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Chapter 2: Arms Talks
 By Jim Caple |
When Katie Maynard initially arrived on the State College campus as a freshman five years ago she was even more self-conscious than most 18-year-olds. Katie grew up in such a small town that when people asked where she was from, she didn’t even name it. “It’s just a little farm town,’’ she would say, hoping they wouldn’t press her for details because she was sure they would laugh at its small size or how her idea of a big day was driving 25 miles to shop at Wal-Mart and catch a film at the nearest movie theater.
It was one of the reasons she liked ROTC. She needed the financial aid for college but she also enjoyed the discipline, the routine and the uniforms. As long as everyone was in uniform, she didn’t need to worry about anyone from a big city making fun of the way she dressed or applied her makeup. Which was not to say that Katie herself had a problem with her wardrobe or could tell how her jeans and sweaters differed from the jeans and sweaters everyone else wore. But somehow the other students could tell. Within moments of meeting her, she could sense them sizing her up and deciding that she was a farm girl. And while she was proud of her background, of how hard her parents worked on the dairy farm and the milk their cows provided, she still didn’t like the feeling that others considered themselves superior just because they had more money and read all the fashion magazines.
ROTC, thus, provided her with a safe haven, and in time, both friends and self-confidence. So what if the sorority girls looked down at her for the less expensive clothes she wore? They were shallow and thought of little more than their next drunken function. Katie was doing something for her country. And unlike the many students who all too conveniently talked about the conviction of their opposition to the war, Katie had a personal stake in the war. As an ROTC student, she would be fighting in that war after graduation, protecting their right to drink and party and be far more concerned about the fate of the Red Devils than what was going on in the war against terror. She grew a lot in her four years as an undergraduate.
However, now that Katie was back on campus to begin work on a masters degree in agricultural studies, she once again was self-conscious, though not about her clothes, but what about her clothes could not completely hide. Her arm and her leg.
Or more to the point, at her prosthetic arm and leg.
Katie had fallen into a deep depression after the deadly insurgent attack on her unit. She had lost her right arm and left leg, as well as several dear friends. Her faith in God and her country always had been constants in her life but as she lay in the hospital listening to the nightmares and pained screams of her fellow soldiers, she started to question both. Her parents had asked if she wanted to return to the dairy farm, and as tempting as it was to go home and be away from everything, she also was aware enough to realize it would be a horrible mistake. The last thing she needed was to go into hiding (for that’s what it would have amounted to). She needed to get back among others, to see what she could still make of her life.
She ran into Cheryl Bellamy, her former housemate at 24 College Avenue, at lunch the previous spring soon after her return. Cheryl was just finishing up her second year in medical school and told Katie about the surgeons doing some amazing experimental work on prosthetics. “They’re performing miracles, Katie. Honest to God miracle,’’ Cheryl told her. “It’s like Jesus is walking the earth, wearing a surgical mask and bearing an arthroscope.’’
A week later Cheryl introduced Katie to Dr. Hanford Kennewick, the brilliant young director of the prosthetic project. He first told her about the depressing flood of amputees from the war and the overwhelming guilt he felt whenever he met a new patient missing an arm, a leg or worse, both. “I never was required to fight for our country,’’ he said. “I never was asked to do anything but keep spending money. Hell, they even cut my taxes. Meanwhile, soldiers like you are paying the ultimate sacrifice. We owe you more than we can ever repay but it’s time we at least started making some down payments.’’
He followed this with a lot of confusing talk about myoelectrics, electrodes, muscle memory and bionics. Katie couldn’t keep much of it straight – she was too busy staring into the doctor’s kind, brown eyes -- but one thing she understood immediately was when Kennewick promised that she would be able to play softball again. That’s what excited Katie. It was one thing to be able to walk with an artificial limb and go about a normal daily routine but to be able to play softball? That sounded almost too good to be true.
And yet, the doctor delivered on his promise. Katie still didn’t really understand the process but the way she usually tried to explain it to others was that the carbon fiber-frames allowed full mobility of the limbs, plus they had the benefit of being both lighter and stronger than a normal arm or leg.
She was able to walk and run and play softball, just as Kennewick promised. All of which was wonderful. Beyond wonderful, really. As Cheryl said, it was miraculous. The problem was the limbs were still very clearly artificial. Black, sleek and curved more than jointed, they resembled big, black spatulas. There were also some more natural-looking shells that Katie could wear over these, but that limited her movement. Besides, they didn’t look all that natural and she could feel the stares whether she wore them or not.
And she felt those stares now as she ate her lunch, a chicken burrito, in the Red Devil Union Building cafeteria. One woman in particular was looking closely at Katie from a couple tables away. She wasn’t even trying to hide her curiosity. She pointed at Katie, whispered something to a student sitting beside her and nodded. Katie looked down at the State College newspaper and pretended to read the story about her old housemate, Jenn (what had she gotten herself into this time?). When she looked up again, Katie was startled to see that the woman standing at her table.
“Excuse me,’’ the stocky woman said. “My name is Bonney Lake, the Red Devils softball coach. Pardon me for being so forward but my players have been telling me about you and I just had to introduce myself and see if it’s true.’’
“Is what true?’’ Katie asked.
Lake sat down across from Katie. “Is it true,’’ she said, “that you really can throw a softball 100 miles an hour with that arm of yours?’’
Katie self-consciously tucked her right arm under the cafeteria table and poked at her burrito with the fork in her left hand. Rumors certainly traveled fast. She hadn’t played softball with anyone but her old friends in ROTC. She wondered who talked.
“Well?’’ the softball coach said “Is it true? Can you throw a softball 100 miles with that arm?’’
Katie took a bite of her burrito and chewed it slowly. “I don’t know. We don’t have radar guns on the ROTC sandlot for our pickup games,’’ she said finally. “But I doubt it.’’ She looked up at Lake. “Why do you care?’’
“Well, because if it’s true, we could use you on the Devils team. A pitcher who hit 100? With a mechanical arm that doesn’t get tired?’’
“Who says it doesn’t get tired?’’ Katie snapped. “Do you think I’m like, what, some kind of Iron Mike pitching machine? Or maybe you have a lot of experience with arms like mine? Maybe you have one, too. Let’s see. No? Two regular flesh and blood arms like everyone else? Too bad. Because let me tell you, they are soooooo much fun. And really convenient. I can’t hold hands with a boy but hey, I can always lift a burning car off a trapped child, right?’’
Lake swallowed uncomfortably.
“Oh God, I’m sorry. That must have sounded horrible. You’re right. What I said was completely inappropriate. I don’t now anything about your arm. But . . . I have heard a lot about you. How you started playing softball as soon as possible after the surgery. How your friends say the first time they saw you smile since you got back from the war was when you were on the diamond again. Which tells me you must love to play. And I was just thinking that if you love to play and you really can throw the ball as fast as people say, that you might like to play for the Devils.
“That’s all, Katie. I just wanted to offer you a chance to try out for the team.’’’
Katie grudgingly accepted the apology.
“Yeah, well. OK. But if I can’t throw as hard as you’ve heard?’’
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. All I’m asking is for you to give it a shot.’’
Katie took another bite of her burrito and thought it over quickly as she chewed. “I don’t think so. Besides, I graduated two years ago. I can’t have any eligibility left.’’
“Don’t be too sure about that,’’ Lake said. “You’re in grad school, right?’’
Katie nodded.
“And you graduated in four years, right?’’
She nodded again.
“Then that still leaves you with some eligibility. Normally the American University Sports Conglomeration allows four years of eligibility – five if you redshirt a year – with the clock starting the day you attend your first class. But the president’s “God Bless America’’ anti-terrorism act contains a little known codicil that covers veterans like you. In addition to the normal redshirt, it allows you to red-white-and-blueshirt while serving our country in the military.’’
Katie looked slightly confused.
“It works like this,’’ Lake said. “We can retroactively give you a redshirt year for your freshman season. That leaves you with four years of eligibility. You used three of them with your sophomore, junior and senior years. But thanks to the God Bless America Act, you can also retroactively declare your time in the army as a red-white-and-blueshirt year. And that leaves you with one season of eligibility. Which means you can play this year.’’
The coach leaned back and smiled warmly.
“What do you think, Katie?’’
What did she think? Katie wasn’t sure. On the one hand, she knew she could throw hard. Maybe not 100 miles but she had goofed around enough to know that she could probably be a pretty tough pitcher. And she did love softball. On the other hand was the problem -- the literal other hand. She hated the new arm. Every time she looked at it, every time she caught someone else staring at it, she was reminded of the insurgent attack and everything she had lost in it. Especially her sergeant, Kent Woodway, and how she held him in her arms as he bled to death. Her counselor warned she would be dealing with these painful memories for a long, long time. The last thing she wanted to do was call more attention to the arm. She could already imagine the newspaper and TV stories, the reporters prying into her life.
Then again, she had returned to State College to see what she could make of her new life. And maybe this was just the opportunity. If she was successful, maybe she could even bring needed attention to wounded veterans.
“OK,’’ she said at last. “I’ll think it over and let you know.’’
“Great. That’s all I ask, Katie, to think it over,’’ the coach responded. ”Just don’t take too long. I have a scholarship available but there’s another girl I’m considering and I need to let her know soon.’’
Lake got up and offered Katie her hand to shake. When she realized it was her right hand, she awkwardly drew it back and offered her left. Katie gave it a brief shake and said good-bye. She watched the coach walk away, then stared down at the carbon fingers on her prosthetic hand. She squeezed them slightly, imagining gripping a softball within them and staring at a batter from the mound.
Scholarship? Maybe this could be a good thing.\Maybe it would give her new direction. Maybe it would be fun. At the very least, maybe it would help her bank account.
And maybe, just maybe, it would help stop the nightmares.
Next: A Thousand and One Turn Back the Clock Nights
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