Stitches For Your Heart

Into the blue

The week went slowly, with limited visits by mom. She came about four times in the whole week. I wish she had come more, making me think she didn't care much. I had to convince myself that she cared enough to come at all. Between work, and housekeeping, and making sure the murderer wasn't back, she had a hell of a lot to do. I managed to convince myself after mentally arguing with myself for a few hours. Monday I had therapy for my leg. The therapist said that it was coming along nicely. I didn't think so though. I could still hardly bend it. I thank the paramedics for that. Tuesday I had to have about ten x-rays to make sure everything was still okay. I wondered if the radiation would cause some sort of mutation or cancer. The doctors denied that it would happen, but then again, doctors deny a lot of things.

Wednesday I got my stitches out. How I longed to itch my sweaty, itchy forehead. Instead though, I couldn't touch it at all. They put some goopy, smelly scar cream all over me. I tried to protest, but they wouldn't go along with my suggestion. Thursday I had to play with the other kids. I had to practically be dragged out of bed for that. The nurse helped me get on my wheelchair and told me how to operate it. I wouldn't really need to though, since the nurse was going to me pushing me around in it. I pretended to listen and nod like I was paying attention anyway. I put on my 'Oh yes, this is quite interesting. Do tell me more' face, and she seemed to beleive I was listening. After she was done explaining, or at least I thought she was, she wheeled me to the room with the other little kids. When I entered the room, there was dead silence. All the children were staring, and laughing their childish laughs. I was a lot worse off then the rest of the kids there. All of them nonchalantly stared at the gray scar cream covering my body. I could tell they were staring, though. All of the children laughed as one of the smaller kids waddled up to me and attempted to poke my leg. I screeched and they all had frightened looks on their faces. The smallest child came up to me, and sat down in front of me. He looked up, and smiled a preschoolers grin. I immediately felt sorrow for him. He had a puss-rimmed gash all across the top of his head, but he still had high spirits. I looked at him intently, and then he started to cry. I picked him up slowly, put him on my lap, and rocked him to sleep. He started to snore quietly, and I lay him down on the small blue sofa in the corner of the room. The nurse had left the room, I realized, so while I could I wheeled myself back to my room. It was better than in the dinky little playroom.  

Friday was the day I disliked most. I had to get dozens of shots. There was one for all the scrapes, the surgeries, the infection, the stitches, and some other odd concoctions. My arm burned like fire raging through my flesh after the many shots. The injection areas were swelled, and white with puss. A skinny male doctor came into the room and put a bandage onto each injection areas and handed me a lollipop, as if that would make up for all the pain and suffering they put me through. They smiled generously as they attempted to hand me the medicine-grape flavored sucker. I sneered in disgust and pushed the sucker out of the man's hand, and to the floor.  

Finally, the day I longed for the most came. Sunday, the day that I could go home. I guess I could count  on my mother picking me up to go home. It still wasn't technically a visit though. I could classify it as one in my own little world though. I thought as I lay in my bed. It felt like hours until my mother arrived. When she came, I was watching the same lame Japanese soap opera as a few days earlier. It figures that that's the only channel they have in the "adult rooms". My mom peeked her head in the door and smiled. Soon after her head, the rest of her body followed. She had a huge smile on her frown-pasted face. I actually thought I would never see her giant, toothy grin again.  

She helped me get into my wheelchair, which apparently I do have to operate on my own. It actually wasn't very hard to work. I rolled myself all the way to the car by myself. Mom had to help me get into the car though, because I had trouble lifting myself in. When I got into the car I decided to take a nap for the 20-minute ride home. I rested my head on the back of the seat and closed my eyes. Soon after, I drifted into dreamland.  

My mom woke me up when we pulled into the driveway. I saw Blakey and Cole sitting in the window, as if waiting for my arrival. As if they had knew what happened. My mother helped me out of the car. We had to leave the wheelchair at the hospital, not able to bring it home. We had to buy crutches from the small shop on the lower level of the hospital. I hobbled through the door on my crutches, because when the paramedics dropped me I had broken my leg. Thankfully the hospital paid for that one.  

Blakey and Coley jumped down from the window ledge and greeted me. Blakey rubbed up against my casted leg and purred. I hobbled over to the couch and my mother helped me sit down. The cast made my leg hot and itchy, but i tried to block the irritating sensations out of my mind. Blakey jumped up onto my lap and purred softly and sweetly.  

"What a good cat.." i thought to myself. All my closest and dearest friends came to visit me, and tried and cheer me up. Cole; who thinks hes a dog, tried to growl and protect me. He ran, circling the visitors. When my best friend Erin Elspeth came up to the couch, Cole sat by Erin's feet and purred. Cole knew he didn't have to protect me from Erin. When Erin left, I felt so lonely again. Blakey could tell I was feeling sad and and she hopped up on my lap and kneeded my arm softly.  

Then I started to wonder. "What did the man look like?" I remembered nothing. It may not have even been a man.. It had shoulder length poker straight red hair, almost like... Erin's. My mother would want to know this. I fought with myself about telling her. I guess I had stopped fighting mentally, and started fighting verbally, because soon my mother came in, with her bright orange flowered dress on, and asked me if i was feeling okay. I told her I was feeling fine, but she looked skeptical. After she stepped out of the room and went back to hers, Icontinued arguing with myself, this time making sure I didn't say anything out loud. My mind said don't, but my heart said to tell her. This was becoming a whole new level of pain.  

After an hour or so of watching the televisions flashing bright pictures zoom across the screen, I started to get a migraine. I called my mother for a headache pill but she didn't answer.  

"M-M-MOM?" I squealed. I slowly got up, and grabbed my crutches which were propped up next to the bright green couch. My mother loves neon things. I slowly inserted the crutches under my arms, and hobbled to the kitchen. There was my mother, belting out show-tunes and dancing around the kitchen while I just stood there and stared. I walked up behind her and tapped her on the shoulder. She belted out a scream and tensed and when she saw me, she sighed, laughed, and pulled out her ear buds and looked at me.  

"Sorry.. I wanted a headache pill.." I said softly. She got up and walked silently over to a small wooden cabinet above the white porcelain sink. She took out the pill and poured a crystal clear glass of tap water.  

"Thank you." I said  

"You're welcome sweetie. Now go rest," my mom said in that caring motherly voice. I swallowed the pill and went back to the den to sleep.  

-------------------*Few hours later*----------------------- 

When I woke up sweat was dripping from my forehead.   

"Mo-.." I started to speak, then I flipped over onto my side and turned on my silver RG650 Universe cell phone. I texted my mom to tell her I felt nauseous. After three minutes when she didn't answer, I once again slipped my crutches under my arms and waddled into the kitchen, painted, you guessed it, neon orange. My mother wasn't in there, but I remembered her telling me to take a shower. I went to the powder room, as I call it, and looked in the mirror at my pale white skin. There were bags under my eyes. My lips were blue, but also stained red from the blood. I shuddered in fear of my own reflection. I broke my eyes away from my captivatingly scary reflection and took off my shirt slowly, careful not to nick the stitches. I slowly put my shirt in the hamper. I took off my pants, and turned on the shower and got in. The water trickled down my body and soothed me, but burned my cuts. I was just finishing up washing my hair when I heard the front door slowly creak open.

*****Into the blue is a song.