The 2025 Reflection - A Big Bite
At the time of this writing, I am lying on my back. My movements are those of a 100-year-old. I can’t bend or stand without clutching for dear life on the corner of some furniture or counter.
Hurting myself was scarily easy; I was shooting hoops on another one of these windy December mornings when I simulated a little shimmy-shimmy and threw my back out. I had my back to the hoop and my legs spread and crouched at the free-throw line. I twisted my torso in both directions and immediately felt the sharp pain of jacking my sciatica nerve. I had to lie down on the court and stretch. Only a yellow field separated myself from the house, and I shuffled back and caught my brother outside.
The poor guy. I took Luke’s bedroom, and he had to help me into his bed. I had him buy lidocaine patches at the CVS. He had to help me put my sweatpants on. I was ashamed and pissed off by the pain. I couldn't move my lower half without feeling something piercing my everything. Helplessness shocked me for a moment; I had to whiz and what could I do? At first, I couldn't move at all. My legs were stuck, and for hours I laid-up in worry before eventually rolling over and forcing myself to stand. With each step, I trembled under my own weight. It felt like my kneecaps were disconnected from my body. The next part would be to figure out how to lie back down. The thought of the seizing pain tortured me while I tried to get on the mattress. There was no way out for me. Standing 6’3, I had to fall into the bed and embrace the mind-melting sensations. Nothing felt good. I was sweating from the fainting pain. I was trying not to pass out. It was like this for hours.
As the night went on, I lay still and watched TV. A heating pad was saving my life. I spoke to my brothers from the bed. I had beer. I called my girlfriend. It occurred to me I needed to write about my year. As things felt somewhat better, I managed to crawl across the room and plug in my laptop. It was the greatest feat of my life.
My back will let me do anything but sit upright or walk properly. My butt hurts the most. Around 3:00AM I fell asleep in a reluctant curled position. Before dozing off, I managed to brainstorm some things to say and share about my year.
To get the fluff out of the way, I wrapped up another three semesters of college (a non-stop effort thanks to summer school—accelerated finance, analytics, and ethics). I haven’t had a real break in a while. I’m at the point in my degree where all that’s left are the core business classes. To say I’m tired is an understatement. Some days, I feel like the Human Machine.
In May, right after the spring semester, Paxton and I flew to Austin, Texas, to stay with her mom and stepdad at their condo on the water. My ticket was paid for by Paxton’s flight points. I was thrilled. The trip itself was very relaxing and completely new to me (I was born in Dallas but never came back to the state). I was just beginning summer school and managed to score a 90 on my first finance exam in the guest room. Apart from a bit of homework, we boated and ate.
During the middle of the trip, our crew planned to drive out to Fredericksburg to have lunch and jump around the shops. Along the way, we talked about vineyards and made plans to stop at one. I’d never been to a vineyard and never imagined I would.
The sun was trying to kill that day; right before we got into the town, Paxton screamed and forced us to pull over. I was confused but caught on fast, watching as she ran across a four-way street, scooped up what I can only describe as a gray mound, and met four onlooking girls who were her initial tell that something was off. These four girls had been standing there and watched as cars and a semi drove over the top of a dehydrated kitten. It was the hardest thing to watch; big cars sped over this helpless, tuckered kitten, and all Paxton could do was try to wave the cars away. I watched from our car and turned my head away in case of a squishing. It was unbearable. She brought it back to the car and the little thing was panting. I spoon-fed the poor, big-eyed creature water out of my palm and finger. It was ready to die.
We took it to a nearby vet just as they were closing up for the day, and a vet-lady who was trying to get back to her kids took care of our kitten, pumping its back with water and checking it out. It was a girl, maybe six weeks old, and we deduced it must've come from a colony living behind the burrito restaurant nearby. We carried it around with us for the rest of the trip with wet towels and food. It was a little thing that slept most of the time that day. I couldn't believe it: we had a baby animal to care for. For the rest of the trip, it stayed in the bathroom and eventually flew home with us on a plane. The cat was tiny and precious, and it freaked me out how fragile it was. I was stressed by its delicate presence, especially on the plane when mid-flight there was a landing delay, and we had to do circles in the air. Paxton already has a one-eyed cat named Rex, so now it was Rex and Bean. She named it Bean because “She looked like a bean in the road.” She was right.
In June, Tuck, Antonio, and I rode around the West, hitting Gunnison, Mesa Verde, and Moab among other spots. It was a trip of brotherhood and extreme satisfaction, having jokes and seeing American sights.
In November, Paxton and I drove down to El Paso for Thanksgiving. I had never been so close to another country. El Paso was cool because it felt like a tourist town—some of it beat, but had a beautiful high school and bars, and lots of these curious bars and a trolley—where just over some San-Fran like hills, the Mexican suburbs of Juarez hug red rock mountains and look through the fencing with envy for the USA. We only drove past, but the multicolored houses and the stillness were all I could makeout. Looking through, I saw no people, just buildings and cars and Spanish lettering. I kept looking for ways for people to sneak over. It’s right there, I would say. The border or Great Wall wasn't some hi-tec thing—just a chain fence, tall, with spiky wires. This was the section of it I saw. My impression was that it was doable to get over. I thought about being a kid. We ate a lot of food that trip.
This year, school was good; I’ll say, just fine, utterly plain, and sometimes interesting, but more or less the same as it has been my last four years (excluding a banger freshman year in Tempe). Most of my hometown buddies graduated, and only when I hit the oldtown bars on a rare Thursday do I see them. The rest of my pals are away. Spending my weekends in Denver has been a lot of fun, and I’ve been able to experience a different kind of adulthood. Money is a bitch, but isn't it always? It’s a bitch until I work this big ‘ol business job, right? That’ll be the talk for the next six months of my life. My enthusiasm for work is unmet by my passive mood.
I’ve read lots of cool books this year. If you are interested in my author influences, you can visit my Goodreads page.
While I finish my business degree, I hope to accomplish good grades and a positive attitude by the time I graduate. My larger goal is to finish this short story collection and have it ready to show an agent. Beyond that, come summertime, I’m ready to start my first novel—one that I hope turns heads. There is without doubt that school and its pressures have dulled me. Grades make me bitter. The lack of income makes it impossible for me to do cool things.
The passion for writing has not left me. I’m getting better ideas and craving it more every day. Taking writing classes at school and being among other writers has been a real pleasure. The recent short stories I’ve written for my fiction class reflect far darker themes than I’m normally used to writing about. Horror tales don’t always deal with monsters. Works of satire can be complex and personal. While I won’t post my new stories anymore, please know I’m saving them.
This website stands as a space for my writing. This is the place. To next year and more writing.
I can’t walk, and my back is killing me.
How about Indy sports?
—Ty (12.28.25)
