Murphy and Me: Sophomore Fall

September: Meet and Greet, "You broke yourself?", Gaelic, and Mel Brooks

Balance and a certain amount of flexibility are required components to shower with only one working leg.

I got nothin' in either department.

The handicap stall with its metal railing has become quite helpful, and in four weeks there is the possibility that I'll get damn good at washing my hair one-handed as the other was required on the railing for this process.

Once I had showered for the day, had clean clothes on, and had crutched it down four floors feeling like a school bus with lines of cars behind it, stopping at each landing to let the masses behind me trample ahead, I felt marginally accomplished for the day.

It took almost twice as long to get to Mac's as usual. And there weren't many people in there - an exiting male soccer player held the door for me. Hopefully Mac wouldn't bellow because I still had my sneaker on my functioning leg, and shoes of any kind weren't allowed in the training room.

"Shoes," Mac chided without looking up from where he was poking laundry pins through dirty towels.

"How?" I hopped onto one of the tables and almost went off the other side. Wiggling into a stable position, the crutches were leaned against the bed that Mac didn't mosey over to. I scooched back - and since I was wearing the team sweatpants with the drawstring thing on the bottom and they were already up at the top of my shin like breeches or whatever, there was no need to pull my pant leg up to get to my cankle. I relaxed back on my hands; Mac undid the air cast and pulled off my sock. The thing - and by thing, I mean ankle - was downright nasty. Purple and black with bruising and about the size of a grapefruit. Didn't hurt, though. Thank you, Tylenol.

The guy on the next table, his knee wrapped in the blue sleeve of the machine on his other side, ogled as Mac inspected.

Then it hit me that he was staring at my face, not my disfigured joint.

"Hi." My usual starter, tried and true.

"You're Elf's girlfriend, right?"

I needed to work on my opening lines after that bombshell.

Mac hit a sore spot; I nearly bit through my bottom lip; the guy was a little open-mouthed.

"Yes," I said, once I'd retrieved my voice from my bronchial tubes.

"MacRiley's your boyfriend?" Mac asked while I breathed through my nose.

"Yes. Murphy's my boyfriend." My phone buzzed against my thigh. Probably said boy.

"Have you met Liam?"

"Yup." I yanked my right foot up from where it dangled off the edge of the table and flipped the shoe off so I could plant it and wrap my arm around my knee. You wouldn't think there was so much to look at with a sprained ankle. What was he lookin' for? The key to the universe? "And the twin approves."

Mac slipped my sock back on for me, finally. And slipped back into trainer mode, too. "Well - You want ice bath or bag?"

"Can I bag now and bath on Monday?"

"I just want to get a handle on the swelling." He went toward the ice machine; I scooted back against the wall and fumbled for my phone.

"He's a good guy."

I looked over at him. "I know. And I'm not going to hurt him." Mac came back and gently slapped the ice on my ankle. Multiple bags, actually. Awesome. He wandered away, and I was left with my phone, ice, and a football boy that I didn't know. Which, that last part especially, was probably going to become a story of my life. Well, better start the introductions somewhere.