When I close my eyes and lay down in bed, all I can hear is the sound of tires screeching, and I can feel the impact of the car. I shoot up from my bed panting and sweating. My mom rushes into my bedroom with concern written all over her face and asks, “Are you alright, Nora?”
“Y-Yeah,” I said, looking out the window. It has been nine weeks since the accident since I lost my leg. Nine weeks of being inside this house, and nine weeks of my friend, Khloe, trying to drag me out of my house. She uncertainly walks away leaving me alone my room.
The world beyond the glass pane was bright and sunny. Everything looked so...so happy. My world that I have been accustomed to is dark and gloomy. I sigh and roll over in my grimy sheets. The sound of my prosthetic leg shifting made me want to curl up in a ball and cry for the millionth time. I curl up in a ball, and I grab my phone.
I go to my chat room on Wook. I send, ‘Hey, are you up?’ to my online friend, Aaron. I watched the bright screen as I waited for him to text back. Aaron has become an important part in my life since the accident. He has been the only one I have talked to, spilled all my nightmares to, and my deepest, darkest fear that I will never be able to be normal again.
Normal. That is a word I never really thought about until recently. How can I be normal anymore? When I use the bathroom, you should hear the noise it makes. It creaks as I walk, and it cracks as the metal moves. Oh, and imagine the stares. All the people just staring with their peering eyes like a bunch of vultures looking at a dead carcass.
“Nothing, how about you?” Aaron had sent me.
For a meer second I thought about telling him about my nightmare I had today, instead I asked him, “What is it like outside?”
“What do you mean?” he asked me probably wondering if I was alright.
"I mean what does it look like outside where you are at?” I asked him.
“It is overcast,” he sent and added right after that, “Why don’t you go outside?’” I stared at that message like maybe he had gone crazy.
“Are you crazy?” I asked him.
“No, but my mom always would say that you have to face your fears,” he said to me.
“Face your fears?” I asked him.
“Yeah, cut your giants down, Nora,” he said before he went offline.
I toss my phone at the foot of my bed. I huff and look at the ceiling. How could he leave me like that? I thought. Why don’t you go outside repeated over and over in my mind as I watch my fan.
Swinging my legs over the edge of my bed, I eye the door. I unsteadily walk to the door just to stare at the bronze door knob. With my reflection staring at me, I stare back also. My shaking hand starts to reach towards the door knob. I look at the door knob and was about to walk away. No, I have to do this, I thought, grabbing the door knob and opening the door.
The caramel colored carpet is a cushion for my footsteps as I walk into the living room. Sitting in the living room were my mom who is playing some type of cross word puzzle and my dad who is watching a football game.
Mom must have heard my prosthetic because she quickly turned around and asked, “Nora, are you alright?”
Dad paused his game and I said, “Yep, I-I was just going to step-,” I look at the haunting front door and continue the rest of my sentence in a whisper, “Outside.”
“I don’t think that is a-,” Mom started saying and getting up from her seat when Dad grabbed her forearm.
“Let her be,” he said to her. Mom lost all sense of words, and she starts grumbling as she sat back down.
“You can go, Sweetie. You’ll be alright,” Dad said, pushing play on his game.
The door opened for me with a simple tug. I walk out into the warm afternoon air and the cool breeze. I sit down on the porch’s edge allowing my legs to dangle off. The green world beyond me looked like someone had painted it.
My leg hit one of the flower pots my mom has along the porch. I peek between my legs to make sure I didn’t break the pot. I remember that pot, I thought, seeing the big pink and purple marbled pot.
This is a story which started on Mother’s Day last year. My mom and I had gone to a plant nursery to buy her a pretty flower for her Mother’s Day present. We ended up choosing a beautiful pot of irises. We had put the pot on the perfect space near the concrete. Two months later, we had gone outside to do our daily routine of watering it when we found it basically dead. Apparently, my dad had accidentally sprayed weed killer on it. That was the end of our Mother’s Day flower.
I reach down and pick up the pot to observe what I was seeing. I pinch myself to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. I sure wasn’t. At the base of the dead flower was a small stem and bud. It is growing back, I thought excitedly while gently touching the green plant.
While holding the plant, I realize something and thought, if this little plant can survive, there is a possibility that I can, too. We both have something in common. We were both in some type of accident. This little plant was accidentally sprayed with weed killer, and I was in a car accident. We seem to be trying to become our old selves again, so there is hope that things will get better. This tiny plant is fighting for its life!
As I place the pot in my lap, I look down upon it and whisper to myself and this little plant, “If you can fight, then so will I.”
Closing my eyes, I can still hear the tires screeching and feel the impact of the other car. Those things will probably stay around for a long time, but eventually, someday everything will be better. This car crash will be something of the past, a memory that I will only faintly remember. For now, I will just feel the sun and remind myself there is always light no matter how dark things can get.
“Y-Yeah,” I said, looking out the window. It has been nine weeks since the accident since I lost my leg. Nine weeks of being inside this house, and nine weeks of my friend, Khloe, trying to drag me out of my house. She uncertainly walks away leaving me alone my room.
The world beyond the glass pane was bright and sunny. Everything looked so...so happy. My world that I have been accustomed to is dark and gloomy. I sigh and roll over in my grimy sheets. The sound of my prosthetic leg shifting made me want to curl up in a ball and cry for the millionth time. I curl up in a ball, and I grab my phone.
I go to my chat room on Wook. I send, ‘Hey, are you up?’ to my online friend, Aaron. I watched the bright screen as I waited for him to text back. Aaron has become an important part in my life since the accident. He has been the only one I have talked to, spilled all my nightmares to, and my deepest, darkest fear that I will never be able to be normal again.
Normal. That is a word I never really thought about until recently. How can I be normal anymore? When I use the bathroom, you should hear the noise it makes. It creaks as I walk, and it cracks as the metal moves. Oh, and imagine the stares. All the people just staring with their peering eyes like a bunch of vultures looking at a dead carcass.
“Nothing, how about you?” Aaron had sent me.
For a meer second I thought about telling him about my nightmare I had today, instead I asked him, “What is it like outside?”
“What do you mean?” he asked me probably wondering if I was alright.
"I mean what does it look like outside where you are at?” I asked him.
“It is overcast,” he sent and added right after that, “Why don’t you go outside?’” I stared at that message like maybe he had gone crazy.
“Are you crazy?” I asked him.
“No, but my mom always would say that you have to face your fears,” he said to me.
“Face your fears?” I asked him.
“Yeah, cut your giants down, Nora,” he said before he went offline.
I toss my phone at the foot of my bed. I huff and look at the ceiling. How could he leave me like that? I thought. Why don’t you go outside repeated over and over in my mind as I watch my fan.
Swinging my legs over the edge of my bed, I eye the door. I unsteadily walk to the door just to stare at the bronze door knob. With my reflection staring at me, I stare back also. My shaking hand starts to reach towards the door knob. I look at the door knob and was about to walk away. No, I have to do this, I thought, grabbing the door knob and opening the door.
The caramel colored carpet is a cushion for my footsteps as I walk into the living room. Sitting in the living room were my mom who is playing some type of cross word puzzle and my dad who is watching a football game.
Mom must have heard my prosthetic because she quickly turned around and asked, “Nora, are you alright?”
Dad paused his game and I said, “Yep, I-I was just going to step-,” I look at the haunting front door and continue the rest of my sentence in a whisper, “Outside.”
“I don’t think that is a-,” Mom started saying and getting up from her seat when Dad grabbed her forearm.
“Let her be,” he said to her. Mom lost all sense of words, and she starts grumbling as she sat back down.
“You can go, Sweetie. You’ll be alright,” Dad said, pushing play on his game.
The door opened for me with a simple tug. I walk out into the warm afternoon air and the cool breeze. I sit down on the porch’s edge allowing my legs to dangle off. The green world beyond me looked like someone had painted it.
My leg hit one of the flower pots my mom has along the porch. I peek between my legs to make sure I didn’t break the pot. I remember that pot, I thought, seeing the big pink and purple marbled pot.
This is a story which started on Mother’s Day last year. My mom and I had gone to a plant nursery to buy her a pretty flower for her Mother’s Day present. We ended up choosing a beautiful pot of irises. We had put the pot on the perfect space near the concrete. Two months later, we had gone outside to do our daily routine of watering it when we found it basically dead. Apparently, my dad had accidentally sprayed weed killer on it. That was the end of our Mother’s Day flower.
I reach down and pick up the pot to observe what I was seeing. I pinch myself to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. I sure wasn’t. At the base of the dead flower was a small stem and bud. It is growing back, I thought excitedly while gently touching the green plant.
While holding the plant, I realize something and thought, if this little plant can survive, there is a possibility that I can, too. We both have something in common. We were both in some type of accident. This little plant was accidentally sprayed with weed killer, and I was in a car accident. We seem to be trying to become our old selves again, so there is hope that things will get better. This tiny plant is fighting for its life!
As I place the pot in my lap, I look down upon it and whisper to myself and this little plant, “If you can fight, then so will I.”
Closing my eyes, I can still hear the tires screeching and feel the impact of the other car. Those things will probably stay around for a long time, but eventually, someday everything will be better. This car crash will be something of the past, a memory that I will only faintly remember. For now, I will just feel the sun and remind myself there is always light no matter how dark things can get.