Wild Child

Ch. 4: On The Road

I woke up on my last day at home with my head throbbing painfully. I'd been tossing and turning all night with my knee aching, hoping to avoid any medication, but at 2 a.m. I'd given up and taken the painkillers the doctor had prescribed continually since the accident. They always made me feel fuzzy-headed and hot when I took one at night, but I knew if I woke up with knee pain, I'd have a hard time driving.

I sat up, rubbing my eyes and swinging my feet out of bed. Groping for my cane, I stood up stiffly and hobbled towards the bathroom. A hot shower helped ease the stiffness I felt all over, and afterwards, I stood awkwardly hip-cocked in the bathroom, drying my hair in that weird stance I fell into when I needed to use both hands for something and couldn't use my cane for support.

When I was done, I patted concealer under my eyes and swiped on mascara and some blush. When I looked human again, I pulled on my favorite jeans- faded, holey, and straight cut, form-fitting around the hips and upper thigh and loose from the knee down. 

Full disclosure? I couldn't wear skinny jeans. They were too tight on my knee, and they alternately hurt it and annoyed the hell out of me, seeing as I spent all day stopping to tug them back up where the tight material around the calves kept pulling them down off my hips. It felt like trying to walk with my legs in a vise, like I'd duct taped the hem of my jeans to my ankles and couldn't stand up straight. My uneven gait didn't help. So I avoided them all together.

I pulled on one of my favorite tee shirts- a black V neck that had swirling white script across the front reading, "Training for my marathon." My mom had wrinkled her nose when I'd bought it, half in disgust and half in pain, but I'd laughed my ass off. I figured I was the only one allowed to joke about my disability, so why not be open about it? Besides, graphic tee shirts are my thing. I have enough to worry about in a day without fussing with ruffles and buttons, so I rarely wore anything but tees. I owned hundreds, all with cool pictures or funny slogans on them.

Satisfied with my appearance, I sat down to pull on my white slip-on vans and slid on my faded old gray "PINK" cap. I had a couple more hats tossed in my bag, and another handful in my jeep. I generally got annoyed with my bangs in my face but hated having my hair tied back in a ponytail, so hats were a regular part of my wardrobe, too.

I hobbled downstairs as fast as I could, sniffing. Definitely bacon, and maybe French toast? I was starving, and I wanted my last meal before being on the road to be a good one.

I stopped dead as soon as I entered the kitchen.

"Daddy!" I covered my eyes, trying not to cry. Sitting at my place at the table was a giant vase of pink tulips and yellow daffodils, my favorite flowers. A card in an envelope was propped against it, my dad's neat script spelling out my name across it. His black Visa was propped against that.

I sniffled, turning towards him as he stood at the stove, spatula in hand. He pulled me in tight and crushed me against his chest. "No buts," he said gruffly. "You're not traveling without money." He pulled back and sniffed, discreetly, before turning back to the frying pan. "Open your card."

My mom came in as I was sliding it out of the envelope, carrying a present wrapped in my favorite matte yellow paper and a big white ribbon. She kissed my temple and set the present by my flowers, before going to the coffeepot, pouring some into my usual yellow mug.

She set it on the table as I read aloud from the card. "We're so proud of you for all you've accomplished, and we love you so much." A lump formed in my throat as I scanned my dad's careful lettering, but I kept reading. "You've done so much for us, and we never truly thanked you. You deserve this chance to chase your dreams, and we support you 100%." Tears spilled over as I read the last line. "Callie would be so proud of you."

I stifled a sob as my mom rubbed my back, and my dad came over to crush us both into a hug, his voice gruff. "This past year was hard on all of us, but especially you, Emma girl. We're so proud of how much you've accomplished. You're going to do so great in California."

My mom patted my cheek, her eyes bright with tears, but she smiled. "I love you, Emma. We'll miss you."

"I'll miss you guys, too," I choked out, and they both crushed me in tight.

It was all going to be all right. For the first time in a year, I breathed easy.