The Opposite of Falling Apart

CHAPTER 7 - JONAS

By the time the weekend passed and Monday rolled around, Jonas was in a bad mood that he couldn't come up with one single definable source for. It was more of a medley of frustrating things.

For one thing, his leg was still sore from using the prosthesis last week. When the amount of phantom pain he usually had increased, his mom lectured him about how he needed to build up to wearing the prosthetic leg more slowly.

So he sat and half listened to her lecture, growing more frustrated by the minute. It wasn't as if she knew anything about missing half of one of your limbs, so how would she know how it felt?

Jonas almost wanted to put the leg on again and walk all the way around his neighborhood, just to spite his mom (who was just trying her best really, he conceded eventually) and his own body (weak, weak body that couldn't cooperate with what he wanted to do). But he'd heard his mom last night, talking to his dad in hopeful tones. He hadn't heard her hopeful in quite some time. He still hadn't told her about the accident. Let her be happy. Let her be hopeful.

While his mom was happy, Jonas's bad mood wasn't helped by the arrival of two letters from Washington University, one with his housing assignment and one bearing the news that the labs for the anatomy and physiology class he had tried to sign up for were full and he had been put on a waiting list. Regarding the A&P letter, he wasn't that upset. He supposed it was what he got for signing up for classes long after everyone else had. He'd just take A&P next semester, if he took it at all. He still hadn't decided what he was going to do now that he'd given up on being a doctor. Maybe he wouldn't even need A&P. The housing assignment itself also wasn't that bad, but the big deal that his mom made over it was. There were tears, lots of them. His mom had been excessively overprotective since The Accident, and she hadn't been too sure about him going to a college that was out of town, even if it was only a few hours away (far enough to be away but not far enough that it was unreachable should there be an emergency). The letter brought on a whole new round of her trying to convince him that it might be best just to stay home (I can take care of you, Bird), and Jonas insisting that he'd be fine (I'm not your little Bird anymore, Mom) and then him trying to comfort her because he hadn't meant it that way, he just needed away from anyone who knew him before, because then maybe he could become someone else without the pressure that came with having everyone from before watching him now.

Eventually his mom had just broken down and kissed his cheek and hugged him, saying how proud she was of him, while ruffling his hair.

Now Jonas was back in his room, watching Star Wars: A New Hope. Outside, the humid air lay over everything like a hot, wet blanket. Inside, the air conditioner seemed like it was constantly running, struggling to keep up.

He was wearing the prosthesis. His gaze kept gravitating to his left foot. He stared at the sock. It was a knit sock (his grandma had made it), but he couldn't feel it—the knitting was rough, uneven, but for all his fake left foot would know, it could have been the most luxuriously soft sock in the world. He stared at it some more, as if that might make him magically regain feeling in the plastic toes. At least they looked normal right now—with the prosthesis on and covered, he could pretend. The prosthesis was a good one. His mom had done all the research on features, compared all the prices, and come up with a final wish list, the result of which was the current leg. (I think we want a dynamic response foot, and something called a cosmetic shell that lets you wear shoes and socks like normal, she'd said, squinting at the notes she'd made on her phone, and then at Jonas. That was how she'd woken him up that morning, sitting on the side of his bed with squinty-tired eyes and messy hair, hunched over her laptop. He would later find out that she hadn't slept the previous several nights, instead sitting in the living room and pouring herself into reading about prosthetic legs and feet. So he let her bring her list to the appointment with the prosthetist.)

Jonas dragged his gaze away from his left foot and picked up his phone. Unlocking it, he opened his texts. A number without a name, but still no doubt who it belonged to. The texts had arrived last night.

The first message: Is this fender bender Jonas?

Jonas's brow furrowed and he frowned at the screen.

The second message: Anyway, I just wanted to tell you the dent popped out of my car. No harm done. No need to pay.

He squinted at the phone a bit, in thought.

The third message: This is Brennan, by the way.

Of course it was Brennan. Who else would it be?

Jonas sighed. He debated over whether or not to respond to her.

He had what he needed, after all—the dent had popped out of her car. That was as much as he needed to know. Should he say something back? (Did anything need to be said back?)

He would probably never see her again anyway. He'd go off to school in a month. She'd go off to school. Or at least, he assumed she was around his age. She'd had graduation tassels on her rearview mirror. Recent senior, just like him? Maybe.

So to text Brennan or not? He wasn't really looking to form any new attachments to people in his hometown. It just got awkward once you went off to college and then, eventually, you'd fall out of touch. He'd seen it happen with Rhys, although it was a bit messier for his brother because there were not only best friends (several) and sports buddies (many), but there was also a girlfriend (Madison, whom Jonas generally tended to hide from, especially since her intended major in biomedical engineering made her way too interested in Jonas's prosthetic leg—What kind of foot did you choose? I mean, there are lots of options. If it was me, I'd want something that allowed for more movement.).

No, attachments weren't for Jonas. For him, friends he'd had in his hometown were a before and the friends he'd (hopefully) make at college would be an after.

So why did he feel like saying something to Brennan, even if it meant she might say something back?