Kostik Gazed Through the Dusty Windows of His Wheelchair, Watching Life Outside

Charlie Carter sat in his wheelchair, staring through the grimecaked windows at the courtyard beyond. Bad luck had it that his hospital room opened onto the inner yard, where a oncelovely garden with benches and flowerbeds lay in ruins, almost empty of people. Winter had settled in, and patients rarely ventured out for a stroll. Charlie was alone in the ward. A week earlier his neighbour, Tommy Bennett, had been discharged, and the silence that followed pressed down on Charlie like a weight. Tommy was a chatterbox, a bon vivant who could spin a million tales with the flair of a seasoned actor he was, after all, a drama student in his third year. Their banter had been a lifeline, and Tommys mother, Mrs. Bennett, visited daily bearing fresh scones, fruit and sweets, which Tommy shared generously with Charlie. With Tommy gone, the warm domestic glow that had filled the ward vanished, leaving Charlie feeling more isolated and unwanted than ever.

His melancholy was shattered by the entry of a nurse. The sight only deepened his disappointment: the injectiongiver was not the friendlylooking young Daisy hed hoped for, but the perpetually sour, evergrim Lydia Archer. In the two months Charlie had spent in the hospital he had never once seen her smile, and her voice matched her stern expression sharp, harsh, frankly unpleasant.

Whats the matter, Carter? Back to the bed, quick! barked Lydia, a syringe already filled with medicine in her hand.

Charlie exhaled a weary sigh, turned his chair obediently and wheeled himself toward the bed. Lydia skillfully helped him lie down, then, with equal dexterity, flipped him onto his stomach.

Strip your trousers, she ordered. Charlie complied, feeling nothing. Lydias injection technique was flawless, and each time he silently thanked her for it.

Whats her age, I wonder? Charlie thought, watching Lydia locate the vein on his gaunt arm. Probably retired by now. A tiny pension, so she has to keep working that must make her so cross.

Lydia finally slipped the fine needle into the pale blue vein, making Charlie wince only slightly.

All done, Carter. Did the doctor drop by today? she asked, already gathering her things.

Not yet, he shook his head. Maybe later

Then wait. And dont sit by the window the draft will freeze you solid, like a dead fish Lydia warned, and stepped out.

Charlie wanted to protest, but he couldnt. Beneath Lydias blunt words and her oddly direct honesty, he sensed a flicker of concern. He was an orphan. His parents had perished when he was four, a fire swallowing their cottage and leaving him the sole survivor. His mother, in a desperate act, had thrown him out of a shattered window into a snow drift just before the roof collapsed, burying the rest of the family. That nights trauma lingered as a scar on his shoulder and a badly healed wrist. He had been placed in a childrens home; distant relatives existed but never came to claim him.

From his mother he inherited a gentle, dreamfilled nature and bright green eyes; from his father, height, an easy gait and a knack for numbers. Memories of his parents flickered like fragments of an old film: a village fête where his mother waved a bright flag, a summer breeze on his cheek as he perched on his fathers shoulders. He also recalled a large orange cat named Morris, though the name drifted as the fire consumed every photograph. Apart from those fragments, nothing remained.

When he turned eighteen, the state assigned him a spacious, sunlit flat in a council block on the fourth floor. He liked living alone, though at times a deep sorrow rose within him, enough to bring tears. Over the years he learned to value solitude, even finding its advantages, but the orphanage years still haunted him. Watching families in playgrounds, supermarkets, and city streets filled him with bitter, uncheerful thoughts.

He had hoped to enter university after school, but his exam scores fell short, so he enrolled in a technical college instead. The courses suited him, yet he never clicked with his classmates. Quiet and withdrawn, he found little to discuss beyond coursework, while the girls dismissed his shy demeanor in favor of more outspoken suitors. At eighteen and a half he still looked no older than sixteen, making him the odd one out in his cohort, but it didnt seem to bother him.

Two months earlier, hurrying to a lecture on an icy pavement, he slipped in a subway tunnel and shattered both legs. The fractures were complex, healing slowly and painfully, but in recent weeks they had improved. He hoped for discharge soon, yet his flat had no lift or wheelchairfriendly features, implying a long stay in his chair.

After lunch, Dr. Richard Abbott, a trauma surgeon, entered the ward, examined Charlies legs and Xrays, and announced:

Good news, Mr. Carter. Your bones are finally knitting together. In a couple of weeks youll be on crutches. Theres no point staying here; youll be treated as an outpatient at the clinic. Your discharge papers will be ready within the hour. Someone will meet you?

Charlie nodded silently.

Excellent. Ill summon Lydia; shell help you pack. Take care, and try not to end up back here.

Ill try, he replied.

The doctor winked and left. Charlies thoughts raced, searching for a plan, when Lydia reentered.

Whatre you doing there, Carter? Theyre sending you home, she said, thrusting a backpack from under the bed toward him. Pack up, the nightshift nurse will change the sheets.

Charlie lifted his modest belongings into the bag, feeling Lydias gaze linger.

Why did you lie to the doctor? she asked, tilting her head.

About what? Charlie answered, puzzled.

Dont play the fool, Carter. I know no ones coming for you. How will you get home?

Ill manage, he muttered.

You wont be walking for at least another two weeks. How will you survive?

Ill figure it out. Im not a child.

Lydia sat beside him, her eyes softening.

Charlie, I know this isnt my business, but with injuries like yours youll need help. You cant do it alone. Im being honest.

Ill manage on my own.

You wont. Ive been a nurse for years. What are you arguing about?

Whatever youre saying, why does it matter to me?

Because you could stay with me for a while. I live out of town, but theres a porch with two steps and a spare room. Once youre on your feet, you can go back. I live alone; my husband passed years ago, and Ive got no children.

Charlie stared, stunned. Living with a stranger felt uncomfortable, yet the thought of a roof over his head when he couldnt walk was tempting. Throughout his stay, Lydia had peppered his day with small cares: Carter, the meatloafs on the table today, Close the window, its been warm, Eat the curd quick, its full of calcium. She was the only person who seemed genuinely concerned.

Ill do it, he finally said, but I have no money. My stipend wont arrive soon.

Lydias hand tightened on her hip, a frown creasing her brow.

Do you think Im doing this for cash? I feel sorry for you, thats all.

I just Charlie began, cutting himself off, I didnt mean to upset you.

Im not upset. Lets get you to the ward, she commanded, My shift ends soon, and well go.

Lydia lived in a tidy, narrowwindowed cottage with carved wooden frames. Inside were two snug rooms; one became Charlies. At first he was painfully shy, rarely leaving the room, careful not to bother his host. Lydia soon put him at ease:

Stop being shy. If you need anything, ask. Teas always on the table.

He soon discovered the charm of the place: snow piled against the small windows, the crackle of logs in the hearth, the scent of homecooked stew all reminding him of a distant, happier childhood.

Days passed. The wheelchair was set aside, then the crutches. It was time to return to the city. Walking, though still limping, he followed Lydia down the lane, sharing his plans.

Ive got exams and assessments to catch up on. Lost too much time, its a nightmare. I dont want to leave the college.

Dont worry, Lydia urged, your college wont disappear. Start moving now, as the doctor advised: ease the load on your legs.

Their bond deepened, and Charlie found himself longing to stay in that cosy cottage with the endlessly kind woman who had become, to him, a second mother. He lacked the courage to voice that feeling, even to himself.

The next morning he gathered his things. Looking for his phone charger, he froze at the doorway: Lydia stood there, tears streaming down her cheeks. Compelled by an unseen force, Charlie stepped forward and embraced her tightly.

Will you stay, Charlie? she whispered through sobs I dont know how Ill manage without you

He stayed. Years later, at Charlies wedding, Lydia took her place at the head of the table as the honoured motherfigure of the groom. A year after that, in the maternity ward, she cradled her greatgranddaughter, named after her, as Charlie watched on.