Anything but Ordinary(6)

“Looks like you’re going to be occupied for a while,” Carter said.

“Yeah,” Bryce said. “Thank you…so much.”

“No worries,” he said, backing out into the hallway.

“See you tomorrow?” she asked, suddenly. “I mean, in case I need you to scare away some more neurologists, or something?”

“Sure.” He nodded and then he was gone.

She dipped her finger in mashed potatoes, and started to flip through the highlights of the last few years. Skirts getting shorter, then longer; computers smaller and flatter; starlets moving in and out of the spotlight; athletes getting caught with steroids and mistresses. Bryce was secretly glad Carter didn’t include anything with actual global events. If the world was just made up of shallow celebrities and makeup tips, nothing had changed in five years. Everyone, everything, had just been waiting for Bryce to wake up.





s our car wheelchair accessible?”

Bryce sat between her parents in Dr. Warren’s dusty, fake plant–filled office. She wore jeans and a tank top, as she had for the past week, to make it very clear that she would no longer be needing a hospital gown. She would no longer need to take her clothes on and off for stethoscopes, wires taped to her chest, and fMRI scans. It had been two months since she had opened her eyes in April, and she was ready to go home.

Bryce’s mother rubbed her daughter’s back absently as she looked at one of Bryce’s used copies of OK! The thrill of old magazines had faded fast, and Bryce had moved on to crossword puzzles. She greeted Carter every day with the challenge to find a three-letter word for fasten metal teeth or to fill in the blank of 1970s Scorsese thriller, ___ Driver. Because his head was filled with the Latin names for diseases, Carter was pretty miserable at pop culture. Bryce wasn’t great either, but thanks to her dad’s various collections, she was a whiz at most movies and music made before 1980.

Her mom looked up at Bryce’s question and sighed. “No, it’s not. It’s just an SUV.” After a moment, she said sweetly, “When it’s time, we’ll get one of those vans for you.”

Bryce wanted to scream, It is time! but instead settled on, “I won’t need a wheelchair soon.”

Her father looked at his watch and made a noise of approval on the other side of her. Bryce could smell his aftershave. “Thatta girl. Did you read those articles about core strength I printed for you?”

“Yeah,” Bryce said excitedly. “I’ve been doing the medicine ball twists, they’ve got me sore, but that’s always a good thing, you know?”

He moved to the edge of his generic waiting room chair, like he was poolside at a meet. “I bought this DVD, too, about plyometrics. Maybe you can use the bars. Work on your quick-twitch muscles.”

In the first couple of weeks, Bryce and her dad had been hard-pressed to find things to talk about. While her mother fussed over things like getting Bryce a proper haircut, her dad just stared around the room. But then he attended one of her physical therapy sessions, and by the end of the forty-five minutes, he was informing the trainer about the best way to strengthen Bryce’s genetically weak ankles. Maybe the world thought Bryce’s insanely fast recovery was a miracle, but Bryce liked to think it was also the work of Coach Mike Graham.

Dr. Warren entered, her short gray hair in sweaty clumps, her white coat folded over her arm. “It’s hot out there,” she said.

Bryce cracked her knuckles and gave a small smile. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Sorry,” the doctor said, nodding hello to Bryce’s parents and settling behind the desk. “It’s been a while. How are you?”

Bryce moved her wheelchair back so she could stretch out her legs on the carpet.

“Bryce?” Bryce’s mother touched her elbow lightly.

“I’m great.” Bryce gestured to her straight legs. “I feel like I’ve been doing pretty good.”

“You’ve been doing excellently. Your patterns are relatively normal, save a few glitches.”

Her father jumped in with pride in his voice. “She was standing up and sitting down at her evening session yesterday. No help from anyone. She even took a step on her own.”

“I think I’m going to walk without assistance pretty soon,” Bryce said.

Dr. Warren raised her thin eyebrows. “That’s a lofty goal.”

“I agree,” her mother said, her eyes meeting Bryce’s dad’s. Bryce’s mother turned coolly to Dr. Warren. “I think my husband forgets that she isn’t his little workhorse anymore.”

“It’s her goal, not mine,” he said quietly. “She wouldn’t rest if I asked her to.”

“He’s right,” Bryce let out. She felt her mother stiffen beside her, but she had to say it.

Her mother tucked her blond shaggy hair behind her ears and folded her hands over her khaki Bermuda shorts. “Dr. Warren, I think I am completely justified in wanting to keep my daughter’s recovery slow and steady. There are risks, are there not?”

Bryce rolled her eyes.

“There are risks, yes. We’ll get to them momentarily.…” Dr. Warren said, shuffling the contents of Bryce’s file. Then she looked up. “Tell me, Bryce. How’s your memory?”