Hope Turns...

I heard him first. The heel of his left shoe dragging.

Clop-scrape

Clop.

He hobbled around to face me, then collapsed in the chair. I lunged forward, thinking he might topple back, but he caught himself and settled in.

I couldn't stop staring. He balanced his bad leg atop his good knee. He slurped dribble that seeped from his swollen lip.

"No worries," he said, slapping his perched knee. He winced. "They say I'll be back in the race in another month or too."

I doubted him. I always do.

"You can't go back in looking like that," I said

He let his head fall back, his parted lips revealed a chipped front tooth.

"What did I do to you?" I leaned forward to stand.

"Don't," he motioned me down. "Your turn."

"For what?" I said.

"You," he said, pointing a frail finger in my direction, "fight for me."