Extras

Cinders: Physical Therapy

Lucy would take surgery over physical therapy any day. She would take crutches over physical therapy any day.

"Let's try a small step," Jason, her physical therapist/personal tormentor says.

Lucy grits her teeth together. "I'm. . . trying," she huffs, her lungs burning with the effort.

"Let's start with bending your knee. See if we can lift that up just a bit, like yesterday."

That's how Jason talks. A lot of "we" and "us." There isn't a lot of 'we' effort happening here, dude, Lucy wants to scream at him, but she doesn't have the oxygen to spare, for one, and Lee raised her better, for two. I'm royalty, Lucy reminds herself, I'm royalty, and I'm learning how to walk, and when I can, I'm going to challenge Jason to a fistfight and win.

Snapping her jaw together, Lucy tries to bend her left knee.

Her muscles don't know what to do with the command. Hey, the nerves say, just bend that knee there. The muscles reply, Sorry, there's no one here, please come back tomorrow.

Lucy's eyes almost ache with the effort. Come on. Just an inch. Just a tiny inch. The burning is so deep it's almost in her bones. Another round of sweat break on her forehead. It's already so exhausting, just standing on her own, just rising from the chair, and she's so tired of pushing herself, always, so drained from the endless pain, goddess, why can't anything just be easy? She wants this, she wants this, but she's so mad that walking is something she has to fight for so much. Tears make it hard to see.

Lucy lifts her thigh an inch into the air, bending her knee with the movement, then collapses back into her chair and throws up in the bucket Jason brought in for her.

"That was a great job," Jason says brightly, "We're making progress."

-

It takes a few more sessions. Lucy finally bends her knee entirely. Then both knees.

Finally, she takes a step.

It's just one step. A minuscule one that barely carries her an inch forward. It is the first step she has ever taken without her crutches.

With that one step, drenched in sweat, Lucy feels a swell of vindication. Take that, Jason.

"Very good!" Jason applauds, "That is amazing progress, Lucy. Here, let's get you back down there. Tomorrow we'll see if we can take it a little further."

"Further" means three steps. Then four. Then a full foot.

It makes Lucy's feet ache. How does everyone do this? Lee's feet must hurt all the time from just supporting her weight. Maybe crutches would be better, after all.

After Lucy walks an entire yard from one chair to another before she loses balance, Jason takes her in a wheelchair to see something in another part of the re cooperation facility. He takes her to a room full of different exercise machines Lucy doesn't understand, but luckily he rolls to a stop at the simplest: a bare stretch of floor with a blue line of tape, and then 15 feet away, a yellow line. A small railing follows along its entirety.

Jason steps away from her and walks to the yellow line, pointing at it with the same irritating bright enthusiasm in his expression.

"Do you see this?"

Lucy nods.

"This," Jason says dramatically, "is the Yellow Line."

He says it in such a way that makes it obvious it's capitalized.