relays of sensory and motor impulses were dead from his hip to his toes on the right side. He dragged his leg behind him when he walked with a pair of crutches, the muscles long-since atrophied and shrunken.
Joe had gone through more shoes in the last five years since the accident than he had in the previous thirty. Refusing to entertain the notion of a wheelchair, he accepted that the toes of each right shoe would be left, smear by smear, on the pavements he still insisted on dragging his limp leg along. Joe could only feel so bad about the injury to his spine and the resulting loss of shoe and sensation. After all, at least he’d lived through the accident that had taken Michelle’s mother from them.
Bouncing his rear end onto the bed, he reached out for his crutch and told Michelle, “Thanks, darlin’. I can manage from here.”
“Okay, Daddy,” she said, but did a quick sweep around his room and to and from the en-suite. She fetched his nightwear and a few other items before sitting them on the bed next to him.
Michelle lay a hand softly on his prominent right cheek bone and tried not to wince at how frail her father felt to touch.
“I love you, Dad. See you in the morning.”
Michelle leaned down and Joe kissed her gently on the forehead.
“G’night my wee darlin’.”
Joe brushed his teeth and washed, then dragged his dead leg into bed to read for the next hour, trying not to listen to the sounds coming from the front room and kitchen. Sounds made by his daughter readying everything they’d both need for the day ahead tomorrow.
No matter how Joe admonished her, Michelle would lay out his clothes, breakfast utensils and plates and all of the items she anticipated he may require to make it through the day. Finally he listened to her ascend the stairs and creak into the room her mother and father had once occupied. Joe switched off his lamp and lay down as his daughter went through her nightly ritual of speaking to her mother. He buried his ears into the pillow beneath him and gave his girl her privacy. Whatever Michelle had to say to her departed mother was her business.
“Michelle… Pardon me, Ms MacLeod?”
Michelle snapped her attention back to the room.
“Sorry, Miss.” She looked up at Mrs Taggart who was standing over her desk, “Could you repeat the question?”
Her biology teacher gave her that smile. The one all the teachers at Bellshill Academy gave her since her mum’s death. It was meant to convey patience and understanding, but instead screamed at her Ah, yes. You’re the damaged one we have to tip-toe around.
“Of course,” Mrs Taggart said. “To which compound does inorganic phosphate bind to, with the addition of energy, to form Adenosine tr…”
“ADP,” Michelle interrupted. “It bonds with ADP.”
Mrs Taggart bristled for a split second at the interruption before fixing that smile back on her face.
“Thank you, Michelle. Exactly so. Now Ms Grey…” Mrs Taggart turned away to quiz a classmate, the empty space her body had occupied now filled with the face of Heather Brown, who was glowering at Michelle.
“You’re such a dick,” Heather mouthed at her.
Michelle sighed and turned her attention back to her workbook.
Heather and she had been close friends all through primary school and had been frequent visitors to each other’s homes throughout their childhoods. Their parents were good friends also. Until the accident. Michelle had taken months to be able to face school again. Once a centre of her year group’s social hub, along with Heather, Michelle returned to find that she was no longer even a part of her group of friends anymore.
In her absence, they’d all moved on and designed for her a new existence, one in which she was the centre of rumours regarding her mental health. She had become suddenly the victim of a torrent of abuse and bullying. Mostly regarding her own mental health and her father’s disability.
At times during her
Joe had gone through more shoes in the last five years since the accident than he had in the previous thirty. Refusing to entertain the notion of a wheelchair, he accepted that the toes of each right shoe would be left, smear by smear, on the pavements he still insisted on dragging his limp leg along. Joe could only feel so bad about the injury to his spine and the resulting loss of shoe and sensation. After all, at least he’d lived through the accident that had taken Michelle’s mother from them.
Bouncing his rear end onto the bed, he reached out for his crutch and told Michelle, “Thanks, darlin’. I can manage from here.”
“Okay, Daddy,” she said, but did a quick sweep around his room and to and from the en-suite. She fetched his nightwear and a few other items before sitting them on the bed next to him.
Michelle lay a hand softly on his prominent right cheek bone and tried not to wince at how frail her father felt to touch.
“I love you, Dad. See you in the morning.”
Michelle leaned down and Joe kissed her gently on the forehead.
“G’night my wee darlin’.”
Joe brushed his teeth and washed, then dragged his dead leg into bed to read for the next hour, trying not to listen to the sounds coming from the front room and kitchen. Sounds made by his daughter readying everything they’d both need for the day ahead tomorrow.
No matter how Joe admonished her, Michelle would lay out his clothes, breakfast utensils and plates and all of the items she anticipated he may require to make it through the day. Finally he listened to her ascend the stairs and creak into the room her mother and father had once occupied. Joe switched off his lamp and lay down as his daughter went through her nightly ritual of speaking to her mother. He buried his ears into the pillow beneath him and gave his girl her privacy. Whatever Michelle had to say to her departed mother was her business.
“Michelle… Pardon me, Ms MacLeod?”
Michelle snapped her attention back to the room.
“Sorry, Miss.” She looked up at Mrs Taggart who was standing over her desk, “Could you repeat the question?”
Her biology teacher gave her that smile. The one all the teachers at Bellshill Academy gave her since her mum’s death. It was meant to convey patience and understanding, but instead screamed at her Ah, yes. You’re the damaged one we have to tip-toe around.
“Of course,” Mrs Taggart said. “To which compound does inorganic phosphate bind to, with the addition of energy, to form Adenosine tr…”
“ADP,” Michelle interrupted. “It bonds with ADP.”
Mrs Taggart bristled for a split second at the interruption before fixing that smile back on her face.
“Thank you, Michelle. Exactly so. Now Ms Grey…” Mrs Taggart turned away to quiz a classmate, the empty space her body had occupied now filled with the face of Heather Brown, who was glowering at Michelle.
“You’re such a dick,” Heather mouthed at her.
Michelle sighed and turned her attention back to her workbook.
Heather and she had been close friends all through primary school and had been frequent visitors to each other’s homes throughout their childhoods. Their parents were good friends also. Until the accident. Michelle had taken months to be able to face school again. Once a centre of her year group’s social hub, along with Heather, Michelle returned to find that she was no longer even a part of her group of friends anymore.
In her absence, they’d all moved on and designed for her a new existence, one in which she was the centre of rumours regarding her mental health. She had become suddenly the victim of a torrent of abuse and bullying. Mostly regarding her own mental health and her father’s disability.
At times during her
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