“Uh, sir, I don’t want to be a PT assistant. I want to be a physical therapist.”
There was that two-heads look people gave me a lot. “You want to be a doctor of physical therapy?”
“Doctor?” I swallowed very hard.
“Yes. To be a physical therapist, you need a DPT, a doctor of physical therapy, and we happen to have an excellent program at Madison.”
“Oh. Uh, okay, tell me what’s involved.”
A big crease appeared over the top of the glasses. “You’re serious about this?”
“Yes, sir.” I had to remind myself that if I wasn’t gonna let my dad tell me who I could be, I wasn’t gonna let this guy either.
He gave me a stern look, then clicked keys on his computer and stared at the screen. His eyes widened, he looked at me, and then back at the screen. “Well, it won’t be easy, but perhaps you can do it, maybe without having to extend your undergraduate years.” He glanced at the screen again, probably looking at my records. “Fortunately, the prerequisites involve many of the courses you’ve taken for physical education. There will be a few classes such as statistics, psychology, and physics you’ll have to dive into right away.” He sat back in his chair. “That’s going to make your senior year challenging. Do you think you can do it?”
I had barely taken a breath since he’d started talking. Dr. Merkofsky. Holy flaming shit. “How long does it take? The, uh, what did you call it?”
“DPT. It depends. The course work is rigorous and, of course, there’s clinical experience with patients. Generally, three years.”
That time, I swallowed so hard he must have heard it.
He leaned forward and folded his hands on his desk. “I’ll be honest. While your grades could certainly be higher, a B average is adequate for applying to the doctoral program. Higher than I often see in students trying to juggle athletics, especially football, with their coursework. So your grades won’t be prohibitive.” He smiled.
Funny. No one had ever told me they were good. “A friend taught me some new ways to study that are helping me. I bet I can get my grades up even more.”
“Can you afford the time to get the degree?”
I licked my lips. “I honestly don’t know, sir. I have enough money to get my bachelors, but I never figured on another three years. If I work really hard in the summer, I can save some.”
“And there are student loans.”
I nodded. I’d never wanted to apply for loans. My dad had hammered into me that you never borrow.
“So, Bubba, shall I intervene to be certain you get the classes required next semester? Do you want to work toward a doctor of physical therapy?”
I inhaled, pictured Sean in my mind telling me I could do it, and said, “Yes. I’ll take those classes.”
He beamed and pressed his palms together. “Good for you, young man. I’m proud of you.”
I just stared at him. I could count the number of times on one hand someone said that to me in my life.
I sat at the table and gazed at the front door of the restaurant, waiting to see Sean walk in. I’d been sitting on my news, waiting to hear from Dr. O’Henry, for three days through workouts at the gym and study nights at the frat house, and I was ready to bust a vocal cord.
The bell jangled, and I grinned. Sean walked in, looking anxious, so maybe he’d guessed something was up. He was pretty perceptive. Plus, we didn’t go to restaurants every night.
His face lit up when he saw me, which made my chest feel warm. He peeled off his big coat and hung it on the rack near the front door. He’d worn his pink sweater that he knew I loved. Threading through tables, he got to the booth I’d reserved. Luigi’s was popular since it served really good Italian food at not very high prices.
I slid out of my side and gave him a hug and a quick kiss. “Hi.” I didn’t even bother to look to see if people were staring. They always were. I finally figured out it wasn’t so much because we were two guys, but that I was so much bigger than Sean. We were a surprising couple.
He took the seat opposite me, and I didn’t sit beside him since this was a better position for talking.
I smiled. “Hope you’re hungry.”
“Starved. But why are we spending money on Luigi’s even though I’m glad we are?”
“I’ve got some news for you.” I wanted to giggle.
“I’ve got news too. What’s yours?”
The waiter arrived with a basket of bread, a plate of olives and veggies, and carafes of olive oil and vinegar. “Hey, Bubba, want to start with salads tonight?” Luigi, the owner, was always nice to me. He liked that I recommended his place to everyone I knew.
“Yes please, Luigi. You want salad, don’t you, Sean?”
He nodded. “With that excellent dressing.”
When Luigi walked away, Sean said, “Come on, tell me.”
I held in my smile. “I’m going to be taking statistics for psychology with linear regression next semester.”
He cocked his head. “Uh, okay. Was that really hard to get into?”
“I’m not sure. My adviser, Dr. O’Henry, got me in.” I popped an olive in my mouth and chewed, then said, “Along with physics and abnormal psychology.” My laugh bubbled in my chest.
He was starting to smile, real slow-like. “I see. So, these weren’t the courses you were originally registered for?” He asked it like we were playing twenty questions.
“Correct.”
“And these would be the classes you require for a new course of study?” He was full-on smiling now.
I swallowed some water because it was still hard for me to get the words out of my mouth. “Yes, you see, these are the prerequisites I need to apply for the—” I inhaled and said on a long stream of air, “—the doctor of physical therapy program.”
Not much really surprised Sean, but he sat there with his mouth hanging open for a second. “I didn’t realize it was a doctorate program.”
“I didn’t either. Shows how much I know.” I chewed my lip. “It’s a special degree called a DPT—doctor of physical therapy. Dr. O’Henry says it takes three years minimum after you have your bachelors. Madison has a great program, and most of my courses for phys ed apply toward the prereqs, but I have a really tough senior year to make up the rest.”
“But that’s amazing! Spectacular.” He squirmed off the bench seat, almost jumped across the table, squeezed in next to me, and gave me another hug.
An older lady sitting with a man at a nearby table was smiling at him, and Sean pointed at me. “He’s going to be a doctor! A freaking doctor of physical therapy!”
She made a little clapping motion. “Well, isn’t that wonderful. I’d certainly come to you for therapy, young man.”
I could feel the heat in my cheeks. “Thank you, ma’am.” I went back to chewing my lip.
Still sitting beside me, Sean jiggled a carrot stick in some oil and vinegar and bit. “How come you look so worried? This is fantastic. You’ll be a wonderful DPT.”
I sighed. “I didn’t plan for three more years of school. The money my grandmom left me won’t stretch far enough for tuition and living expenses for all that time. I know it’s going to be like really hard, and since I’ll have to work at the same time, I doubt I can do it in three years.”