pike weightlifting in his wheelchair with a fit Black woman in her early thirties fills the screen. I smile. I haven’t met Ranielle, but she sent me exercises for my back after Pike told her about my LP nerve damage.
“Do you think you’ll be able to snowboard again?” Johnny asks.
“It’s unlikely I’ll be returning to the sport. The accident left me permanently disabled with chronic pain, mostly in my back and lower extremities.”
“I’m so sorry, man. What’s that like?”
Pike looks at the audience. “Anybody got chronic pain? It’s a bitch, right?” Everyone laughs, including Johnny. “It’s a lot to adjust to. Being disabled presents challenges that nondisabled people don’t necessarily face.”
“What kind of challenges?”
“Ever tried using a public bathroom with a wheelchair? Why is the toilet paper a mile away from the seat in the accessible stall? Why is there a blue wheelchair symbol in front of one sink, but that sink is identical to the others?”
Johnny laughs again, but so does Pike.
“No, but seriously, accessibility’s a huge issue.” He gestures at the entrance from which he came. “This set wouldn’t be accessible for me if I was using my chair today.”
“Don’t call the ADA on us now,” Johnny jokes.
Pike coughs into his hand. “I can’t, Johnny, because the ADA is a law.”
I snort as the camera zooms in on Johnny’s face, which will likely be a meme by tomorrow.
“Anyway,” Pike says, “pain can be tough if it’s part of your disability, like it is for me. But the hardest part is how society treats you. How it expects you to perform as a disabled person. That’s what I’m learning anyway.”
“Perform how?”
“Well, you saw all the crap that got posted about my ex-girlfriend, Skylar, right?”
Johnny falters, and my heart hiccups in my chest.
Oh no, oh no.
This is my doing. I wanted him to make a statement. To stick up for us.
“You mean those chat room posts?” Johnny asks, clearly surprised Pike brought it up.
“Yeah, the screenshots from our support group.”
“Wait. Ex-girlfriend? You and Skylar broke up?”
To my surprise, there are awws from the audience.
“Thank you.” Pike gestures at them. “I’m sad about it too.”
The picture of Pike and me kissing in Whistler appears on-screen behind them as Johnny leans forward.
“What happened? You seemed so happy.”
“Those screenshots happened,” Pike says, “which brings me back to performing. Everyone was excited we were together until some jerk decided to break into our group and leak intimate details about Skylar’s health. Who does that? Who actually thinks that’s okay?”
Johnny cringes. “Yeah. It was bad.”
“The thing is, nondisabled people don’t want to hear what it’s like to be disabled.
The truth is somehow too difficult. Too uncomfortable.
You should see some of the responses to Skylar’s private posts.
People are rude as fuck.” He covers his mouth as Johnny winces.
“Oops. Well, they’re rude anyway. But it illustrates my point.
A lot of us have to modulate what we say around nondisabled people because we get the same reactions.
” He ticks off on his fingers. “You’re too negative.
You complain too much. You focus too much on your body. You’re too much to handle.”
The last one stings. I’ve tried not to look at more comments, but I haven’t forgotten how unworthy of Pike everyone deemed me. Still, nothing stung more than Pike’s face when he said our relationship was so much work.