The Birth of Super Crip (17 page)

The three of them smiled.

“Just try to lay low for a while,” Brad said. “And
stay out of the papers, eh?”

“Plan to,” Red said.

“Good,” Brad said. “We don’t need people asking too
many questions. God knows what would happen to Scheinberg if the
media got wind of what he’s up to.”

The thought hadn’t occurred to Red, and the
possibilities of Brad’s meaning were anything but comforting. In
fact, they were unnerving enough that Red didn’t even want to know
the answers to any of the questions that sprang to mind.

“Well, I wanted to meet you and introduce myself,”
Brad said. “I better head home. I’ll be getting called for dinner
soon.”

“Is there any way I can reach you?” Red asked. “I
mean, it might be worth staying in touch.”

Brad laughed. “Trust me,” he said. “We’ll be in
touch.”

“Alright, man,” Red said, offering his hand. As they
shook, they shared a grin, acknowledging a familiarity Red had only
ever known with other people who had disabilities. He had a feeling
this one ran even deeper.

“See ya soon . . . Super Crip.”

With those words, Brad seemed to glide upwards,
gradually building speed until he tore through the sky with a power
that belied his handshake. Red and Scott watched in awe as he sped
through the clouds until he disappeared in the distance.

Their mom’s voice finally broke the silence. “Boys!
Dinner!”

Trudging through the leaves in Mr. Taylor’s yard,
Scott suddenly reached under his brother’s arm and flicked the
football away from him. Catching it on the fly, he did his best
imitation of a wide receiver high-stepping to the goal line.

“Still too slow,” he said to Red, hopping over the
last foot of fence between the two yards.

Walking around the final pole of the fence, Red said,
“Yeah, but I can toss you over the house just by thinking about
it.” Amused by the idea, he pushed the wave at his brother and
lifted him a few inches off the ground before letting him go.

“Stop!” Scott yelled, trying not to laugh as he
stumbled but managed to stay on his feet.

“Payback,” Red teased.

“I’ll tell Mom.”

Red laughed. “Tell Mom? Seriously? Tell her
what?”

“She knows.”

Finally reaching the back door, Red said, “She might
know something’s up, but she doesn’t know exactly what.”

Stopping with his hand on the screen door handle,
Scott looked back at his brother and said, “It was good you forgot
that book.”

Red looked down and nodded.

“I mean, I really . . .” Scott’s voice trailed
off.

Biting his lower lip for a second, Red said, “I
know.”

“This whole thing is nuts, right?”

“Tell me about it,” Red said.

They stood there for a second just looking at each
other. Finally, they shook their heads a little and smiled.

“Just remember, I can still kick your ass,” Scott
said, as he opened the door.

“Keep dreamin’,” Red said.

###

About
the Author

The Birth of Super Crip
is Rob J. Quinn’s
first novel. He started as a freelance writer at the
Philadelphia Inquirer
Sports section, and wrote several
articles on the disability community in the local section of the
paper. He moved on to eventually work full-time for a leading
children’s book publisher, and wrote a title for the publisher on a
freelance basis. Quinn spent two years working for a non-profit,
which worked to assist people with disabilities purchase the
assistive technology they need to live more independently. In the
summer of 2013, he self-published
I’m Not Here to Inspire You:
Essays on disability from a regular guy living with cerebral
palsy.
He has also published several articles on the
Huffington Post.

Connect with the Author

Follow on Twitter:
http://twitter.com/RobJQuinn1

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http://robjquinn.blogspot.com