“I was at DFW on Saturday because I’d been at Walter Reed for eleven months,” Luke said. “Lost my arm in February. My brother – my actual brother, Marcus – was waiting at Gate 31 because he’d flown in from Germany to drive me home to Lubbock. I hadn’t seen him in fourteen months.”
He paused. Adjusted his grip on the crutches.
“I’d been sitting at Gate 19 because the attendant had to leave for a minute and I told her I was fine. I was not fine. The bag kept sliding. I couldn’t get traction on the floor. And I was trying to figure out if I could make it to Gate 31 in time without asking for help, because asking for help is something I was still getting used to.”
Another pause. He looked at Leo.
“This kid didn’t ask if I wanted help. He asked if I needed it. That’s different. I said I was fine, and he said okay, and then he pushed the chair anyway.”
