Learning to Walk
When I visited my physical therapist Miss Walton on Sunday, she assessed my strengths and flexibility with a few exercises. "You're doing very well," she said after doing about five resistance exercises with my stump. "Does it hurt a lot? Does it sting or itch?"
"Not as much as last week," I said while she made me do pushups.
"What about your phantom pain?"
I stopped and lifted my leg and hips. Standing on my hands, I said, "It wakes me up at night."
"Does your medication help?"
Only if I take more than one pill, I nearly said. "Yes."
"That's enough," she said gently. She kept my hips steady while I lowered myself down. "I think it's great that you can actually dance. It helps with you getting to move well."
Suddenly, there was a sharp tug in my chest. The next thing I knew, tears were streaming from my eyes. Embarrassed, I covered my face with my hands, but I couldn't stop myself.
"Oh, Beulah," said Miss Walton. "I'm sorry! Was there something I said?"
"I can't dance anymore because it hurts!"
"Beulah, believe me," she added. "You can do whatever you've done before after this. Just give it some time."
In the afternoon, Mama brought me to a prosthetist. The prosthetist's office was laden with posters of famous amputees with cool prosthetics, including one with a mermaid's tail. "Did you make these?" I asked.
"Not all of them," said my prosthetist, after explaining to my Mama what he was going to do. "Well, I don't actually make those prosthetics, but I make prosthetics like those—some of them."
"What is that for?" I asked while pointing at one that was curved like a sickle.
"That one is for sprinting. Professional athletes use that."
"Can I have one?"
"When you're strong enough to run, maybe," said Mama. I grinned at her. She grinned back. Her chestnut brown eyes were soft and ever so loving.
"I can run?"
"I don't see why not," said my prosthetist. "Can you stand without your crutches, please?"
I gave my crutches to Mama, who held me steady while I kept my stump straight, as if the leg that used to be there was still holding me up. "Good girl," said the prosthetist, as he put a tape measure around the base and middle of the thigh. Then, he measured the length from the end of the stump to my hip. "Your skin looks good," he commented.
"I haven't been scratching it anymore," I said.
"Good—good girl," he said. "Does it swell or shrink anymore?"
"Well, the swelling is mostly at the end of the stump, around the stitches," I said.
"That sounds good. I think your residual leg will be fine by the time your artificial leg is finished," he said.
"That is great," said Mama.
I woke up on Monday morning feeling unusually tired. I groaned when my crutches reminded me what the rest of my life would be like. I snapped out of the blues long enough to freshen up, tie my long hair in a loose braid, and put on a modest black long-sleeved long dress with an embroidered and sequined cardigan on top. I skipped the makeup; I didn't feel like it.
Bella was noticeably nicer to me since I defended her from Mike last Saturday. She actually smiled at me when I passed by her locker, but I didn't like the way she watched my body bob when I walked with my crutches. She wasn't the only one. Nearly every teacher and student who saw me walking between classes watched me with pity. While I appreciated the concern, I was uncomfortable with the way their gaze shifted downwards as if watching how the fabric of my skirt showed the shape of my stump.
I was most at ease during lunch period, when my male friends assisted me in getting my food. I was sitting down with my very good friends who made me feel comfortable by sparing moments to take my attention away from my disability.
"I totally need to cut down on carbs," said Jessica, playing with her mashed potato with her spoon. "The guys don't wanna lift or throw me anymore."
"Avocado is good if you like a sweet breakfast," I told her. "In other days, you can have steamed sweet potato …"
Lauren gently elbowed my arm. When I turned to her, she nodded toward Bella. Bella was gazing longingly at the Cullen table. Edward was not there. Lauren's face turned smug and she said to me, "Are you sure we don't need to recruit new cheerleaders now that you can't join us, Beulah?" I felt both amused and mischievous as Lauren spoke haughtily with a sidelong glance at Bella.
"My physical therapist says I can stay in the team," I said, "but I dunno how soon I can perform again."
Bella blinked and finally focused on us. "You perform where?" she asked me absent-mindedly.
"Weren't you listening, Bella?" said Angela. "Beulah is in the cheerleading squad."
Bella frowned slightly.
"You look confused," I said, chuckling.
"I wouldn't have guessed that you …" Bella looked me up and down. "I mean … where I came from, Goths usually stay away from anything sports-related."
"Really?" said Tyler. "Why?"
"Cheerleaders think they're better than everybody especially Goths and geeks," said Bella bitterly.
"What's that supposed to mean?" demanded Lauren.
"She doesn't mean us, Lauren," I said gently, touching her shoulder.
"I'm just surprised, that's all," said Bella meekly. "Beulah does seem the type to spend time alone reading Edgar Allan Poe …"
Lauren made a noise indicating indignation when Bella said "the type," but I felt like being receptive to Bella's observations. "I'm that way, too," I said proudly, "but I don't see why my goth-ness must negate my cheerleader-ness. I love to dance, and cheerleading is the perfect outlet for it."
Bella seemed to start to doubt how nice we are but stopped talking altogether.
When the table was quiet for a few seconds, Eric broke the ice. "Hey, did you guys see the news last night?" he asked.
"I can't … I'm studying," explained Mike.
"Well, the police have been reporting mysterious deaths in the forests in several counties. Each death comes closer and closer to Forks," said Eric.
"How mysterious?" I asked.
"Well, the victims look like they were mauled," said Eric, "but the markings don't quite match those of animals known to maul hikers when they get too close."
"Yeah, my dad's been busy with those cases," said Bella, who was glad that the subject changed.
"Any updates?" asked Mike.
"None so far," said Bella. "Everyone in law enforcement was starting to get freaked out."
"Not to disrespect the dead people, but … any Sasquatch theories?" asked Tyler.
"It's an interesting possibility," said Angela, smiling.
Eric's salvage effort put everyone in a good mood by the end of lunch period. Bella was eager to stay close to me. She normally ignored me whenever we went to Biology class with our classmates. "So you like Edgar Allan Poe?" she said to me.
"One of my favorite authors," I said to her. "I'm fond of his essays as well as his short stories."
"Are you wearing makeup?" she asked.
"No," I said, suddenly remembering that I hadn't put makeup on and now felt naked.
"Oh, that explains why your skin looks so smooth," she said, "and not as pale as usual. Your skin has a nice olive tone. And I can see your eyes now. The brown irises are almost red."
"Thanks," I said, surprised and flattered.
Bella might have told me some more about her self, but all thought about Edgar Allan Poe or my naked face must have evanesced from her mind when her attention turned to the Biology classroom. Edward was absent. Then, she became so sad she must have forgotten we were just talking. While Mr. Molina gave the class a long lecture about viruses, I became very unhappy with Bella.
After school, I met with my physical therapist. I got better and better at my mobility. My physical therapist fitted a temporary prosthetic on my stump and taught me to walk. I felt silly on the first session. It was impossible to stay up because the weight carried by my left leg is left without support. I felt like a baby, and my temporary prosthetic felt like a walker or a stroller. It was not part of my body, but I needed to pretend like it was, so it would cooperate with me.
"Take it easy, Beulah," said Miss Walton, as if she were reading my mind. "You're meant to take time getting used to it. It does feel very strange at first, so you need to be patient with yourself."
I nodded and lifted my left leg. The skeletal steel leg was lifted straight like a real leg, but it had no life of its own. It was like a doll's leg; no matter how much I pretended it was real, it wasn't. I dared not hold my support barres and stand on my own. But I couldn't take a step. There was a fear that I wouldn't be able to move on my own, that I would fall if I dare lift one leg. I continued walking back and forth with support. I held the metal barres until my knuckles turned white: those bloodsuckers will pay! My physical therapist and my gym teacher had been coordinating to have me take gymnastics classes to make up from my being unable to participate in cheerleading. My physical therapist reminded me that my routines shouldn't hurt.
The amount of exercise I'd been doing gave me license to eat as much as I liked. I could even get away with getting a big, juicy burger with fries and a salad, which my parents gladly cooked for me after an exhausting therapy session.
On the following day, Eric, Angela, and I and the rest of the school paper staff were very busy preparing the third issue for the year. Eric was looking forward to my contribution, which was fiction this time. I had given the first two parts of it in the previous issues.
In the library, I brought my laptop to edit my writing one last time before showing it to Eric. Bella was also there to return a book. I waved at Bella, who smiled and approached me. "Hello, Beulah!" she said. "You look pretty busy."
"I'm just writing a story for the school paper," I said. "Eric is expecting my contribution for the next issue."
"Cheerleader and school paper contributor—you are pretty busy!"
"Can you tell me what it's about?" she asked, sitting beside me.
"The story is about a Sephardic girl living in İzmir, in what is now Turkey," I said, making my voice as soft but clear as I could. "Little Rani is an orphan; her mother was a prostitute who burned when the brothel was set aflame. All she has is her oud; her clothes and legal documents; an enormous Spanish bulldog that her mother had adopted as an abandoned puppy; and scraps of her mother's written poetry. Rani lived only day by day. The coins she earns from singing in the streets get her sufficient money for food. But she is too young to know anything else like getting a properly shelter to live in.
"When Rani is ten years old, a generous Spanish expatriate offers to help her by putting her Spanish bulldog to a dog-fighting tournament. The agreement is that she would help around his household while her dog Shai fights in the arena. Would you like to see an excerpt?"
"Sure!"
I turned my laptop to face Bella. The document read:
Rani wanted to gag when she saw the drops of blood on the sand from the two enormous dogs scratching and biting each other. One had a tan base coat with a brindle layer—her Shai. This was his fifth match since entering the tournament last month. His big head and massive jaws were his best features; most of his opponents didn't stand a chance. But it still hurt her when he whined and wailed when she washed his wounds.
Rani hadn't realized she had fallen asleep with Shai in his wrought iron cage until there was somebody shaking her. It was already dark out, and a kind voice of a boy said her name. It was her master's young son Dimas.
"Papá was wondering why you hadn't fed Shai yet. We had been looking for you," he said.
Rani was suddenly overcome with sorrow—a deep grief she couldn't explain. It was as if something inside her willed her tears to flow. Young Dimas was surprised and patted her shoulder. "Rani, we are not angry with you. Nobody is!" But Rani kept on crying, uncontrollably, harder and harder, until she couldn't breathe. Shai was sleeping soundly and too exhausted to hear her.
Dimas took her to the kitchen where they had little cups of hot chocolate before leaving a bowl of innards and bones for Shai.
"Why are you so kind to me, Dimas?" asked Rani.
"We are both strangers here in İzmir."
"Will the last part be in the next issue, then?" asked Bella.
"Yes. I look forward to it," I said.
"Me, too," she said, grinning.