Door Number Two

Door Number Two

By Heather Ann Martinez

To be honest with you, I don’t remember a lot about my high school days. I know a lot of people have fond memories of Friday night football games, playing instruments in the orchestra and acting on stage in the drama productions. At the time, I was very shy. I preferred to hang out with my best friend and watch movies. I didn’t like large crowds. I felt awkward in classrooms full of thirty kids, and I didn’t fit in anywhere. In many ways, I felt invisible. For some reason though, I wasn’t invisible or awkward to him though. He knew I was a shy girl, but he always went out of his way to say hello to me. Cooper Graysen was always wonderful to me. He didn’t care that everyone stared at us every time he greeted me or picked up a pencil I dropped or answered a question I couldn’t figure out the answer to. He always made certain I got a copy of his notes from our chemistry class when I stayed home sick. He knew I struggled and always offered a helping hand. He didn’t have any reason to do so. My mom teased that he liked me. I always reminded her that he had a girlfriend he had been dating the last eight months.

My mom would tell me that didn’t mean anything. I tried to remind her that in high school who you were seen talking to meant everything. I felt that in some way, I tarnished Cooper’s reputation. He was very popular among our peers. He was the captain of the football team and a model student. He didn’t always have straight A’s but his report cards never had anything less than a “B” either. He knew his stuff. He just felt he didn’t have all the time in the world to apply himself. He worked part time in a care facility for disabled children and teenagers. I admit that I respected and admired his achievements. My heart sunk whenever he wasn’t in chemistry class either due to being home sick or having to change class times to be at football practice. The school principal always told all of us that Cooper was meant for great things and the principal bent over backwards for him. Cooper wasn’t required to have two study periods. He had one so he could have extra time at the gym to warm up before football practice. In those moments of feeling awkward, I never told Cooper anything. I admired him from a distance. He signed my yearbook our senior year wishing me the best of luck for my future endeavors. He gave me his phone number, but I was too shy to call. He disappeared from my life, and I regretted never staying in touch. I said the words out loud, “I wish I could go back.”

Suddenly, everything went blank. I opened my eyes and I realized I wasn’t at home under my blanket. I was in a dark room. I saw two doors in front of me and heard a voice but I didn’t see anyone. The voice said that I made a wish, and I was in the place where wishes were granted. The doors in front of me represented two realities at a pivotal moment in my life. In one reality and behind the first door, I never met Cooper again in my life. In this reality, Cooper died in a car accident shortly after graduating high school. In the second reality and what lay behind door number two was a life in which Cooper and I have a shared destiny. I asked the voice why and how I was given this opportunity. The voice said that all of our decisions will always lead to more decisions. The decisions are always easy to make and life will always have its own set of trials. The voice reminded me that I was living a really good life not knowing what happened to Cooper Graysen. If I picked door number two, I would need to live with that decision for the rest of my life. I could not go back to the place where wishes are granted and pick door number one. It was door number two or not at all. The voice also reminded me that although someone else’s life may look perfect, it doesn’t mean that it is or how that person handles life’s troubles at one age is how they will handle problems when they are older. I was warned that going through either door would not be a bed of roses. I chose door number two. All I knew about choosing that door was that Cooper and I were both alive and our lives shared the same destiny. I walked through door number two. I walked into a hospital room. I looked down at my hands. They had more lines and freckles, and I felt pain in my hips. I looked down at my stomach and realized I was pregnant and had a simple gold wedding band on my left hand. I passed by a mirror. I was older than twenty-four.

I walked toward the hospital bed. Cooper was laying in it. He was asleep. He was wearing an oxygen mask and I was immediately annoyed with all of the beeping the monitors. It was a rhythm I would soon get used to.

“Mrs. Graysen?”

“What?” I asked. I somehow realized that had to be me. I was married to Cooper.

“The doctor wants to talk with you about Mr. Graysen in his office down the hall to the right.”

I was ushered off to the doctor’s office. Fortunately, the doctor’s name was on the door. She was a sweet older doctor or so I thought upon meeting her. It wasn’t until I fell in her chair with my bowling ball shaped belly that this was not the kind, caring physician I was expecting her to be. She was cold. She told me the car accident Cooper was in caused all kinds of neurological problems. She warned me that when he regains consciousness he might not remember me. He might not remember that we have been married for fifteen years and are expecting our first child. He might not remember how to walk or talk or go to the bathroom by himself. All she could tell me was the injuries sustained from the car accident were a lot worse than what they thought they would be. She recommended that Cooper be put away in a state hospital or nursing home. My heart sank. She told me that it would be too hard for me to care for Cooper and a baby at the same time. She told me I was due in seven weeks and I was thirty-seven. I married Cooper after college and we were both radiology technicians in clinics. She told me I stopped working a year ago so we could start a family. I just didn’t think I would be in the position I found myself in.

The voice said this decision would not be a bed of roses. I couldn’t undo going through door number two. I had to live with the consequences of that decision. I couldn’t run away. I didn’t want to when Cooper eventually opened his eyes. He smiled and recognized me. He even asked me if I wanted to look at his chemistry class notes! We laughed and cried. Cooper couldn’t move his legs and had limited use of his arms although his range of arm motion looked promising. In time, I learned to brush his teeth, shave his skin, comb his hair and help him eat.

Within a few months, I had Cooper and our baby on schedules. I had lists and the assistance of housekeeper who helped me keep track of everything that I needed. Cooper and I lived thousands of miles from where we grew up. Our parents came to visit, but they were not of much help to us. My brother came to live with us for several months and he took care of a lot of Cooper’s needs so I could focus on our baby girl Abigail. With my brother’s help, Cooper learned to walk again. He struggled with walking the rest of his life. He never carried Abigail by himself. He didn’t trust his limbs to do what he wanted them to do. He through books across the room when he couldn’t turn the pages. He broke our tablet and one of our laptop monitors in a similar manner. He demanded perfection of his body, but it didn’t comply with his demands. He reminded me often of how many football games he won in high school, of how much weight he used to bench press and how he could hardly life a ten pound dumb bell now. He was embarrassed by his condition. He didn’t want us to visit our friends and co-workers at the clinic. We became reclusive and became prisoners in our home. I tried to make it cheery for Abigail. Cooper wasn’t always impressed with my efforts. He grew distant emotionally. He hated the fact that he couldn’t hold a toothbrush or run a comb through his hair by himself. He often corrected me in how I did either and there were many days he would not let me help him with either.

We had many broken moments. Shouting matches. Fights over bills, Abigail, the cleanliness of our house, and how we were going to survive. I regret that Abigail had a front row seat to many of those arguments. Eventually, I went back to work at the hospital part time. When Abigail was seven, I went back to work full time. Cooper didn’t regain full use of his limbs. He went through hours of occupational therapy and learned how to live without hands that could no longer throw a football. With every improvement came a new hurdle. He pushed himself beyond limits often ending himself in the hospital with a fractured rib or a broken arm. He had a weak heart, but wouldn’t let anyone tell him he wasn’t going to be better than he was before the car accident. He had a fight I was always drawn to but it was often robed in doubt and fear. I never colored outside the lines when I was at home with Cooper and Abigail. I had my outlets at work. There were plenty of supply closets I could go in and scream and cry. There was a faint shadow of the man our high school principal thought Cooper was going to be. He always had potential. I was grateful that he adored Abigail. He read her stories before bed as long as she turned the pages and propped up the pillows for him to lie on. He fought his body until the day he died. Abigail was twenty.

For as many difficult moments we had, we gave our attention to Abigail. We hoped our legacy would live in her and she would do more than we could in this world. We knew she was what we could give back to society. Not a day went by that I did not think of Cooper. I remembered his kindness in high school and I remembered the decades of uphill battles we faced. I knew I had a choice in walking that path. Although there were times I wish I could have picked door number one, I knew I made the right choice in going through door number two. I never took anything for granted. Cooper taught me that.