Drabble: Knitting

by KC

Humans lead luxurious lives. They can afford to wait, to rest when they fall ill, to bury their pain under ice packs, to lounge on their couches and drink hot tea in silence. When something breaks inside them, they can go to a hospital and have it set and protected in layers of plastic. When something snaps inside them, they can rest and let the cracks and breaks and shattered pieces of themselves slowly come back together.

They call it bones knitting together. Knitting. Soft, slow, steady clacking as the person heals and becomes whole again. If they have to move, they have crutches that support them. They have support that won't fall out from under them or turn on them. To them, handicapped means doctors and machines and help.

To us—to me—handicapped means a weight added to slow me down, trip me up, distract me and steal my focus.

My left hand's been broken for a week now. Set it myself. I hope it's healing right. I wish it'd been my right hand instead. Losing some mobility in that hand wouldn't be too noticeable, but losing anything in my off hand means more practice to compensate. I'd rather not practice with extra pain.

I don't talk to my family about this. Splinter might tell me to rest and give myself time to heal, time we never have. I know Raphael and Michelangelo wouldn't mean anything by their comments, but their stream of bad jokes and insults that they think are clever only makes the pain that much sharper, makes time pass that much slower. And Donatello...frustrated by his lack of equipment and the way I can't understand his medical jargon, he snaps and sighs in stagnant depression at being the only one who understands what he's saying.

So I'll sit here and keep my hand beneath the table, half-smile at my brother's jokes and let my brother's insults slide. I pretend not to notice how my brother's voice turns a little condescending. My brothers whirlwind around me, and I'll do my best to keep up. My broken pieces will just have to heal on their own time.

The luxury of knitting isn't worth the price I'd pay for it.

end