The Opposite of Falling Apart [Formerly Three and a Half Good Legs]

5 (free sample)

J O N A S

Every week, Jonas's mom asked him to go on some errand or another with her. Every time before, Jonas had declined. Since school had gotten out, he'd only gone to the follow up visits with his doctor. Since he hadn't worn the prosthetic leg since he'd originally gotten it, he hadn't followed up with the prosthetist, or the therapist, for quite some time.

This was why both Jonas and his mom were surprised when she asked if he wanted to go to the grocery store with her for the weekly grocery shopping, and he said yes.

His residual leg was relatively sore from the over-exertion yesterday...The last time it had had to bear any weight was when he'd first been fitted for the prosthesis, and he hadn't used it since then. Jonas stood in front of the mirror on his closet door, hunched over his crutches. Fake leg? No fake leg? He shifted his weight. He'd always hated the way it felt, like he was standing on one leg even with the crutches. When you used crutches for a twisted ankle or something, there was still the feeling of a leg there, no empty space throwing off your balance...As much as Jonas hated the prosthesis, it felt less like he was hopping around on one leg.

He decided to wear it, but to still use the crutches. If anyone asked, he could say he'd sprained his ankle or something. He'd found the stump sock, at least. Stuck in an old box of winter sweaters at the back of his closet.

Once he was actually in the passenger seat of his mom's minivan, he somewhat regretted agreeing to come along. What was I thinking? He asked himself. He massaged his leg absentmindedly, that pins and needles sensation there again, this time in his toes (his toes that weren't really there anymore). He hated the phantom sensations. It was bad enough to feel pain, but to feel pain in a limb that wasn't there? It was disembodied and, in Jonas's mind, kind of creepy.

"Bird?" His mom's voice was hesitant. "Are you all right?" They stopped at a stoplight and she turned to look at him in concern. 

Jonas snapped out of his thoughts, recognizing the stoplight as the one he'd rear-ended the girl, Brennan, at.

"Fine, Mom," he said, giving her a small smile. He thought this one might look a little more real than usual.

She seemed satisfied and continued on when the light turned green.

Jonas thought about the Act of Leaving the House. He'd felt oddly proud of himself for leaving the other day, even if he was overall disappointed in what the result of that expedition had been. He'd left, gone out and that was what had mattered. The last time he'd been out of the house for something other than school or appointments had been before the accident. It felt...good, which was surprising. Jonas had mentally promised himself to try again sometime. He just hadn't expected to be trying again so soon.

His mom parked the car, and they walked in together...or rather, Jonas crutched inside while his mom walked. He received a few glances, but not nearly as many as he would have if he had just left his pants leg empty and the prosthetic leg at home. His jeans covered the metal, and he almost felt normal. Almost.

By the time they reached the end of the second aisle, his mom crossing things off on her list as she got them (Jonas's mom always wrote her lists by aisle number—milk, eggs, cheese: aisle one; canned beans, corn, tomatoes: aisle two; etc—he thought it was rather smart), he had begun to notice his mom casting glances sideways at him as they walked.

"What?" he asked, furrowing his brow.

"Are you...tired at all?"

Jonas's frown deepened slightly, but he sighed and said "No, Mom. I'm fine." He was always fine. What did 'fine' even mean? Fine was such a lie.