Shark Girl Read Online Free

through that minute,
    I can make it through another.”
    So I do as he says,
    and get through
    one    more    day.
     

    Some nights,
    in between the clatter of medical carts
    that rumble by,
    and the endless vacuuming
    outside my door,
    I dream of my old self.
    Two arms,
    two hands,
    drawing. Always drawing.
    The lines thick
    and black.
    The animals I used to sketch,
    their eyes, watching.
    During the steamy noon hour
    while Mom goes for lunch,
    I take the pen and notepad
    and scratch away.
    Wobbly foxes,
    trees; levitating,
    one-dimensional clouds.
    I trash everything
    before Mom returns.
    I will continue in
    this vein until those trees
    take root, and clouds become cotton.
    I will surprise everyone,
    showing my work only
    when I am good again.
    Good.
    Again.
     

    Nurse: “You’re so brave, Jane.”
    Hospital volunteer: “You are a hero.”
    Physical therapist: “You’re a real survivor, know that?”
    When people talk like that,
    I could get up and slip away
    and they’d still stand there,
    talking to the cartoon cloud
    they’ve drawn over my body.
    Just once,
    I’d like someone to say,
    “Jane, you are a mess.”
     

    There’s a new kid in the physical therapy gym today.
    His name is Justin.
    Justin is around eight or nine or ten maybe.
    He’s lost his leg below the knee
    in some kind of car accident.
    His face is all cut up, too.
    Justin rolls over in his wheelchair.
    “What happened to your arm?” he asks.
    “A shark attacked me.”
    Justin stares. “He ATE your arm?”
    I feel sorry for him; so skinny and messed up.
    But I don’t need some kid bugging me.
    I move away but Justin follows,
    silent and smooth in his wheelchair.
    He asks,
    “Have you seen the new Superman movie?”
    I haven’t.
    Justin goes into the whole long, long story,
    complete with explosion sound effects.
    I wait to see what this has to do with me or my arm
    or the attack.
    Nothing.
    Justin just wants to talk about Superman.
    I like Justin.
     

    Mom watches me return
    from a loop around the hall
    with Lindsey.
    “Moving any better today?”
    she asks, all cheer.
    I slide into bed
    one piece at a time.
    “Not really.”
    Mom sighs loudly.
    “It
seems
like you are moving
    better. Sometimes I think
    you don’t look for encouragement,
    Jane. Try to acknowledge
    your progress. You
are
making progress.”
    Lindsey chimes in.
    “You sure are, Jane.
    You are doing just great.”
    Then Lindsey surprises us
    by putting a hand on Mom’s shoulder.
    “And you are too, Katherine.
    Really, really great.”
    Mom blinks back tears,
    but pretends not to.
    Wiping her eyes, she pats Lindsey
    on the back,
    reaches down for her newspaper,
    sits in the chair.
    “We’re
all
doing great,” she says,
    sniffing loudly. “Which is good.
    I have to get back to work
    sometime.
”
    “Sorry if I’m keeping you,”
    I hear myself say, harsh and ugly.
    “You could go in if you want. I’ll be fine.”
    Mom looks up, wipes her nose quickly.
    “I didn’t mean that, of course.
    I just meant . . .
    well, you know.”
    I don’t.
    But I don’t ask her to explain.
    Finally, she murmurs,
    “I’m going downstairs for some coffee.”
    When she’s gone,
    I can finally let these stupid tears
    come out.
     

    Mom sinks into the blue
    vinyl chair by the bed.
    “I’m going to have a few sessions
    with Mel.”
    I stare at her
    over my pudding cup.
    “Why?”
    She smooths the knees
    of her pants,
    smoothing and smoothing
    with slow, firm movements.
    “Well. He thinks, as family,
    Michael and I should
    talk about what happened.
    Talk about how we’re feeling.
    But Michael won’t go.
    So it will be just me.”
    “Oh.”
    I put the cup aside.
    Outside the window,
    the sun shines brightly,
    the sky is clean. Tops
    of palm trees sway slightly
    in a breeze.
    “It will probably only be
    a couple of times,” Mom adds.
    We don’t look at each other.
    What is this? She’s not stealing
    a guy I like, a best friend, or anything like that.
    But