Paraplegic (COMPLETED)

Chapter 19

During my next class, Desiree wanted me to work arms again. I told her if I had to pick up another dumbbell again my arms would literally fall off and that she would have to sew them back on. She didn't find my drama queen act the least bit amusing, but nevertheless, she agreed to allow me to change up my routine. Though, what she had in mind wasn't much better.

She grips my toes with one hand and caresses my heel with the other, gently moving my foot back and forth. It doesn't sound that bad, right? Like, who in their sane mind would ever turn down a foot massage? Well, the demoralizing aspect is the fact that I can't feel it, and watching her little hands move around my foot poking and prodding at my skin with her fingers is just another reminder of how much feeling I don't have.

You can't even enjoy a foot massage, McKenzie. Add that to the ever-growing list of things you can't do.

"Is this really necessary?" I try not to sound ungrateful; I know handling people's feet isn't the most pleasant of jobs, especially for those who have really smelly feet or some sort of weird foot disease or something. Fortunately, my feet are adorable. Or at least they were before I lost the ability to use them. If I were to be honest with myself, I would have to admit that they are kind of pale and shriveled looking with a slight blue hue to them. I haven't even painted my toenails since the accident.

"Yes, it's necessary," Desiree says. "Stretching the foot muscles can sometimes awaken nerve endings that have become dead from the lack of use."

"Um. You do realize that I was in a car wreck, right? My spinal cord was shattered. Got it? Shat-tered. I don't think some TLC to my little piggies is gonna do a whole lot of good."

She chuckles lightly, the kind of chuckle someone does when they feel they know more than the person talking. "Perhaps. But if you are able to eventually regain your ability to walk, then your nerves will be alive and healthy, and further recovery will be that much quicker. I heard you are considering surgery, no?"

"Yeah. We're looking into it. But first I have to find out if I'm even a candidate. I mean, I would assume I am. Not sure what else I'd have to do in order to be one; spinal shattering pretty much says it all."

"Well, I wish you luck."

"Yeah. Thanks."

Desiree repeats the massaging process on my other foot. I can't bear to watch any longer, so I pull my phone from the belly pocket of my hoodie and check my Twitter feed. I've had nearly two dozen new followers in the past day alone from people that I don't even know, all wishing me a fast recovery and stuff like that. I guess most of them were students of Stardust High or possibly friends of friends who went there.

As I scroll through the comments, Aurora's profile icon pops up. I click on it and it takes me over to her Twitter page. Her profile picture is of the two of us, a photo we took last winter when we went ice skating for her birthday. We wore these silly looking hats on our heads, the kind that has the floppy flaps that droops low over your ears and a furry pom ball on top. Hers was a green and black checkered pattern, while mine was bright pink in color. I remember thinking that they looked so hideous, like something an Eskimo would wear during the dead of winter, but she loved them. So I bought her a pair as a birthday present and then one for myself. She insisted that we take a picture. I remember not wanting to be photographed with such a dorky thing on my head, but seeing as how I don't have her around anymore, I'm so glad that I agreed to it. And it made Aurora happy. I would give anything to be able to make her happy just one more time.

Her Twitter wall is filled with tweets from people expressing their grief and heartache over losing her. I don't recognize most of the usernames or profile pictures. One girl in particular left a comment about how much she appreciated all the times Aurora had helped her with her science homework, and that she would never forget the kindness Aurora extended to her. I keep scrolling down the list; there are a lot of them—hundreds upon hundreds of comments. I never knew Aurora was so . . . popular. I mean, she was never an outcast, but I never knew she had such a social connection with so many people. It's like she had a whole nother side of her, another life, one I never knew of.