Right Ankle

When she was 17 she was in a car accident where her ankle was pinched between two sharp slabs of metal. It cut through flesh and muscle and sinew and shattered the bone, leaving it pinned to the floor of the car. It hung from her leg as they put her on the stretcher and wheeled her into the ambulance. They sewed it and repaired it as best they could and packed it in ice, and gave her morphine. She lay in bed a long time, groggy, unable to find any train of thought. Doctors poked it and she endured several more surgeries. She could feel her leg calling to her foot. Adhere to me. For we are bound as one and alone we are neither. Come back, be mine again. And her foot seemed to respond, distantly through darkness and fog, I am here, but I can’t find you. Her leg called, come to me, and be whole. She felt surges in her ankle, like flailing strings groping and questing out. She felt it ebb and flow toward and back from her. Finally she felt it touch. Two blind fingers touching though a tiny slit in a thick woolen sheet. There you are, and here I am her leg said. I am found her foot said. I am found. And the bone and ligaments and muscles and sinews all seemed to twist around each and melt into single strands.
The ankle became infected shortly after. She imagined it as thick black frothy foam that billowed and surged inside her ankle, swelling it with its rage, pulling at the newly formed bonds with tight fingers. She’s just going to have to fight it off. And if she can’t? Then she may loose the foot. Or possibly the leg at the knee. Her mother was crying. She became hot. Too hot she thought, I’m going to burn to death. But she just kept getting hotter and hotter. Finally, loosing the sweat from her pores till she was slimy and delirious, she slipped into a deep agitated sleep.
She dreamed she was playing softball, running the bases. She rounded second and fell to the dirt hard, skidding her white uniform with loose brown dirt that clouded around her like cocoa powder. Her coach stood above her. You can’t run with only one leg you silly girl. Get back to the dug out; you’re useless to us. Then she was swimming in the ocean. Light sparkled at the crest of the millions of tiny peaks that poked up from the surface of the sea. She felt the sky above her expand away from her into and endless ocean of air. Birds sang and yelled like children playing. The warmth of the air and cool of the water soaked into her skin. The gentle waves rocked her there in the ocean like a baby. The sun began to set and she started swimming for the shore. She swam for a while then looked up to see how far she’d gone. But the beach had vanished. She looked out into the endless ocean. She turned and there was the beach behind her. She swam for it again, but again she looked and there was nothing but the ocean melting into the darkening night. The wind began to blow, and the water became choppy. She tried again and again until a wind tossed gull called out, you’ve only got one arm and one leg, you’re just swimming in circles! In horror she realized the bird was right. Then she was standing at the doors of a church. A white wedding gown flowed down her to the ground. Her family lined the pews, all heads turned to her, eyes moist. Her mother sat near the front crying and smiling. Her hands were clasped in front of her, and her father’s arm was gently locked with hers. His strong hand held her near the armpit, and she could smell his familiar scent. Standing at the pulpit was a man, his back toward her. He stood tall and his tuxedo well fitted to his broad shoulders and triangle torso. The music began and her father whispered, it’s time. She tried to step forward, but couldn’t. She tried again, one leg in front of the other, but couldn’t. You’ve only got one leg, her father whispered. You’re going to have to hop. She hopped, and then hopped again. With each hop her leg felt enfeebled. Soon her leg felt like a partially cooked noodle. It bowed and buckled in odd places, mid calf and thigh, and she feared it would snap if she tried to jump again. Her father lifted her and easily carried her to her spot next to the groom. She looked at the man’s face. He smiled so brightly that she couldn’t distinguish his features. She could see sparkling tears in the rims of his eyes. He mouthed I love you, then turned as the minister began the ceremony. We are gathered together today… behind her, though she didn’t look, she could see her mother crying. Her friends brows wrinkled, their hands clasped in front of their hearts. Her father’s smile uncontrollable. She saw her grandmother, who’d been dead for ten years, clapping and laughing. Will you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband to have and to hold in good times and bad? Yes she said. Yes he said. I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride. The music flared, people cheered and the man next to her bent down and kissed her. Her lips went limp before him. He kissed her and his joy became a beacon in the room. She felt nothing. She turned her eyes toward the preacher, who said to her, you’ve got no heart. Numb, she turned her eyes back and stared into the sun of the man’s face and reemerged from her dream cold, her teeth chattering.