Broken Hearts and a Small Glass of Lemonade

12

2 Weeks After:

Soapy water.  Red dishes clinking together.  My left arm working hard.  The woman standing to my right, drying the dishes and trying to help me.  My left hand shoving her arm away.

"I want to do it myself," I choke.  My throat is almost healed.

"I'm only trying to help," she defends herself.  Nonetheless, she lets me do it all.  I feel like I have to prove myself.  To do things.  To be someone again.

"It's alright," I reply.  "I was only trying to get my point across."

The scrubbing of dishes.  My brain sending signals to my right hand.  Nothing happening.

"Have you thought about an artificial arm?" the woman asks gently.  I shake my head.  "It would help..."

"I don't want one," I reply.  I concentrate harder on the dishes.  "How long do I have to wait to get a job?"

"A job?" A look of bewilderment.  "Why would you want a job?  You can hardly get up by yourself..."

"Look, I've been cooped up long enough.  When are you going to let me out of this prison?" I look at her shrewdly.  "You're just afraid that people will talk, aren't you."

A look of embarrassment.  Clinking of red dishes as she dries and puts them away.  "What does it matter to you?  You can't even remember what it was like before the accident."

"I can remember everything but you," I reply sharply.  Maybe too sharp.  A tear.  And then another.  Suddenly the woman puts down the dish she is holding and wipes them away.

"I'm your mother!  How can you forget that?"

Pain.  More tears.  I realize that I am crying also.  The woman steps forward, carefully.  I rush forward and hug her.  It's a little awkward, but I can see that she needs it.  Her comfy, red dress material rubs against my scars and I sigh.

"I've tried to imagine," I whisper, "what it was like before the accident.  But I only get little glimpses.  They're mostly of Riley and Lillie.  I'm sorry."

A stunned silence.  An empty room.  Loneliness.  No slamming doors.