such terms. It certainly doesn’t look like much, him counting the steps from the physio room to his

own room, still struggling to keep his balance with the crutches. Grateful for the short ride with the

lift, but refusing to sit in the wheelchair the nurse brings along. At least he made the promotion from

Zimmer frame to crutches. He wonders why he’s still so unstable on his feet, even with all the

practising he does and the experience he had before with work related injuries. But there’s no denying

it, progress it is.

Sounding out letters like a five year old, his index finger firmly on the page of the small

Reading Tree book, to learn how to read IAM like three separate sounds until something clicks and he

actually understands what he is saying, is asking more of him than he’s willing to admit to the

endlessly patient and encouraging therapist. Or to the neurologist who explained to him, after another

scan, which part of his brain is responsible for this, and how it’s possible to be able to use and

understand spoken language and still be blind to the written word. What does it help him, knowing

they are different functions of different parts of his brain? Does it make it any less humiliating? Does

that lessen the pain in Daniël’s eyes? Does that feed the hopeless hope when he asks if there’s

medication that might help, or even some technical device? Or, the word never spoken out loud, an

operation?The brave smile when they’re alone again nearly breaks Steve’s heart.

He’s a grown man. He used to read the paper every morning. He used to read magazines about

his sport, his profession. He used to read books, real ones, with hundreds of pages and small print and

words with easily six or more letters. He did all that without ever giving it a second thought. Leaving

notes for Daniël not to worry about dinner because he ordered some take-away. Read Dan’s message

on his cell phone. ‘I’m parking the car now. Get naked.’ Easy like that.

IA - M

“I am...”

He’s what?

No longer a little boy discovering something so unbelievably wonderful he can’t wait to learn

more, even if it’s the most difficult thing he’s ever learnt; even more difficult than tying his own

shoelaces. Those days of innocent wonder and discovery can’t be re-created. This is work. He refuses

to call it anything else. He knows why he’s doing it and he sees no reason to complain about it, but it

is what it is. The only way to regain at least some of what has been lost is by doing his exercises. Over

and over again, until his head has found a way around the problems. Learning to walk properly and

learning to read again to feel like an independent adult are not so different in that aspect.

“You call your fiancé Dan for short sometimes, Mr Gavan?” the therapist asks.

Steve nods, unable to hide his smile. And why should he? “He’s making a round at the

children’s ward with some of the other guys. He should be back in an hour.”

“Then let’s see if we can surprise him.”

She writes three bold black letters.

D - A - N

He knows what the combination of letters means, because he looks at Daniël’s name so many

times a day it’s like it’s engraved in his retina, but that’s not the same thing as being able to actually

read and write it.

“Why is it so hard to do something this simple?”

“It takes most children, and I’m talking about healthy, intelligent children at the right age to

learn to read, often days before they’re able to really understand the first few words. And their little

heads are made to learn. It’s not simple for them. Your task in comparison is daunting.”

She’s right, but somehow that doesn’t really help. He’ll do his work alright, and he will be

standing next to his man, signing his name next to Daniël’s. And no price will be too high, no exertion

too much.

And still ...

Doesn’t matter. Self-pity won’t get him anywhere.

D – A – N

D – A – N

His finger taps the letters one by one. He vocalises the sounds.

D - A – N

The sounds, separate at first and slow, get speed. Become one.

“Dan.”

He grins. “If I were called Dan, I could read ‘I am Dan’. Now I have to learn to read ‘I am

Steve’. Just my luck.”

Writing the letters down from memory is relatively easy after that. He even gets his own name

done just before Daniël gets back, although that’s mostly from learning by heart. It still looks good,

though.

DANSTEVE

Daniël is as proud as anything when Steve shows him what he has learned during his absence.

They share stories about their hour and a half without each other. Words lovingly wrapped in eager

kisses and roaming hands.

Days on end are filled with work. And in the hours between, Degaré and Matthew and Gael and

Francesco and Anthony and Ray and Niko and Kurt and Dag and the others come to say hello and

admire his progress. Come to tell stories about the world outside.

“I swear those two can read each other’s minds. Downright spooky, I call it. I mean, Matthew

wasn’t even looking in Gael’s direction...sweet goal, though. The Everton keeper never knew what hit

him.”

“Dag didn’t tell you he crashed his car into a tree? Nah, not a scratch on the boy...his Audi,

however...poor thing, and only after such a short life...”

“Is it okay for me to hide here? Nat has her girls over for a fashion party. You have no idea

how lucky you are...But now I come to think of it, why aren’t you boys interested in fashion? You’re

doing something very wrong on the queer front...ow, that hurts…”

*

The only day he doesn’t go for physio is when he’s in the dental surgeon’s chair as a first step

to getting his teeth repaired. Stopping his body from trembling, fear bordering on panic a constant

companion as soon as the chair gets into the reclining position, is more exhausting than any kind of

exercise. The device to keep his mouth wide open, so the doctor can actually work inside Steve’s

mouth, doesn’t exactly help.

He’s told it will be a lengthy process because so much needs to be done; that the surgeon

waited this long because his jaw had to be healed fully and he had to be strong enough to undergo the

complete procedure, including several hours of anaesthesia.

The days before the operation to restore his teeth, the implants have to be made first, are filled

with yet more walking and reading lessons.

Steve stops wondering if walking will ever be possible without pain and the feeling he could

stumble at any moment. It takes him a good week to master the very basics of reading. After that, it

slows down a bit, but that doesn’t mean he slows down. He even tries to skip his afternoon nap, but the

nurses and Daniël are adamant about that one. They are right, and only he fully appreciates how much,

but still Steve tries to smuggle in a few extra exercises.

He thinks about going home. He knows it can’t be long now. The thought excites and scares

him. He tells Daniël, so they can be excited and scared together. They talk about their marriage and

confess to each other it’s easy enough to see the years ahead of them, of simply being together. But

making plans for the actual day? He just learned to write his own name again, so can’t they just bring

the papers so he can sign them? His name and Daniël’s, next to each other, they say “yes, I do” to a

registrar and really, what more could they possibly need?

“After they patch up my teeth, how long will it be before they discharge me from hospital? But

what’s left of me, Danny, to send home?”

Daniël becomes quiet, almost withdrawn. His eyes are still filled with love when he looks at