Chapter Two - Lucky
CHAPTER TWO
The image of a man falling off his bicycle is the first thing I see when I sit down in the familiar blue chair. My physical therapist has a pretty wicked sense of humor, it seems.
His office is decorated with posters that look a lot like those cheesy motivational signs you see in a high school guidance counselor’s office—the ones with some gorgeous landscape and an inspirational quote about how it’s all about the journey not the destination.
Except these posters are more...well, a little less inspiring.
Taped to the back of the door is one that reads: “Procrastination: Hard work pays off over time, but laziness always pays off now.” On the far wall is another one that says, “Potential: not everyone gets to be an astronaut when they grow up.”
They’re pretty funny, I admit, but it’s the one with the man falling off his bike that I can’t pull my eyes away from. The bright green words, “Give up: Life’s an adventure for most . . . a concussion for you,” strike a chord. I don’t like it. Not at all.
I tap my fingers against my knee, which is bouncing around like crazy.
I’ve never really been able to sit still, but it’s worse when I’m nervous.
Jake, my PT, and I have just finished up our final session.
After twelve long weeks, I’m finally sitting in this chair for the last time, and it feels really damn good.
But this is the moment that will make or break me—and either way, I’ve got a flight to catch. I check the time on my watch.
“Mr. DeLucca,” Jake says when he walks through the door, my file and an iPad in hand. He’s not smiling.
I swallow, waiting.
“It’s official,” Jake breaks into a grin. “It looks like our time together has come to a close.”
“I’m cleared?” I ask, leaning forward. I need to hear the words.
“Yup. You can officially return to—”
“Hell, yeah!” I cut him off, throwing both of my arms up in the air.
The motion would’ve reduced me to tears weeks ago, but now I barely feel anything but the tiniest twinge of tightness in my chest. Instead, it feels like I’ve just thrown the game-winning touchdown in the last three seconds of the game.
“As I was saying,” Jake clears his throat. “I’ve got your paperwork all ready to go. You’re free to return to your normal, daily activities, but given that your definition of normal is different than most, maybe just take it easy for a while, yeah?”
“Right, whatever you say, Doc.” I try not to let my grin give me away, but I can feel it stretching from ear to ear.
Jake eyes me carefully. “Look, Lucky, I know you’ve been counting down the days until you were cleared, but I don’t want you to end up right back where you started. Even though you’re done with PT, you’ll still need to take things slow. You need to keep listening to your body.”
Listen to your body— an expression I’ve been hearing during our therapy sessions every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for three months.
And right now, my body is demanding that I get my ass out of this chair and get back to living my life.
“I feel great,” I say, rolling my arm around in a slow circle.
“It doesn’t even hurt anymore. No soreness—I’m as good as new. ”
“I’m not just talking about your collarbone.
” Jake flips open my file, shuffling past the x-rays of the break in my collarbone and pulls out the CT scan of my head.
“You sustained a traumatic brain injury, Lucky. It was mild, all things considered, and you’ve recovered quite well, but your brain still needs healing time.
Promise me you’re not going to run out of here and do something stupid. ”
The crisp white of the paper sends a chill through me—the bright white reminding me of the overhead lights when I finally came to in the hospital.
The pain had been unimaginable, and the lights only made it worse.
The blurry vision and disorientation had lasted for a while.
It was the only time in my life I’ve ever truly been afraid.
I blink a few times, clearing the image away. I don’t like to think about that day, much less talk about it.
“I, Lucky DeLucca, promise not to go around banging my fragile brain against anything hard,” I say, holding up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.” I know it’s not funny at all, but I can’t help it. Sarcasm helps me deal . . . and hide.
Jake’s stern expression doesn’t waver. “That doesn’t exactly instill confidence.”
“Do you really think I want to end up back here?” I place a hand on my chest and scoff. “No offense. You’re a badass and all, but—”
Jake quickly taps out something on the iPad and then flips it around so I can see what’s on the screen.
It’s one of my videos. The particular clip playing is one of me riding a skateboard down a flight of steps blindfolded.
I’d managed to stay upright for about ten seconds before I lost my balance and both me and the skateboard went flying.
I’d walked away with only a few scratches from that one—lucky as always, which is how I got my name.
Flint, Alabama is hardly a thriving metropolis, and back when I was fourteen years old and bored out of my mind, filming my friends and I doing stupid stuff—stunts and comedy sketches mostly—seemed like a good idea.
I uploaded that first video to YouTube and the rest, as they say, is history.
That was ten years ago and my channel has a little over 4 million subscribers now.
I’ve also expanded to other social media platforms, moving to more short form content.
Altogether, there are close to six million people who follow me just to see what ridiculousness I’ll get into next.
Bungee jumping? Sure.
Eating the world’s hottest pepper? Sign me up.
Doing a superman on one of the tallest MBX ramps of all time? Absolutely.
But that was before I got hurt.
Twelve weeks ago, while filming a livestream, something went wrong.
Twelve weeks ago, I hadn’t been so lucky.
I remember the ATV, and I remember the feeling of panic when I lost control of it, but everything else is gone, wiped from my memory as though it never happened at all.
But it did, and that’s exactly why I’m sitting in this chair.
“TBIs are nothing to play around with,” Jake continues when I don’t say anything. “If it had been any worse, you could have cracked your skull.”
“But it wasn’t worse,” I argue, “You said it yourself, it was mild.”
“Mild is a relative term in this case. When it comes to the brain, there’s really no such thing as mild.
” Jake steeples his hands and narrows his eyes over the top of them.
“The fact that you needed my services at all is a telltale sign of how bad it really was. It took you nearly as long to recover from the TBI as it did your broken collarbone. If it happens again—”
“It won’t,” I say, heat rushing up the back of my neck. “I’ll be careful.”
“I hope so, Lucky. If you knock that head of yours one more time, it might be the last thing you do.”
He’s going for the scare tactic, I think to myself, but it won’t work. Not on me.
“So, about that paperwork,” I say pointedly.
Jake purses his lips, but slides the stack of papers across the desk.
“This is your release form. Sign here.” He points to the signature line.
“This is a list of all the exercises you can do if you start experiencing any pain or soreness.” He flips the page.
“And these are things to watch out for TBI-wise. If you start forgetting things or experience extreme bouts of light-headedness, you need to take it easy. I know you still get the occasional headache, but if they worsen or the vision impairment comes back, you need to call your doctor immediately, do you understand?”
“Got it.” I stand up and hold out my hand to Jake. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, man. I wouldn’t have gotten back on my feet without you.”
“Let’s just make sure I don’t ever see you again, okay?”
“Deal.”
As I walk out to the parking lot and over to my car, the paperwork in my hand feels like a golden ticket. But instead of going to a chocolate factory, I’m on my way to Buzz Con.
Rumors have been circulating for weeks now, but I finally get to set the record straight.
After three long months of radio silence, it’s time for me to get back in the game. I pull my phone out of my pocket, snap a quick selfie, and post it to my social media accounts.
The pic, captioned ‘Guess who’s back, baby! #LegendsNeverDie, #StarlightChallengeFinalist’ has over a thousand likes before I even leave the parking lot.
—
When I land in San Antonio, I can’t stop grinning. For the first time in months, I feel like I can breathe—despite the thick Texas heat that smacks me in the face the second I walk outside.
I grab a cab and head downtown. The folks at Buzz Con are the only ones who know my participation in the Starlight Challenge is contingent on clearance from PT.
I tap the front of my shorts, feeling for the folded square of paper I shoved in the pocket.
My clearance paperwork. The Starlight Agency will want to see it before they let me compete, which I fully intend to do.
No, scratch that. I fully intend to win.
It’s the only thing that will erase what happened.
Out of habit, I tap the YouTube app and bring up the home page for my channel. I frown at the number of views on my most recent video, the one from three months ago
I probably should’ve taken it down, but everybody and their mom already downloaded it and posted it on other sites, so there doesn’t seem to be a point.
It’s the most-watched video on my channel, with over 5 million views.
Of course it is—people love drama. What’s better than live footage of me nearly killing myself?
But that changes now. If I want people to forget about my accident, if I want my most watched video to be something other than the footage from that day, I have to give the viewers something better.