Chapter 16: Free Fall

Peter got up at 5 am while it was still dark. He’d had a sleepless night, and even strong coffee didn’t lift his spirits. He imagined scenarios about winning Kathy back or her returning on her own, but logic crushed those hopes. He fucked up by revealing his secret, and now she was gone. He couldn’t blame her. His older self considered her perspective. She had once felt she loved a boy she knew, only to find he was a stranger.

“Peter, why are you up so early?” he heard from the stairs. He turned to see his mother at the landing in her nightgown.

“I didn’t sleep well last night,” he replied. “Don’t let me keep you up, mom. I’ll wait for the papers and maybe boil some potatoes for breakfast.”

“My mom made the best potatoes,” she replied dreamily. “She always boiled them before frying them in butter and shortening.” She went back upstairs, leaving him to his thoughts. He sighed as he poured his first cup and prepared it to his liking. An hour before his periodicals arrived, he decided to grab a couple of spuds from the larder and scrub them in the sink.

At 7:30, he heard the thump of his papers on the porch. He shuffled to the door and grabbed them off the deck. The Seattle Times and IBD were delivered together. He set the paper aside and began his routine, reading the Business Daily, reviewing the featured headlines, and then checking his favorite stocks. Then, he returned to the editorials and read them slowly. He would underline or circle a paragraph and set that page aside to add to his collection of clippings.

He valued the Seattle Times Business section, which often featured his favorite up-and-coming dot.com companies. Occasionally, he found a new feature that intrigued him and made him watch for future developments. Speaking of coffee. He read another article about a new Pike Place commercial district coffee company. For no reason other than ‘the voice told him to,’ he made a mental note to watch for further developments in Starbucks.

When he heard the shower upstairs, he fried the potatoes and seared some bacon. Once his mother joined him, he cooked the eggs and ate a hearty breakfast. They enjoyed idle chat until his cell phone rang in his bedroom. He dropped off the chair and dashed into his room, hoping and praying it was Kathy.

“Hello?” He answered breathlessly.

“Mr. Shipley, this is Dr. Richardson with Puget Sound Orthopedic Solutions. I hope it’s not a bad time?”

“Oh, hi,” he replied, controlling his disappointment. “What’s up? Are my feet ready?”

He heard chuckling on the other end. “Indeed they are. Well, they will be shortly. Can you swing by this afternoon?”

“Heck yeah!” he replied excitedly, then realized his predicament. “Um ... actually, can you hold on for a second?”

“Sure.”

He shuffled into the living room and saw his mom watching him curiously. “Uh, Mom?” he asked, hand over the phone. “Can you drive me to Redmond this afternoon? My prosthetics are ready for me to try out.”

Her eyes widened at the request. He knew she was terrified of city driving, but she realized what they were ultimately discussing. She nodded hesitantly, “Yes, of course, dear,” she replied anxiously.

“We’ll be there!” he replied into the phone.

“Fantastic! We look forward to seeing you soon.”

He noticed his phone buzzing, indicating another call was coming in. “Great, Doc! See you then!” He disconnected and answered, “Hello.”

“Dude!” It was Alan. “What the fuck is up with you and Cher?” he demanded.

“Um ... what do you ... mean?”

“She completely blew me off when I approached her in the hall,” he interrupted. “I asked her about a lift to your place for our meeting, and she said she couldn’t. I asked for clarification, and she just told me to find another ride and ran away! Dude, she’s really upset!”

Fuck! he thought as he closed his eyes. “Um ... yeah,” he replied meekly. “Look, I won’t be able to do the meeting either. Sorry dude, I have to get fitted for my new prosthetic feet.”

“Oh.” His friend sounded confused and apologetic. “Well, that’s cool! I mean, you being able to walk again—”

“Yeah ... thanks.” He turned and walked back into his bedroom, closing the door.

“But you ... and Kathy...” he stammered. “Are you guys okay?”

Peter was at a loss for words after hours of the same dilemma. Were we? He sighed, “I don’t know, man. Things went to shit last night.”

“Well, you need to set things right, dude. We can’t do this company without her!”

He didn’t share how little he cared about the company then. “Yeah, man. I can’t do anything if she won’t answer my calls.”

Why did you open your big mouth?

I’d have to tell her eventually—would waiting have made it better?

“—can’t grab the mail because my mom will have questions,” Alan said.

“Yeah, same here,” he replied. “I’ll see what I can do. I gotta go for now.”

“Good luck with your new feet.”

Six months ago, Peter went from letterman jock to double amputee. Now, he stumbled on a static treadmill, clinging to the handrails. He felt like he was learning to ice skate on stilts.

“Take your time, Peter,” Barry coached him, holding a strap around his waist. “You’re trying to force something you have to relearn. Everything is different now: your center of gravity and balance. This will take time.”

“What you remember about walking no longer applies,” Mike added in front of him. “Let that go and recalibrate your brain. This is all new.”

The prosthetics fit his legs perfectly. At first, he just sat in his wheelchair with the Nikes on the footplates, feeling so foreign that he kept checking to see if they were real. Standing for the first time was scary since he was used to being eleven inches shorter (not counting the shoes). It felt odd looking at everyone eye to eye—or eye to forehead in his mom’s case. What he thought would be natural and intuitive—walking to the treadmill—was anything but. He expected his feet to connect to the ground like his nubs, but he kept overcompensating and tripping. Janet stood aside while the stronger men assisted him and offered pointers. Dr. Richardson suggested starting with parallel bars and offered to write a consultation for his physical therapy group to set it up ASAP.

“I gotta ask, Doc,” Peter said as he started understanding the process. “Why is everything here so space-age-looking? “ He nodded toward the walls with the Terminator limbs.

“That is a valid question,” the sandy-haired man replied. “It so happens that I am more than an orthopedic doctor. I also studied robotics and engineering at MIT. We have a long way to go before robots like ‘Terminator’ are feasible. But it makes sense to combine the two concepts. Your feet have articulating joints. For now, they are locked, but as we advance in robotics and prosthetics—who’s to say you won’t one day be able to ... stand on your tip toes or roll your ankle?”

“That sounds amazing!” he replied, struggling to turn around and walk back. “I’ve seen several prosthetic companies, but none are taking your futuristic approach.”

“We got some cool cinema props, if nothing else!” Barry chortled. Mike rolled his eyes while Dr. Richardson seemed unimpressed.

Advancements in medical and robotic technology depended on cash. Peter learned through subtle inquiry that the good doctor and his team operated on a minimal budget and funded their work from secondary jobs. Many staff volunteered their hours, hoping to see fruit for their labor someday.

Later that afternoon, he called Jeremiah to ask about it. “How can you buy into a company when it is just beginning—before it goes public and offers stock?”

“Ah,” he replied with his southern charm. “You are entering the realm of ‘venture capitalism.’”

They talked for nearly an hour, and Peter excitedly described the Prosthetic company and its possibilities. Jeremiah listened patiently and then described the various forms of venture capital—from management assistance, equipment, and materials to cash.

“Would I get a share of the company or future profits?” he asked eagerly.

The CFP replied that the venture terms would determine that. The first objective was determining the subject company’s current value through an in-depth audit of everything from parts on hand to workspace rent, every computer, workstation, pending orders, accounts receivable, and expenses from equipment depreciation to transportation, shipping, and offsets like consumables and waste.

“Whoa,” Peter breathed. “That sounds like a real pain.”

“If they have good record keeping and manage their books properly, it could be done in a few days.”

“Is there a company or person who does that sort of thing?”

“Yes, good sir, you’re talking to him.”

His heart skipped a beat as he realized they were no longer exchanging ideas. “Oh man!” he whispered. “I’d like to look into this further. Jeremiah, could you help me?”

“That’s why you’re paying me.”

“Oh, you’re awesome! Where should we start?” he asked humbly.

“I’d suggest we arrange a sit down with your doctor friend to discuss the subject.”