Previously, Seymour High School, Seymour Connecticut…”

“Hey…” It occurred to Callie as she walked up to the girl that she didn’t even know how to address her.

“Let me go.” She pulled away and Callie released her arm. She shook her head once as the tears flowed before running down the hall and around the corner.

Route One, Hoboken, New Jersey, several years later…

The ambulance had just pulled away; two fatalities and two survivors. A tractor trailer had jackknifed on the icy pavement and the rig had slid into both oncoming cars, just barely missing a mini-van filled with kids and a couple of soccer moms on their way back from the mall. Both drivers had been killed instantly; one leaving a very scared little boy in the back of the first car. The second left a tallish woman whom the paramedics recognize instantly. The scene in the ambulance went from relaxed to chaotic in an instant.

“We’re losing her,” the paramedic screamed to no one and everyone at the same time. Her buddy leaned closer and spoke to the woman on the gurney.

“Come on, Callie….live!” He shook his head but grabbed the paddles and a moment later the flat line had changed to a weak but still up and down wave.

“Son of a fucking bitch!” He bit his lip at the sight of the mess of bones and blood that had been the woman's ankle. He looked at his partner.

“Shit, Jackie….” She returned his stare before looking again at the woman’s leg. She shook her head no; whatever fate lay in store for Callie Policastro-O’Hara would include pain over the loss of her wife and the loss of her career.

New York Sports Medicine, Manhattan, New York City…several weeks later…

“Come on, Callie.” The man smiled and pointed to the raised mat next to the exercise bike. She shook her head no but still rose and hopped over to the mat. Swinging around, her stump hit the edge, sending a painful, almost electric shock up her leg.

“Doc says your prosthesis should be in maybe tomorrow or Thursday…Let’s get to it!” Vic Domonali was kind and supportive, but he didn’t mince words. The quicker Callie got to work with her new leg the quicker she’d return….but return to what.

“You know, Vic. I don’t really give a fuck.” She put her head down. Two and a half months after the accident and she didn’t have a lot of motivation. The Sun had put her on the ‘physically unable to play’ list, but no one in their right mind expected her to return. At almost thirty, her best years in basketball had already been pretty much behind her even before the accident. Whatever life held for her, it wasn’t going to be in sports. At least that’s what she thought.

“Okay… let’s try it again, but this time, put some effort into it, okay?” Vic smiled at Callie; his expression got under her skin, as the old song goes, and she blew out a very frustrated breath before speaking.

“Listen…take it easy, okay?” She put her head down and continued.

“You don’t know what I’ve been through.”

“I’m sorry, Callie? I didn’t quite get that…would you mind repeating what you just said?” He knew what she said, but he didn’t want the moment to be lost in self-pity. And he was quite prepared with an answer.

“Listen, Vic. You don’t know what the fuck I’ve been through.” She looked down at the ring on her left hand and huffed.

“It’s easy for you to push me…you know?” She pointed to her leg and gestured at the ‘ghost’ limb; she had that feeling you might get after losing an arm or a leg as if it still was still there.

“And that’s the easy part. I’m so….it’s not fair.” She pointed to her left hand and continued.

“I’ve known…..” She breathed in deeply, as if she would pass out from the words that she expelled.

“I knew her since High School, for God’s sake. Do you understand?” She began to cry. A moment later she felt his hand on her shoulder.

“I know exactly how you feel, Callie.” A soft yet firm group of words strung together that would serve to convince Callie that she was not alone; nor would she be.

“Nina and I met in Middle School. Together for thirteen years.” He still wore his wedding ring. Callie looked into his eyes; his gaze met hers his gaze of comfort so deep you could fall into it. She wanted to ask how his wife died, but she realized it really wasn’t important. He still wore his ring, and that said more to her than any details. But the stakes were high in the game she was playing; she raised her loss and beat his hands down, didn’t she. He could still work at his chosen field, couldn’t he?

She moved her hand to point at the place where her foot should have been and opened her mouth, but the words got stuck in her throat. It was too painful; how could he understand that her life and her life mate had been lost in an instant.

“I’m sorry you got hurt.”

“Sorry I got hurt?” She thought, and would have voiced her anger but for that welcoming gaze of his; it silenced her protest even before he uttered an answer that saw her bet and raised the ante, beating her hand. He reached over and grabbed the cane she had taken to use while getting accustomed to her prosthesis. A smile like no other crossed his face; the look that says ‘you may not believe me, but this is for your own good.’

“I’m so sorry you got hurt. I know how you feel…yes.” He took the cane and hit his left leg. A loud clack came from wood on fiberglass and God only knows what else.

“I was driving, Callie. Drunk driver cut us off…tried to pass us on the right….hit the front end of our van. Nina…she was gone already when the van stopped rolling.” He gasped and blinked back tears.

“Petey lasted all the way to the hospital and….” His voice trailed off.

“I was driving….and it has taken me nearly three years to….”

He shook his head and looked down. He hadn’t meant to make it about himself, but only in doing so could he have reached her. He felt a hand on his arm and he looked down to see Callie crying, but not for herself. She struggled for the words; simple words, but her tears spoke for her as she told him with her heart that she understood...finally remembering and understanding that it wasn’t always about her. Finally, she uttered the words that set both of them free.

"I am so sorry."

Rusk Institute of Rehabilitation Medicine, Manhattan, NYC…Christmas Eve, a few years later…

A smallish dark-haired woman knocked softly on the open office door.

“I stopped by to see if you need a ride? Tony is downstairs with the car, hon.” Fiona smiled at the mention of her husband’s name. It never ceased to amaze her how gracious life had been to her, but even that almost took a back seat to her best friend. Callie looked up from her desk and smiled back.

“I’ll catch up with you later, okay? I’ve got one more client to see and then I’m off to the Garden to drop off a check for that fundraiser the team has going.” She still felt a part of the team after so many years; they had helped tremendously after she decided to forgo any comeback, and they not only understood but supported her efforts.

“Okay. We’ll be at church for about an hour anyway; you can just go straight to the apartment if you like?” Fiona practically giggled.

“Okay, okay. Trisha’s gonna be there, you know?”

She laughed softly at her best friend’s efforts at matchmaking. Had it been a couple of years before, she might agree to date if only to be grateful for Fiona’s care. But Sheri seemed to be smiling down on Callie lately; her presence was a comfort even as Callie felt released to begin again, as some might say. Anyway, Two meals out and a very comfortable meal at ‘home’ urged her forward, and she was finally settled enough to want the relationship to grow; she was falling in love, and it felt as if Sheri was looking down in approval.

She dropped her attention to her leg; the prosthesis was uncovered since she had deliberately chosen to wear a long skirt instead of slacks. She hoped her decision would be helpful. Another knock came; this time at the reception area desk around the corner from her office. She rose and walked almost casually to the desk and smiled at the woman standing across from her.

“I’m Niecy White. We talked on the phone?” She turned away, almost embarrassed before using her arm to gesture to her right where a girl of about seven or so sat in a wheelchair.

“You must be Lisa, right?” The girl kept silent. Callie smiled a very broad smile and leaned a bit across the desk, eyeing the girl’s covered legs.

“I hope we can be friends, and I really hope that you and your Mom and I can get you all the help you need, okay?” The girl’s eyes began to tear up as she pulled the blanket from her legs, revealing one perfectly formed leg and another that stopped rudely at the ankle. The scars were not quite fresh, but still red enough to bear the testimony of a great loss. She shook her head no; not as a rebuke, but with the accompanying smile, it was a way to show the girl that she needn’t be ashamed. The girl shook her head no right back; her face etched with embarrassment and shame with a look that said,

“You don’t know how this feels.”

Callie glanced downward as if to do a spot-check before walking around the end of the desk. She stood about four feet away from the girl and glanced down again after getting the girl’s attention, bringing attention to her own leg; this time as in recent times past, her intentions were entirely selfless. She smiled and glanced at the girl’s stump before casting her gaze downward one last time, looking at her prosthesis. She half-smiled and blew out a breath. The girl switched her gaze back and forth between her own leg and Callie’s before smiling weakly with a reluctant nod. Callie knelt down next to the wheelchair and looked the girl in the eyes. Her mother was crying by then, and Lisa’s face was awash with tears.

“It’s gonna be okay, honey. It’s gonna be okay.” Callie said softly as she pulled the girl into a soft hug as the girl wept in her arms.

“It’s gonna be okay.

Next: Alaina's Freedom

Come, they told me
Pa, rum, pa, pum, pum
Our newborn King to see
Pa, rum, pa, pum, pum

When we come
Me and my drum

Carol of the Drum
(The Little Drummer Boy)
Words and Music by
Katherine Kennicott Davis,
Henry Ornati, and Harry Simone
As performed by
The Vince Guaraldi Trio