An Ordinary Morning #2
The image keeps replaying in my mind. Children at the charity skate. Sponsors. Photos. Questions.
The captain is back.
Except...he isn't.
"Jamie."
I blink. "What?"
"You've stopped counting."
I look down.
The resistance band hangs loose in my hand. Apparently, I've drifted somewhere else entirely.
"Sorry."
She doesn't answer right away. Instead, she walks over and gently takes the band from my hand. "We're done with this."
"I've only finished one set."
"I know."
"I can do the rest."
"I know."
Her voice remains calm. No frustration. No lecture. Just certainty. I recognize that tone. It usually means arguing will accomplish absolutely nothing. I let out a slow breath. "It's not the shoulder."
"No." She folds the band neatly before setting it on the counter. "I didn't think it was." The therapy gym hums around us as Annette pulls two chairs toward the windows.
"Sit with me."
I raise an eyebrow. "Is this still therapy?"
"It is now."
I lower myself into the chair across from her. For a moment she simply watches the snow falling beyond the glass. Not watching me. Watching the world. Giving me room to settle.
Finally, she speaks. "You answered before Megan finished asking."
I look over. "You heard enough?"
"I wasn't trying to."
"I know."
Another quiet settles between us. "You never considered saying no." It isn't an accusation. Just an observation. I rub my palms together slowly.
"I didn't."
"Why?"
The answer feels embarrassingly simple. "Because they need me."
She tilts her head.
"The children?"
"Yes. The foundation. The organization. The sponsors. My teammates."
I stop. Then laugh softly. "I suppose that's a long list."
"It is."
She studies me for a moment. "And where are you on it?"
I don't answer. Mostly because I don't understand the question.
She smiles gently. "That's what I thought."
***
Maybe that's why my shoulder suddenly feels heavier than it did twenty minutes ago, not because the muscles are tired. Because the weight isn't in my shoulder. It's everywhere else.
Annette stands. "Come with me."
"Where?"
She smiles. "Outside."
I look toward the therapy equipment. "Aren't we behind schedule?"
"We are."
I can't help smiling. "You really are dangerous."
"So, I've been told."
She picks up her coat from the hook by the door. "Sometimes the best therapy isn't another repetition." She looks back at me. "Sometimes it's remembering how to breathe."
For a second, I simply look at her.
Then I stand. "Lead the way."
***
Annette steps alongside me as we leave the therapy room. Her smile is always there—whether the session went well or not.
Somehow, I find myself looking for it now.
We haven't gone far when Frank from Maintenance appears around the corner, pushing a ladder toward the rehabilitation wing.
Frank parks the ladder for a moment.
“Oh—and I wanted to let you know the hydrotherapy pool's finally running properly.”
“Glad to hear it, Frank. Thanks.”
“About time.” He gives us a quick wave and continues down the hallway.
I glance over. Annette is watching me with that thoughtful expression I've started recognizing.
"What?"
She shakes her head. "Nothing."
"It didn't look like nothing." A small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. "I was just wondering..."
She hesitates. "...never mind."
I grin. "No, go ahead."
She studies me for another second before giving up with a quiet laugh. "It's nothing."
We continue toward the lobby. I don't press. Some questions are more interesting before they're answered.
And for reasons I can't quite explain...
I have a feeling this might be one of them.
***
We walk through the light snowfall. The hospital is behind us, and the parking lot is quiet. I mumble, almost to myself: "I know how to be Captain Walker."
A few more steps. "I'm just not sure anybody wants to meet the guy underneath."
Annette doesn't answer immediately. She watches a young father tossing a snowball to a toddler, then she looks back at me.
Very quietly she says: "Maybe the people who matter..."
A pause. "...have been hoping to meet Jamie all along."
Silence. I don’t answer. Because...I can't.
Nobody has ever suggested that before.
Not coaches.
Not reporters.
Not sponsors.
Not even teammates.
Everyone has wanted Captain Walker.
Annette is the first person who has ever wanted Jamie. I look down at the snow. Then smile a tiny smile. "You make everything sound possible."
She smiles back, Takes another few steps. "I just think you've spent so long trying to become the captain..."
She looks at me. "...that you forgot the captain became someone worth admiring because he was Jamie first."
***
Back in the quiet of my cabin that afternoon, I don’t open the notebook immediately. I stand at the window looking out over the frozen lake.
The snow is falling. The world is still. I think about the charity skate, about the pressure, and remember Annette's words.
Only then do I open the it.
I keep it very simple:
Today's Win: Didn't let fear make today's decisions.
Someone I Encouraged The older patient who finally reached the top shelf.
Something I'm Grateful For Someone who reminds me that Captain Walker isn't the only part of me worth knowing.
Then my phone buzzes. Not a conversation. Just one text.
Annette: Good luck Saturday, Jamie. Just remember...you don't have to carry the whole rink.
I smile and type: I'll try.
Then immediately delete it. Instead, I write: I'll remember.
Setting the phone down, I gaze out at the lake one last time.
And realize...
for the first time since the injury, I’m not dreading Saturday quite as much.