“Okay,” I said, sitting up and stretching. I switched off the computer.
“Alba,” she said. “Let’s talk for a minute.”
I turned around to face her. She was holding Frieda. She smiled at me and tilted her head. “Are you okay?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said, more confident than I felt. “I’m okay. Don’t worry.”
“Tomorrow is a big deal,” said Mom, stroking Frieda. “I want you to be prepared for disappointment if the operation hasn’t worked out 100 percent. Remember what we talked about, okay?”
“I will,” I said. “I promise.”
Mom just looked at me and nodded. Her eyes looked worried.
I got up and kissed her on the cheek. “It’s okay, Mom. Really.” I gave Frieda a kiss too. “I’m going to bed.”
I went to my room and saw that Alfred had beaten me into bed. He looked up at me with a guilty face but I let him stay. I rearranged his spindly whippet legs before slipping under the covers. Smelly the beagle and the cats were having a truce and were asleep together on the spare bed. I turned off the light and closed my eyes. All of the information that I had read online swam behind my eyelids.
It was hard to fall asleep. It was hard not to think about what would be under Cleo’s cast. When I finally fell asleep, I had a dream that I was falling through a hole. The hole became a tunnel and the sides of the tunnel were filled with books—shelves of books like in the school library— but every time I tried to grab hold of one, it disappeared.
I kicked my legs and flapped my arms and I heard someone say, “Are you trying to fly? Is that what you’re trying to do?” And then I was sitting in a tree, feeling foolish, wondering how I got up so high.
How am I going to get down? I wondered. I looked at Cleo. The cast was off but my foot was not a human foot at all. It was a huge, furry blue foot.
“It’s okay. You’re the Cookie Monster, remember?” The words came from Mom, who was now also sitting in the tree.
“But I don’t want to be the Cookie Monster!” I cried, shaking my huge, furry blue foot. “Please! I just want to be normal!” I was crying and shouting. “Please! I just want to be normal!” I could feel my cheeks getting wet.
The next thing I knew, Mom was shaking me awake and Alfred was licking my face.
“Time to get up,” she said. “Today’s the day.”
Chapter Fourteen
Cleo’s Big Debut
Dr. Schofield held Cleo in his hand.
I kept my eyes focused on it to remind myself that it was actually attached to me. This small, pale foot, connected to the thin, white leg, was part of me.
“I’m going to manipulate your foot and ankle a little,” he said. “You tell me to stop if it hurts, okay?”
I nodded and he began to turn my foot around in his hand and press it back and forth. He kept his eyes on my face. “How is that?” he asked. “We need to work on flexibility. Your ankle has been in the cast for a long time, so it will feel strange at first.”
I nodded, my eyes still on Cleo. My foot was pointing the right way. It was straight; it wasn’t twisted. There was a new scar on my heel that ran up the back of my calf.
I looked over at Mom, whose eyes were shiny. I think she was holding her breath, because she was just nodding with her hands over her mouth.
Dr. Schofield smiled at me. “Okay, cowgirl. Let’s see you put some weight on it.” He helped me down from the exam table and held my hand while I gingerly stepped onto the carpet.
I stood on my right foot and tested the weight on my left. I took tiny steps and let go of his hand.
“It feels so weird,” I said. “It’s so stiff.”
“That’s natural,” he said. “It’s bound to feel stiff and awkward at first.”
I took small steps, one after the other, until I did a kind of victory hobble around the office. I had to grab onto furniture for balance. I stopped to give Dr. Schofield a high-five. I hugged Mom and Agnes too, who had joined us. I sat down and lined both feet up next to each other on the carpet.
“It looks so…small,” I said.
Dr. Schofield nodded. “That’s because your left foot and leg haven’t had a chance to develop in the same way as your right side. Your calf will get stronger, and so will your foot, but it will never look exactly the same.”
“It looks perfect to me,” said Mom, who had finally taken her hands from her mouth.
“Did you bring the trainers?” I asked her.
Mom handed me a bag with the new trainers. I put on a pair of socks and I slipped into the shoes. It was amazing to feel the spring of the trainers underneath both feet. I got up and put weight on each foot, one at a time.
“You’ll have to be careful of your left heel because the scar at the back will rub and give you nasty blisters,” said Dr. Schofield. “You’ll need to stock up on Band-Aids and such.”
I limped around in my new trainers. My balance was terrible and the left shoe kept slipping off because it was too big. Cleo looked to be about two sizes smaller than my other foot. But it felt so light after the weight of the cast.
Agnes handed me an insole. “Here, she said. “Put this into your trainer. It will help it from coming off.”
I slipped the insole into my trainer. It worked pretty nicely.
“Let’s talk about your physio exercises,” Dr. Schofield said. “By now you know your exercises well. The more you do, the stronger your muscles will become and the better balance you’ll have. You’ll need your crutches for the first week at least, I’d say. Remember the three things we talked about: flexibility, strength, and balance.”
He looked at Mom. “Time to get the stationary bike out of the basement again,” he said, smiling. “That will really help again at this stage.”
I looked from Cleo to Mom, to the doctor, and back again to Cleo.
“Oh, yes. The race,” he said, like a mind reader. “When is it?”
“In two weeks,” I said, talking to my trainers. “Two kilometers.”
“I see. Okay,” he said, putting his hand on my back. “Alba, if you work hard on your exercises you might be able to walk some of the race. But you also might have to sit this one out. Let’s see how it goes, all right?”
I looked at Mom and opened my mouth to speak, but she held my gaze. “That sounds like a good idea,” she said. I bit my lip and stayed quiet.
I looked down at my mismatched feet. Then I looked up at Mom and Dr. Schofield, who were beaming at each other. Mom threw her arms around him. For a horrifying second I thought they might actually kiss. I coughed. Loudly.
***
Mom’s bestie Alisha came over for dinner that night. She brought Champagne, and I had ginger ale in a fancy glass. We toasted my foot and we toasted Dr. Schofield and we toasted high-performance trainers. When Alisha and Mom were fixing dinner I took the cordless telephone and went into my room. I dialed Levi’s number. It rang and rang, but no one answered.
I sat on my bed and ran my finger along the scars. I moved Cleo around, left then right. I marveled at the sight of my foot pointing straight. I thought more about what Dr. Schofield said about the race.
None of it would feel real until I could show Levi.
I picked up the telephone and dialed Levi’s number again. It rang and rang. This time the answering machine kicked in and Levi’s mom’s voice came on, saying to leave a message. I banged the receiver against my head a few times and then I hung up.
I flopped back on my bed and looked at the ceiling.
Feeling both happy and sad at the same time makes your head hurt.
Chapter Fifteen
Storm Clouds
On Saturday we took Frieda the Chihuahua to Golden Elm to visit Sadie. I like going to Golden Elm. I like the way everyone there treats my mom. The nurses and the residents give her big smiles and open their ar
ms for her to hug them. We didn’t have to sneak Frieda in because she is allowed to visit on Saturdays, when a certain supervisor isn’t around.
Sadie was propped up in bed. She had breathing tubes in her nostrils. They were attached to an oxygen tank. I hesitated at the door, looking at the breathing tubes. Mom gave me a little push. “Go ahead. I’ll be back in a few minutes. I want to check in on another patient.”
I carried Frieda into the room and put her on the bed next to Sadie. Frieda’s tail wagged like crazy and she made happy snuffle noises and burrowed into Sadie’s armpit.
I watched Sadie pat Frieda, her hands knotted and her skin like tissue paper. “Silly little goose,” she said to Frieda. “Is she being a good girl?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “But she’s a real hog with the petting. It’s never enough.”
Sadie chuckled. “A little body with big needs,” she said, covering Frieda with her frail hands. “I miss her.” Sadie looked at me with her soft eyes. “Thank you for my drawing—a hummingbird charm, how delightful.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty cool,” I said. “Sometimes a group of hummingbirds is also called a glittering or a hover.”
Sadie shook her head in wonder like it was the most amazing thing she had ever heard. “How is your foot?” she said. “Your mom told me you were getting your cast off yesterday.”
I looked down at Cleo. I was wearing long stretchy leggings to cover the lily whiteness. “It doesn’t look exactly…normal,” I told her.
“Normal? Who wants to be normal?” said Sadie. “Normal is so ordinary.” Sadie smiled. “You can’t be extraordinary, if you’re ordinary,” she said with a trickle of laughter. She sighed and patted the bed for me to sit down. “We all have something that makes us feel different,” she said. “Maybe it’s something on the outside or something on the inside. I remember when I was a young girl like you, I thought I would fit in if I wasn’t so tall.” She shrugged and we smiled at each other at how silly it sounded. We petted Frieda some more.
After a while, she took my hand in hers and closed her eyes. I sat there until I realized Sadie had fallen asleep. I slipped my hand from hers gently, so as not to wake her up, and scooped Frieda from her armpit. I kissed Sadie’s cheek before I left. It seemed wrong not to.
After Golden Elm, we took the dogs for a walk in the park. I left the crutches in the car and walked with Smelly and Alfred, a leash in each hand. I walked on both feet, slowly. I didn’t fall but I had to keep hopping on my right foot to keep my balance. Mom sat with Frieda on a park bench and watched me with a huge smile on her face.
I walked along the path, heading for the park fountain, when I noticed a familiar figure jogging toward me through the park. It was Miranda.
“Oh, hey!” she said, reaching me. She bent over to catch her breath.
“Oh, hi,” I said, wondering if these were the first words I had actually ever spoken to her.
“Wow!” she said. “Are these your dogs? How cute.” Miranda knelt down and petted Smelly and Alfred. They licked her face. “You’re so lucky to have dogs,” she said. “I’m not allowed.”
“Really? How come?” I asked.
“We live in an apartment. It doesn’t allow dogs,” she said. “Besides, my mom says we can’t afford a pet.”
I nodded, tongue-tied.
“I’ve seen you watching us at the track,” she said, and then she laughed. Smelly kept licking her face and she laughed even harder.
I was suddenly horrified. Was she laughing at me? I pictured Miranda and her friends laughing and pointing at me in the stands. They were probably all laughing at me this whole time. At how lame I must have looked watching the athletic kids.
I pulled the dogs away and Miranda looked up, surprised. She studied my face.
“No, wait, I didn’t mean…I wasn’t laughing at…I just meant I saw you and—”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I have to go. My mom’s waiting.”
Miranda looked stricken. She shook her head as if she wanted to say something, but I turned and limped away. Then I couldn’t help it; I looked back to see if she was still there. She was gone. She was running away from me on her perfect legs and her perfect feet.
I went back to the bench where Mom was sitting with Frieda.
“Who was that?” Mom asked.
I didn’t answer. “How badly am I limping?” I asked her.
Mom shook her head, “It doesn’t matter.” Which is what she always says.
A bubble of anger rose up inside me.
“Why do you keep saying that?” I snapped, dropping the leashes at her feet.
“Because it doesn’t matter,” she said.
“But it does matter,” I said. “To me.”
“Alba, what do you want exactly? To have two good legs? To have two good feet? To walk unassisted? Well, my girl, you have all of those things. You need to remember just how lucky you are. You have to be patient. Who cares about a limp? Who cares about a race? There will be plenty of time for running once you have given your foot time to heal properly. ”
“I do!” I said, suddenly raising my voice. “I care! I’m sick of having to feel lucky and patient. I just want to feel NORMAL. I don’t want to limp. I want to stop being different. And I want to be in the stupid race! How can I be normal if I can’t even run in a DUMB race?” The wave of anger washed through me and left me trembling.
Mom shook her head. “We talked about this, remember?” she said quietly. “About being realistic. About maybe not being able to run in the race.”
I didn’t answer. My heart was pounding in my ears. I picked up the dog leashes again and limped away from her. I kept hobbling, trying to ignore the stiffness, my missing balance, and the blisters that were already starting to sting. I reached the car and waited in steamy silence as Mom unlocked the backdoor to load in the dogs. I sat with them in the back seat.
We didn’t go straight home. Mom pulled into the grocery store on the way.
“What should we get for dinner?” she asked, looking at me in the rearview mirror. I turned away and didn’t answer because I was not talking. Especially after I wasn’t allowed to sit in the car and wait with the dogs while she did the shopping. I reluctantly trailed her inside, hopping, because I refused to use my crutches.
“Let’s have spaghetti with Alfredo sauce.” Mom threw the ingredients into the cart. She was trying to win me over with good cooking. She was also ignoring the fact that I was ignoring her, which was beyond irritating. I followed behind her like a storm cloud. I willed myself not to feel miserable when I saw Levi’s favorite spicy hummus dip with baby carrots in the cold-food aisle. I couldn’t stop myself and grabbed a packet, even though no one in our house likes hummus. We arrived at the pharmacy section and I tossed box after box of different-sized Band-Aids in the cart.
“Hey there, big spender,” Mom said, replacing the boxes on the shelves. “How about we start with one box?”
I kept throwing Band-Aid boxes into the cart.
“Alba, stop!” Mom said. “I didn’t raise you to behave this way. To sulk and feel sorry for yourself.” She sighed and lowered her voice. “Put the boxes back now, please.”
For the second time that day I turned my back on my mom and went to the car.
On the way home I hoped that Mom would insist on stopping by Levi’s, but then I realized that she wouldn’t because we had the dogs in the car and groceries in the trunk.
I looked out of the window.
All I could see was Miranda and her friends laughing at me.
Chapter Sixteen
The Story of the Hummingbird and the Fire
At dinner I continued my snooty mood and only spoke when absolutely necessary. I could tell this was grinding on Mom’s last nerve. I was finally allowed to go to my room after I cleared the plates.
In my room I flopped
on the bed and looked up at the glow-in-the-dark star stickers that Levi and I had put up years ago. I wondered what a wormhole sticker would look like. Then I noticed something on my pillow. It was a folded-up piece of paper with a ribbon tied around it. I sat up, untied the ribbon, and unwrapped the paper. It was a story typed on a single sheet of plain, white paper. The title read: The Story of the Hummingbird and the Fire.
I went back into the kitchen where Mom was doing the dishes. I waved the paper at her. “Did Levi drop this over?” I asked her. “Or is it from Sadie?”
Mom shrugged. It was her turn for the silent treatment. All she would say was, “It’s a surprise.” She gave me the look adults give you when they want you to figure things out for yourself.
I took the paper back to my room and put it on my desk. I tried my best to ignore it, but it kept calling to me. It’s hard to keep up a bad mood when you’re alone. So I grabbed the paper, sat on my bed, and started to read.
Long, long ago in an ancient land, a huge fire swept the entire forest. The fire ate up all of the trees and all of the grass and all of the shrubs. Black smoke darkened the sky. All of the animals in the forest ran for their lives away from the fire. It was a mad stampede toward safety, away from the flames.
But the hummingbird flew in the opposite direction. She flew toward the fire, her beak full of water. Once she had dropped the bead of water onto the forest fire, she flew back to the river to fill her tiny beak and return to the fire. She repeated this over and over.
“What are you doing, silly hummingbird?” the large animals called up to her. “You are too little; your wings will burn; your beak is too small to hold enough water.”
But the hummingbird did not listen. She kept returning again and again to the river, each time flying back to deliver a single drop of water on the fire.
“Do you really believe you can put out this huge fire?” the large animals called up to her. “With your little wings and your small beak? What you’re doing will barely make a difference.”
The Theory of Hummingbirds Page 5
