My Parents Were Chefs, But Not Me

Sample page

***

Finally, after recovering for several months in the hospital, from the accident, Dr. Ray and his team released me to fly back with Aunt Patricia to Connecticut. A month earlier Uncle Arthur had gone back to start getting the house set up for my return in a wheelchair. When we arrived at the airport, the ambulance and two white vans pulled up to a full-sized airplane. I was wheeled out of the ambulance. Then Aunt Patricia and a nurse followed us onto the hydraulic elevator which took us all up to the door of the plane. Before I went in, I saw “The Flying Hospital” written in big blue letters on the side of the plane. As the nurse wheeled me in, I looked around and I thought, Even though it had an antiseptic smell to it, it was nicer than the private suite I had in the hospital.

By now, I am in an electric wheelchair, remotely operated. I don’t think Uncle Arthur really trusted me yet. Once inside the nurse lifted me out of the chair and seated me into one of the several very plush white chairs near the aisle. Another nurse moved the wheelchair and secured it with several green tie-down straps away from us. I could feel and hear the engines of the plane revving up as it got ready to leave. Then I watched as nine more people including Dr. Ray, who was now the head of my recovery team, file in and each took a seat. Each one was wearing light purple medical uniforms with the words “The Flying Hospital” stenciled on the backs of their shirts. Aunt Patricia and the nurse, who wheeled me in, were already seated across from and facing me.

Before the door was closed three large green rectangular tool chest looking cabinets were wheeled in and secured somewhere in back. “Those chests are in case there’s an emergency,” Dr. Ray said from across the aisle from me. “This is a private hospital plane. It’s outfitted and ready for any emergency. The people you see here are its team. Until a couple of years ago I was one of them. You couldn’t be in better hands,” he smiled. “In fact, this is the plane which returned the Saudi Prince to his homeland after he had a heart attack while vacationing in Colorado last year.”

“Oh,” I said looking out the window as we taxied onto the runway.

“Please fasten your seatbelts folk, we’re next to take off,” said a voice in what sounded like a Scottish accent over the pa system. We must have priority clearance, I thought. We were up in the air in twenty minutes of boarding and headed home.

***

I’ll be honest, rehab was tough. There were countless moments when I wanted to throw in the towel, but Uncle Arthur, Aunt Patricia, and my four cats—Fuzzy, Sophie, Nibby, and DD—kept me motivated and wouldn’t let me give up. Here’s a little secret: no matter how wealthy you are, pain is pain, and it hurts. The loss of my parents hurts the most. Despite having access to the best therapists and rehab facilities money can buy, I’m still confined to a wheelchair. My memory too is still very sketchy regarding the events of the accident.

***

As for my other two classes, one is math, which I’m quite proficient in, and the other is something called street lights management, which sounds like another math-related subject to me. This will mark my first return to a traditional classroom since the accident. During my time of remote learning and private tutoring, I didn’t really stay in touch with my friends, or perhaps they didn’t keep in touch with me. Although I was hoping Theo, my old boyfriend whose father owns golf courses all around the U.S., and I might reconnect. Come to think about it, I think the only reason we went out was because his father wanted some kind of business relationship with my parent’s restaurants. Oh well, no big loss there. I’m sure he’s moved on, I have. Transitioning to a new school in a different state isn’t a major concern for me now that I’m living with Aunt Patricia, your grandmother’s sister, and her husband, Uncle Arthur, in Connecticut. Attending a public school where I’m unknown might actually turn out to be a positive change.

Aunt Patricia wanted to hire me a helper to go around with me to my classes and the bathroom, but I insisted I could do it myself. I’m doing it at home, I could do it in school. Besides, I graduate in five months. Dad, your grandfather, had promised me a trip to wherever I wanted after I graduated high school. Before the accident I had it all planned out. I’d take three friends and we’d go to the Galapagos Islands. We’d fly in on Dad’s Gulf Stream private jet, nothing but the best. Then we’d take a boat, well more like a yacht around the islands for two weeks. Finally, we’d sail to Ecuador where we’d take the plane back home. I wanted to work with marine life, I think, but that’s all changed now.

***

It was the first day of school and Aunt Patricia had dropped me off. I followed the school map and wheeled into my first class, which was math. Standing at the blackboard in the front of the room I saw a tall man with shoulder-length gray hair and a neatly kept long white handlebar mustache pointing to a front row desk at the far end of the room.

“Right here young lady. This is Aster Hammond and she’ll be joining us this year.” I wheeled over to the desk which was pulled up from the rest and it was missing its chair too.

I could feel the other students staring at me and heard several faint whispers from behind me and across the room. “She’s the one with the famous parents who were killed” and “What’s she doing here?”

Another said, “I’ll bet she has an attitude that she’s better than us,” and another said, “Yeah!”

“Don’t mind them,” said a boy seated behind me.

Turning around, I saw he had round wire-rimmed glasses and short blond hair. He was wearing a t-shirt that said, Welcome to Alaska, home of the Northern Lights.

“They’re just jealous,” he went on to say. “Hi, my name is Albert.”

“I don’t know what they’re jealous about,” I replied, looking in the direction where I heard the voices. “I’d gladly change places with them and they could have this chair.”