Free The Walking Man by Wright Forbucks

double-spoke because he was super hyper, and he never did anything…anything…without asking for money.
    Rodrigo's first job at the hospital was to collect the dinner surveys from each patient. Consequently, he was required to visit every quadriplegic in the institution at least once a day. I'll never forget the first time we met…
    "Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey—rate yesterday's dinner. Rate it," Rodrigo said.
    "Five stars, as usual."
    "Good, good, good," Rodrigo rapidly responded.
    Arthur Slank had just died, so it was obvious we were alone. Nonetheless, Rodrigo's next words were whispered.
    "Hey, hey, want to make some money, some money?"
    "Depends," I answered. "What do I have to do?"
    "Nothing, nothing," Rodrigo said. "Maybe I can fill out some paperwork to get you a wheelchair from the Department of Social Services, and we split the money, split the money."
    "We never buy the wheelchair and we keep the money."
    "Right, right, exactly, exactly," Rodrigo said. "We split the money. We split the money. Never buy the wheelchair."
    Rodrigo was a duplicitous character but he wasn't completely devoid of wisdom.
    "Bureaucracies like to break all functions into the simplest possible tasks and then hire people that can't perform them, can't perform them." Rodrigo laughed. "Taking them down's like taking candy from a baby, candy from a baby."
    "I don't have a bank account," I said. "Where am I going to put my take?"
    "Got an idea, got an idea," Rodrigo said. "I'll hold it for you. I'll hold it for you."
    I laughed. "Let me think about it."
    "Think about it. Think about it. That's good. That's good," Rodrigo said. "I'll be back. I'll be back… Five stars. 302. Five Stars."
    I was one of the few who decided against scamming the system with Rodrigo. Over a three-week period, Rodrigo "bought" fifty virtual wheelchairs before he was found out and received the third in the series of his record twenty-three sentences—all served in the Leicester County Correctional facility.
     
    ~ ~ ~
     
    Smitty's main job at the hospital was to lift heavy things and, since I was the heaviest thing around, he was often instructed to visit my room to roll me or load me into my wheelchair for a trip to nowhere. During his visits, Smitty and I would often partake in brief discussions over the topic of the day; be it the weather, local scandal, or the Red Sox. It was during one of these visits that I did something out of character. I noticed that Smitty seemed exceptionally down so I asked him what was bothering him. He responded by saying, "Just like you, I feel bad about killing somebody."
    In the weeks that followed, I was able to convince Nurse Judy to let me take several "walks" with Smitty so I could provide the young man with some "counseling." On one particularly nice day, Smitty pushed my wheelchair along the Access Road Tunnel; we were flecked with rays of sunlight as we talked openly about our murderous pasts.
    "I drove my mother to drink then she killed herself," I confided to Smitty.
    "I figured as much," he remarked. "That's a tough one."
    "Then, I teased my roommate, until he set himself on fire."
    "Self-immolation, not easy to do without a can of gasoline," Smitty slurred. "Plus, my guess is he had it coming."
    "Maybe you're right," I said. "And you?"
    "Drank twenty beers then tossed a caber into a crowd."
    "A caber?"
    "A big log," Smitty said.
    "An accident," I suggested.
    "A bird shitting on your head is an accident," Smitty responded.
    We stopped speaking for several minutes while Smitty effortlessly pushed me up the steep Access Road. The silence was not uncomfortable. It was clear we were both thinking. As we prepared to enter the hospital, Smitty suddenly advised, "You need to apologize to your family."
    It was a simple statement, but it said everything about what was wrong with me. It was the first time I ever considered that others were suffering besides me. Buried beneath my self-pity was the fact that my brother had lost a mother