Becoming Bionic

Chapter 2

The last thing I remember before going under is my parents beaming down at me, eyes full of love and hope and determination while they waited for the anesthesia to take effect. Even as the sleepiness took over, I remember being excited. I remember thinking, when I wake up, I'll have new legs! I'll be able to walk like a normal human again!

As I swim toward consciousness, the grogginess is like a forest of seaweed entangling me. Thankfully there's no actual risk of drowning, and I eventually work my way to the surface. The first thing I notice when I wake up is—

Drip.

Ugh, what is dripping on my face?? Dad better not be sweating on me. I know he can really get into his work sometimes.

Another drip falls onto my cheek. "Dad, stop it," I mumble. My voice slurs, like I've been drinking. Which isn't fair because the only alcohol in the house is for disinfecting things.

No one replies.

I move an arm to wipe the moisture off my face, only my arm won't move.

That's odd. My arms are weak, but I should at least be able to move them.

I try again but only succeed in twitching two fingers.

Okay, stay calm. People coming out of anesthesia in movies are always woozy and uncoordinated. As soon as Mom or Dad see me flailing about like a fish, they'll come help me.

Another drip spurs me to try harder. My whole arm spasms and flops onto my face. "Ow."

Where is Dad anyway? He said he'd be here when I woke up, to guide me with my new legs.

I pry my eyes open. They feel gritty and sluggish. Every part of me feels gritty and sluggish.

"Dad?" I croak while I wait for my eyes to focus. "Mom?"

The only sounds are drips of water around me.

I get my arm to slither off my face and squint at the ceiling. Water runs along the cracks there, dripping in random places and trickling down walls. The room is dimly lit by a single lamp pointed at my legs.

My new legs!

With an excited jolt, I lift my head to look at them.

Wow. They're... they look just like real legs! Toned and shapely, unlike the wasted-away chopsticks I had before. He even managed to match my pale skin tone.

When Uncle Robbie volunteered to let my father fit him with a prototype, he ended up with a hideous monstrosity made of metal rods and wires. It made him look like he had stepped right out of a science fiction movie. These legs look nothing like that.

I wiggle my toes. They feel stiff but responsive. "Mom! Dad! This is awesome!"

I push myself up to my elbows. The sluggishness is still there, but receding.

I still haven't heard any replies. "Hey, Mom? Dad?"

Where are my parents?

I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed. Odd that I'm not hooked up to any IV bags, heart monitor, or other machinery like other post-op patients. I'm not going to complain, though. Who wants to be attached to a bunch of tubes and computers?

The room is tiny, like a walk-in closet. A built-in countertop runs along one wall with assorted scientific equipment. Above it is a mounted shelf of books. A chair with a backpack sits next to the bed. It's like a weird little lab in here, but it's a room I've never seen before.

What am I doing in here? Am I even at home anymore?

And where is the door?

My head swivels back and forth, but there seem to be no door frames, doorknobs, or anything door-related.