sophie.

Chapter 2

DECEMBER 7TH, 2013

The first day home, if I remember correctly, wasn’t as relieving as I thought it would be. At least, not at first. The hospital gave me crutches and every time I had to use them, I was either using them wrong or, at the very least, rather unwieldy with them. I was stumbling through the door when I nearly tripped, but my father caught me before I fell, and I thanked him quietly. I was embarrassed that I still needed help from my father. Up to that point in my life, I was pretty independent, but until pain stopped shooting up my leg every time I leaned on my right foot, I would need crutches, and therefore help from anyone closest to me. Because I knew, deep down in my heart, that those crutches were utter shit.

I guess I can’t really say that we had one of the largest houses in town, because now that I think about it, all the houses in Polo were small. Sure, our house dwarfed even the mayor’s, but if you compared our house to one in some rich-bitch equestrian estate, we were just your average home. Average two-floor bungalow house remodeled in the sixties to hippy garb. We were still trying to get rid of all the shag carpeting.

As soon as I was well-acquainted with the leather couch in the living room, I turned on the television and grabbed the phone sitting at the side table, then dialed Sawyer’s home. He would have to come over and entertain me or there would be hell to pay. His mom answered after two rings.

“Bartlett residence,” she answered. Karen Bartlett was a nice woman who I considered my second mother whenever mom was out of town on a business trip or something. Needless to say, I was very well acquainted with her, and often forgot to use my best manners accordingly. She liked good behavior.

“Miss K!” I exclaimed through the phone. I referred to her as ‘Miss’ K because, long ago, Sawyer’s father did some pretty shitty things, and Miss Bartlett didn’t exactly fancy being married to him anymore, so they divorced. He’s still alive, I think, but I never actually met him, and I’m fairly certain that the guy doesn’t even know I exist. I concluded long ago that I was alright with that.

“Sophie?” she asked. Usually she would reprimand me for my mannerly misconduct, but this time, Miss Karen Bartlett relieved herself of her duties to fix my mistake and simply reacted to the act of me, calling her from my house rather than hospital. “Oh, how are you? Are you feeling any better?” she asked. She was almost always kind and caring, and usually, she was understanding, unless of course there was good reason to act otherwise. I told her I was fine and asked her if Sawyer was home.

“Yes,” she answered, and then I heard a muffling, which I assumed was her hand up against the receiver. She called Sawyer downstairs and, after a moment of waiting, he picked up the phone.

“Soph!” he exclaimed loudly. I pulled my ear away from the phone in reaction. “What’s going on? Are you home?”

“No, I’m at the hospital. Duh. Of course I’m home!” I shot back.

“It’s good to hear that,” he responded.

“... so are you going to come over or what? Throw me a welcome back party?” I joked. It wouldn’t take Sawyer very long to come over, and it wasn't like I was a pain for him to hang out with.

“I guess so,” he responded, as if he were really thinking it over.

“You better,” I warned him, smiling. “See you soon.” I hung up the phone and picked up my crutches, which were leaning against the sofa cushion next to me, and pushed myself up from the handles. Trembling, I hobbled to the northern side of the room, where I looked out the window, peered through the neighbor’s window, and saw their living room light go off. Their front door opened, then shut again, and Sawyer walked across the lawn to my porch. There was a pause as I assumed he composed himself outside my door, and a moment later, he knocked. The next act I performed was one worthy of becoming a circus routine: leaning on my good foot to open the door, meanwhile admittedly struggling with my balance to do so. I was cursing silently the whole time.