JANUARY 15, 2016 / EASTCLIFF HOSPITAL

Herschel may have ceremoniously banished Asher, but he was still a living, breathing part of the club. 

The friends he made there had been diligently waiting for word about Asher's condition. The day after they discovered he was alive and stable, Travis, Cody and Peyton arrived at Eastcliff. They brought with them pizza, In'n'Out Burger, and a two-litre bottle of Raspberry Fanta. 

"Don't let the nurses see this. It's hospital contraband," Cody jokingly said, not joking at all.

But Asher couldn't tear his eyes from the main get-well gift; a brown teddy bear wearing one of the baby-sized leather jackets the club sold in its gift shop. ASTORIA MOTORCYCLE CLUB was embroidered in bold, red lettering on the back.

"Cute," Asher remarked.

The men dumped their offerings on the comically undersized bedside table, stacking the Fanta on the pizza. Asher started devouring the In'n'Out Burger and the teddy bear ended up at the foot of the bed.

"So, can I see it?" Travis interjected.

Cody scoffed, dropping his head in disbelief at Travis' tactlessness. Eyes closed in frustrated disappointment, Peyton flung a fist into Travis' stomach. "Too soon, bro."

"No, it's fine," Asher assured, pulling the covers away from his amputated leg. "Been so bored here. May as well talk about it."

"Damn. That doesn't seem real," Cody commented. "I mean, it's real, but I can't believe it's happened. To you."

"Yeah. I know what you mean. Sometimes I go to get out of bed before realising I can't."

Peyton observed the white bandages that enveloped Asher's leg from mid-thigh downwards. "D—did it bleed much? Like, a wound that big must . . ."

"I don't know actually. I wasn't awake when they did it. And I'm not sure how long afterwards I was out. When they change the bandages, it's usually bloody. Less so everyday, though."

The wound was healing well, Asher assumed, from how his nurses reacted. Every time they re-wrapped his bandages, they gave him oral antibiotics and a reassuring smile. Having never been in hospital for this type of injury, he couldn't gauge if it was going well or not. Relatively, of course. As a whole, this ordeal was terrible.

"Huh. Interesting," Peyton absentmindedly replied. His eyes were still pinned to the uneven lump that ended Asher's left leg.

"So, how was sir when he came to visit you?" Cody inquired.

"As expected, I guess. I don't blame him."

"Well, he could have been less of a dick about it. What does it matter what the media says about us when we know the truth? Sir is a good person. And so are you."

"Thanks," Asher said. He didn't really believe it. 

Karma, maybe. Eye for a leg.

"Hey," Peyton leant forward on the bed. "We mean it. We totally get why you didn't tell us. Sir would have turned you away the second he knew. He wouldn't have risked a kid's safety like that. But I guess you knew your body and what you could do. I'm more proud of you than before, actually."

"How so?"

"Before, you were this spunky amateur who had crazy talent. Knowing about your . . . condition, I think you're crazy brave."

"Shucks, Peyton. I heard the media doesn't agree."

A collective groan rose from the young men. 

"Don't even get us started," Cody emphatically said. "You're so divisive. It's either #IgnoranceIsImperfect or #BikeBae."

"Excuse me?"

"These two hashtags about you. People either think you were stupid and irresponsible to enter Motocross with your condition, or they think you're inspiring. And hot, apparently. The girls."

"Jesus," Asher swore. He didn't realise the world had been so involved with his accident. Sure, he'd amassed a fair bit of fame within the MX community, maybe even the sporting community in general. But the wider public? Twitter hashtags?

A flashback to his sophomore year Media Studies class popped into his mind. The teacher was talking about racial profiling in the media.

"If it bleeds, it leads."

True, after all.

Seeing his biker friends was a welcome distraction. In all the years they'd shared the track, not one of them changed. They were all still as light-hearted and juvenile as ever. They drew ketchup penises when they ate out. Laughed at fart jokes and the word flaccid. In them was an infantile love of life Asher never once possessed. He was the black sheep of the group. The only one who ever needed cheering up. Pep talks. Confidence boosts. Asher didn't see the dynamic improving with this new turn of events.

Halfway through, Cody mentioned he'd recently eaten lumpia that were better than sex. Ryanel immediately sprung to mind. Asher wondered why he hadn't heard from him. Kerrish had been very close to him in high school, but since he moved away, they'd talked less frequently. It was natural. Asher wasn't upset, especially because he knew if the circumstances ever called for it — like they did now — Kerrish would be ready and waiting to help.

But Ryanel never left New York. They'd been best friends since the first day of high school. Their families traded recipes when they felt like eating exotic cuisine — though Asher and Ryanel hardly thought their respective diets were exotic. Asher was even considering finding an apartment with him. He hadn't said anything because the market was terrible and he hadn't nearly enough money and Vasily also needed to be informed first. 

Point was, he couldn't imagine anyone whose absence or presence impacted him so profoundly.

When Travis, Peyton and Cody left, Asher heaved a sigh. He felt invigorated and drained at the same time. The way sunbathing for hours could relax oneself but also make one dizzy when finally going indoors. He felt fractionally better, having that connection to the world beyond.

Asher was reminded that there were people out there still living, laughing, crying, dying. Earth spun on. In that frigid hospital room where things were always the same, he had stagnated. A fear of perpetually being so helpless was starting to set in. The men's visit had reminded Asher that life was still happening around him. 

He just had to ride out the waves, and inevitably things would change. He wouldn't be like this forever. Better or worse, he didn't know.  But the idea of difference, of better things waiting for him in the land of tomorrow gave him a grain of precious hope.

Hitting the call button next to Ryanel's contact icon, Asher pressed his phone to his ear. There must be a reason they hadn't talked. Maybe Vasily knew something about it.

The ringtones began. Two steady rings, a pause between. 

Brr-brr . . . 

Brr-brr . . .

The pause after the rings made Asher anxious, a break that he ached to be interrupted by a click and his best friend's voice. As the phone kept ringing, it was the suspenseful, repeated silences that Asher found just about more painful than his lost limb.