Defeat

All his life, defeat had meant the same thing as loss.  You were defeated, you lost.  It was over.  But as he stared at the scar snaking its way along his ankle, Alex wondered if that were really true.  He hoped it wasn’t.  Maybe defeat could mean something more like setback.  You lost the battle, but there was still a chance to win the war. 

Walking again would be his war.  It was too much to think of running or playing football again.  Just walking. 

“Small goals,” Dr. Mallick had said.  “Small, clear goals to start.”

Alex had never been good at small.  Or clear for that matter.  He was a dreamer.  Everyone said so.  And big dreams, too.  College ball.  Then the NFL.  He knew a lot of people had that dream, but, unlike them, he was going to make it.  Or, had been.  Until the wreck. 

Walking again.  It seemed so small compared to his dreams before.  But with his legs dangling from his bed, the fresh scar turning darker and darker purple with each second, even that small goal seemed out of reach.

He shook his head, physically trying to fling those bad thoughts from his mind.  He could make it.  Such a small, clear goal.   He would make it.  This wasn’t defeat; this was a chance to get stronger.  He would get stronger.  He would walk again.