I had this idea for a story for a couple of days, and decided to finally write it out! Reviews/feedback is appreciated! Enjoy xoxo
The body has a really funny way of dealing with pain. No, I don't mean how the pain receptors and nerves work, I mean the psychological stuff behind it. Like, the brain registers that you're in pain and that something fucked up has happened to you, so it does what it can to defend itself or yourself, I guess. It's all really confusing to try and explain to someone who has never experienced an accident like I had. Not that I find it super hard to talk about what happened to me, but more that I don't think I can get the words across right at all, if that makes sense?
Anyway, I guess I should stop being so Goddamn vague. Early last year, it was around mid-January I believe, I was sixteen years old. I was in Wisconsin, visiting my dad for a few days. It was night time and he was driving me to the airport, going pretty fast because I had to get to the airport so I didn't miss my flight back home to mom in Virginia. It was snowing and the roads were covered with slick ice.
I'm sure you already know where this is headed.
It was a two-lane road, one side going the direction dad and I were traveling, the other going the opposite way. There was a semi-truck coming up, going the opposite way, when my dad lost control of the car. He jerked the wheel back and forth, but the tires continued to slide. We started to spin, and that's when things started to get hazy for me.
Like, I remember my dad swearing, I remember screaming in fear, and I remember the bright lights of the semi-truck and the screeching of rubber. There was a loud crash, and this white-hot, intense pain. I had never felt pain so terrible in my whole life, then the pain started to dull until it was completely numb. I remember feeling cold, and felt like I was lying on something hard. There were flashing red and blue lights, and someone's voice that I didn't recognize trying to talk to me, but I couldn't respond.
I was told I was drifting in and out of consciousness later; that was when I woke up in the hospital. I felt stiff and confused waking up, as I'm sure anyone does when they wake up from a traumatic accident. My body was covered with bandages, I had an IV in and was hooked up to this machine with a ton of wires – sorry I don't know the medical technicality of it, this is just what I can recall. I sat up, and tried to swing my legs off the bed to try and stand, but when I tried, nothing happened. It was by far the strangest feeling, one that I'm still trying to cope with. I couldn't understand why my legs weren't working, until I removed the hospital covers and saw that they were gone.
Yup, my legs were gone, right above the knee.
I don't think I comprehended what happened right away? I'm sure a lot of drugs were being pumped into me, so my head felt swimmy, and I didn't feel in pain at that moment. A nurse and doctor had come in to check on me and explain what was going on. Part of me, even now, still can't quite grasp what was going on. Everything felt like a blur, or one of those half-awake dreams when you try to take a nap during class. It didn't even click when they told me that dad had died in the crash. My therapist told me that was a normal reaction, learning that you're a double-amputee and that a parent is dead in the same moment was very traumatizing. I guess she's right, I just remember being numb and shocked I guess. Still am.
The months of recovery was hell on earth. I honestly didn't think I could ever bring myself to walk again. I had lost way too much weight while staying in the hospital, and the constant pain didn't seem worth all the effort to try to heal. My therapist told me that losing limbs often makes people feel depressed, so I guess that is what I felt. I didn't want to move, eat, or talk to anybody. The worst was the Phantom Limb syndrome, as they called it in the hospital. It felt like my legs were still there, I swear I could feel them twitch and stuff, so I would to kick them out. Of course, nothing happened, and I knew it was stupid to think something would. Sometimes I thought I was just sleeping and would wake up, but this constant nightmare was real.
My mom eventually took me back home to Virginia. I had missed a lot of school. I came home to a lot of flowers and cards from classmates at school and friends – I didn't know most of the kids who signed them, nor did I care that much. My mom tried to keep things normal with the same routines, but I wasn't fitting in anymore. My mom called the therapist, the one I had back in Wisconsin, and told her I wasn't coping well. My therapist told her a change of scenery would probably be best for me. So, she decided to pack up and move, telling me moving to a different state would make everything feel better. During the drive I felt the same, staring out the car window, not talking. My mom would try to start conversations with me, but I just never felt like talking anymore. I feel bad for my mom, she tries really hard to make me feel better. When I first got fitted for my prosthetics, she chose black and purple ones that were decorated with skulls, knowing I would like them. Yeah, the style was cool, but I can't say I love my prosthetics. These things couldn't replace my legs, no matter how cool the design looked.
The physical pain was hard, sure, but nothing is as bad as the mental stuff that comes along with missing legs. People stare, a lot. I walk too damn slow with those stupid lofstrand crutches, missing the days when I could freely move about. I know looking at me you probably wouldn't guess it, but I was a runner. I loved to run, I would do it nearly every day at Virginia Beach. I felt so free when I ran in the wide open, honestly nothing can beat the feeling. I even ran for the track team at school, something people thought was funny.
The emo girl running track? What?
Yeah, that's what most people called me at school, since many didn't know my name. I always thought that way of thinking was stupid. So, because I wear mostly black means I can't be on the track team or play sports? So stupid.
But now running had been taken from me, and I felt like I'd never be happy again. I was told it was possible that I would be able to run again, there were athletes with amputated legs who ran, it would just take time. I didn't feel strong enough, especially since I could barely walk without the help of my shitty crutches. The doctor said exercise was how I would improve my muscle strength and control so I could move normally again, but it was so hard and I was beyond frustrated. I didn't even like to look at myself in the mirror, the change of my body was ugly to me. Those around me told me I was being too hard on myself, but it was just a natural thought.
Not only can I not move around because I was still going through the long-term rehabilitation process, my mom had uprooted us and was moving us to some small town in Pennsylvania called Hemlock Grove. I had never heard of it before. Mom said it was a former steel mill town, or something, not that I gave much of a shit. Now I had to start at a new high school and get used to new people staring at me, not that I really ever got used to it. Not only that, but because I missed so much school, I had to take extra classes to make up for what I missed so I could still graduate. Mom said I was lucky that I wasn't held back and was still considered a senior. Since I spent a lot of time in bed during the early months, I spent most time doing homework and catching up on assignments from my old school. My mom said that's what saved me from being held back.
Now it was time for me to face the first day of school.
I studied myself in the large vanity in my new room, in the small apartment mom and I had recently moved into. I had braided parts of my brown hair and pulled it back into a sleek, long ponytail, applied light eyeliner, mascara, and foundation, but still loathed parts of my appearance. I picked my favorite Led Zeppelin t-shirt, and was wearing one of my favorite skirts that went down to my knees, showing off the lower half of my prosthetic legs. My lean body had grown too thin, I was still trying to put weight back on. Much to my annoyance, even my boobs shrank from the weight loss caused by the accident and the hospital stays. The accident also left me with a lot of bad scars all across my body, one including my left cheek. My therapist told me that hiding my scar and prosthetics would make my insecurities worse, so she told me show them off with pride.
I was showing them, but I found no pride in it.
I hobbled my way to the kitchen, to find my mom unpacking some boxes. She stopped, hearing the clicking of the crutches on the linoleum floor, and turned toward me. She smiled, a sad smile with a bit of pity masked behind it that I hated. She went over to the couch and retrieved my backpack for me, putting it on my shoulders for me. She smelled like pomegranates, from the shower wash we both used, and her hair was slightly curled at the ends. I didn't know if she was going out today to do more job interviews, but I decided not to ask.
"You look very pretty, darling."
"Thanks," I mumbled, adjusting the straps on my backpack.
"Are you sure you want to take the bus? I can drive you," she suggested.
"No, it's fine."
She smiled sadly at me again, and I fought the urge not to roll my eyes. I knew she meant well, but being pitied was one thing that really got on my nerves.
"Good luck today, go and make some new friends," my mom said as she hugged me goodbye.
"Sure," I replied, flatly.
I doubted anyone would want to be friends with a cripple like me, a term my mom told me was self-degrading and derogatory, and that I shouldn't use it. Whatever, that's what I am and how I felt. My friends had gradually lost touch with me back home after the accident, too nervous to see me. I couldn't even keep them, how was I going to make new friends as a stranger in this small town? All people would do is stare or asked how I lost my legs, and that's all they usually would say to me. Nothing would change, I was sure of it.
I left the apartment and waited reluctantly at the bus stop, gripping the handles of my crutches a little too tightly. As the bus rolled up, the door flew open. I looked up at the bus steps, feeling daunted by the steepness. This town was so damn small, it didn't even have the funding to accommodate those with disabilities like myself, I guessed. When my mom registered me for Hemlock Grove High, she told the school everything, and yet here I was, expected to climb stairs, something I haven't done since before the accident. Very cautiously I climbed the steps, keeping my crutches securely in front of me. It took me several minutes to get all the way up. I heard kids on the bus groan with impatience. When I was fully in sight, they all fell silent, all their eyes looking down at my prosthetics. I limped down the aisle, my awkward gait even more unorthodox as I maneuvered through the narrow aisle. I heard them whispering, looking at me with curiosity as I passed. I never liked the first day of school, but now I really hated it with a fiery passion. I felt like a freak among all these normal students, and I wasn't even at the school yet. I chose an empty seat not too far back, not wanting to repeat the process of struggling to walk in the bus more than I needed to. I stared out the window, refusing to look at anybody.
School itself was boring. The teachers went over what to expect for the class, and introduced me as the new student joining the school. I didn't smile or wave, and the students didn't greet me in a friendly manner, either. What I gathered from my short time living in the town was that the citizens were weary of outsiders, and those who looked different too, I suppose. I took notes, kept to myself, ate by myself, tried to ignore all the eyes on me, and watched the clock tick by slowly. A few kids asked me in class how I lost my legs, only to be shushed by the teachers. That was fine with me, I didn't feel like talking anyway. The day dragged on so slow it felt like two days, and I was counting down the minutes until the final bell rung. I had one more period to go until I was free from the walls of this high school, but thinking about facing the bus again didn't make me feel much better.
Little did I know that my day would take a turn for the bizarre.
I was limping my way down the hallway, headed toward the final class of the day. I took my time, since the school allowed me extra time to make it from class to class because of my handicap. It sounded like a crowd of people chanting, grabbing my attention. There was a group of students were huddled around something against the wall. From their tone, it sounded like they were teasing someone. I wanted to turn and go the other way, but they were standing right where I needed to go. I hesitantly hobbled toward them and saw who they were making fun of.
There was a huge girl on the ground, by huge I mean tall, like really tall. She had black hair hanging in her face, bandaged hands, and a cell phone hung around her neck. Her head was slightly bowed, and was breathing heavily like she was sobbing. My heart panged with sadness, feel horrible just watching this scene play out. I don't know what came over me, I wasn't what I described as a brave person, but this girl was different and was being made fun of for it. It really struck a nerve with me.
"Just leave her alone!"
The group of bullies grew quiet, and glanced over at me. I tried my best to glare furiously at them, but honestly, I was a bit scared. I had gotten involved with something that had nothing to do with me, and now I was most likely going to be a victim for these kids. They looked over my appearance, and sneered, others laughed. The girl on the floor looked over at me, I could see one tear-filled eye peeking out from behind her hair. I gripped my crutches tighter, trying to stand tall.
"This fucking school is being infested with freaks!" One of the boys at the head of the group jeered.
Some kids chortled like it was the funniest thing they ever heard. Part of me wanted to ask: is that the best you got? Because honestly, that was pathetic, but I didn't want to add more fuel to the fire than I needed to.
"Don't you have better things to do then pick on the disabled?" I asked, irritated.
"Maybe she's right, what if Roman finds out?" A girl from the crowd questioned.
I didn't know who Roman was, but I could sense the shift in mood amongst the group. Some of them almost seemed afraid. The group decided to disperse, heading to class or God knows wherever. I went over to the girl, still sitting on the floor. She glanced up at me, still shaken up, but calmer.
"Are you all right?" I asked her.
She nodded, then grabbed the cellphone around her neck with two of her working fingers. She started to type into the phone as quickly as she could.
A monotone, robotic female voice spoke from the phone: "Thank you for helping me."
I smiled down at her, and she did the same, showing off a mouth-full of braces.
"No problem, us misfit toys need to stick together."
She laughed at the reference, though her laugh sounded like a breathy exhale from her restricted throat, but the smile in her green eyes was undeniable. She wiped the tears from her eye with the back of her bandaged hand, then typed back into the phone.
"What's your name?" The phone voice asked.
"My name is Lucy, yours?"
She stood up, and I admit I was quite shocked by how much she towered over me. Her appearance did cause me to be taken aback, but from the short time I had been talking to this girl, she seemed sweet… and I was in desperate need for a friend.
The girl typed into her phone again, letting the text-to-speech do all the work: "I'm Shelley Godfrey."
She suddenly frowned like she realized something and started to type on her phone again: "I'm sorry, I don't want you to be late to class."
I chuckled. "Don't worry about it, I'm sure the teacher will give us both a pass, considering the circumstances."
Mom ended up being right; I did make a friend that day.