Survivor - By Kaye Draper Page 0,2

Using one arm, I levered myself up just far enough out of my seat to reach the book. My legs helped but they were weak, unable to support my weight. I plopped back down almost immediately, book in hand.

After I checked out her books and slipped them into her tote bag, Mrs. Waverly reached across the counter to pat my hand. “Thank you,” she said sweetly. “Most people would get irritated with an old lady like me.”

I laughed. “I know the feeling,” I said lightly. “And it’s no trouble at all.”

She shouldered her bag and headed for the door. “See you next week dear.”

Throughout the day, my mind kept drifting back to the guy from the subway. He had seemed nice. And he really was very attractive. I frowned as I recalled the shady-looking men that were following him. Thanks to my overactive imagination, I dreamed up all sorts of outlandish stories as I went about my work. I had the guy involved with everything from a jewelry heist to the mafia. It was better than reading a mystery novel. Only this time, I didn’t have the ability to flip to the back of the book and see how it ended.

*****

The next day was one of the bad days where everything seems to take twice as long as normal and it seems like the whole world is out to get you. I awkwardly rolled over to shut off the alarm, and sucked in a deep breath when a spasm made my reaching arm contract painfully. Once the muscles relaxed, I tried again… and again. It only took me three tries today.

I sat up and pushed back the covers. The bed heaved and Taz, my big chocolate lab mix, stuck his face in mine. I ruffled his soft ears and he lunged to the floor and trotted out of the room. I used my hands to move my legs to the edge of the bed where I let them fall, my feet hitting the carpeted floor with a soft thump.

Sighing, I took a minute to just breathe. I closed my eyes and said thanks. Thanks for letting me wake up today. Thanks for everything I take for granted.

I double checked the brakes on my wheelchair and hiked myself to the edge of the bed. From there I levered myself into my chair, scooting sideways and using my arms to do most of the work. My legs helped, but they were lazy, weak. My brain was sending out the wrong signals, making motor control pretty much non-existent. I sighed and re-positioned my legs. Most people could move automatically, without thought. I had to concentrate like crazy. I tried to scoot back in my seat, and flopped back harder than I had intended. Sometimes I didn’t quite get the movement I was going for. An inpatient doggy whine drifted to me from the kitchen and I pushed myself into motion. “I’m coming, I’m coming. Chill.”

I grabbed some clothes out of my old, beat up dresser and wheeled into the big, open bathroom. Thankfully, once it was determined that my brain injury was a permanent condition, the car insurance company had paid to make my apartment accessible. The first couple of months after I came home had been rough. I had to have someone help me around, not because I couldn’t do it on my own- I had been through rehab at that point- but because there just wasn’t room for my chair or a walker. Now I didn’t have to worry about running into doorframes or getting my wheels stuck in the tight places.

I looked in the mirror and made a face. My thick, light brown hair was flat on one side and poufy on the other. I decided it wasn’t worth the half an hour ordeal just to brush my hair and get it into a ponytail. I ran my fingers through the thick mass and left it hanging loose. My hands were strong, since they did all the work, but they weren’t coordinated.

After I got dressed, I ate breakfast, gave Taz a final pat, and headed out. I had packed up all my stuff and headed toward the door when he intercepted me, his eyes in full-out puppy mode, and his leash dangling from his mouth. My memory was always worse on days like this. I laughed and let him take me for a walk.

In order to get to the library where I worked, I had to take the subway, so