Against the Universe

02 • maddie

When I get home, the door is already wide open. The floor of the hallway is covered with newspapers, and the workmen bustle around the kitchen with toolboxes and paintbrushes. Since my accident, the house has been undergoing a very lengthy renovation process to make it more wheelchair accessible. I had to abandon my bedroom upstairs, and my current room is now downstairs where half of the living room used to be. It's considerably smaller, but Caitlynn worked hard to make it as cosy as possible for me. Plus it looks out onto the back garden, a far nicer view than the brick wall I was accustomed to.

We've also had a stairlift installed, which works most of the time, as well as some modifications to the bathroom. But the kitchen is still a work in progress.

I greet some of the renovators before disappearing into my room. The walls have been repainted a calming lilac, but they're barely visible beneath all the Broadway posters. I used to fantasise about performing, but deep down I knew it was a pipe dream.

Not because of the paraplegia. I just have a very limited vocal range.

I'm still very musical though. I've taught myself acoustic and bass guitar over the past six years, and I've got my harp exam coming up in a month. Grade 8. If I pass, I'll basically be a professional. Or at least that's what Mr Tanaka's been telling me.

I should probably be practising now, but I find myself constantly putting it off. In the unaccompanied piece, there's one bar that I always stumble over. The notes are too quick for my fingers, and they bump into each other in a discordant clash. I envisage the wincing face of the examiner as they scribble down their barely legible criticism.

I shake my head as if to banish the negative thoughts, but it does nothing to quell the nervousness rising in my stomach. I decide to get changed into some comfy clothes and get a start on French homework so I can at least pretend I'm going to be organised with my academia this year, as if everything won't descend into chaos by the third week or so.

I'm typing up my notes to make flashcards online when Caitlynn knocks. I call for her to come in, and she pokes her freckled face through the door. "What are you up to?"

"Oh, the usual." I feign boredom. "Watching porn, selling drugs online."

This joke is part of our routine. She'll ask me about my day, and I'll make up something outrageous or glamorous. Like I haven't been stuck in limbo for the past year, reverse metamorphosing from social butterfly back to sheltered chrysalis.

"Good. Proud of you." She comes in and takes a seat on the lounge chair next to my bed. My designated space for unwinding and playing Animal Crossing. It's very snug, with a plush baby blue blanket and a long cushion with a formally dressed dachshund printed on it. It's also covered in Caitlynn's ginger tresses, from all the times she's crashed there.

Caitlynn O'Connor and my mum have been civilly partnered for the past five years, but I've always seen her as more of an older sister. With mum gone, she's forced to take on extra responsibilities as a primary carer, but we still maintain a relaxed, sororal relationship.

"How was your first day back?"

"It was alright." I spin my chair around so I'm facing her.

"Meet anyone new?"

"Not really," I shake my head, but then I remember. "Wait, yeah. There's a boy from my old school in my Sociology class. Grover."

Cait's face lights up. "That's nice. Were you friends before?"

"No, he had no idea who I was." I snort, remembering the mortified look on his face when I said I already knew his name. "He was a bit embarrassed about it."