The Running Dream Read Online Free PDF Page B

homework, but it seems so overwhelming and pointless.
    What do I care about simplifying rational expressions?
    I try to hide it, but Mom knows I’m feeling trapped inside this wide-open room. I say no to almost anything she suggests, so it’s not her fault, it’s mine.
    Knowing this doesn’t help, though.
    Yes still comes out no.
    She keeps me company when she can, but she’s been busy running errands for my dad, plus keeping the books and doing the billing. She’s the business end of Dad’s handyman service, and since Dad has an aversion to paperwork, things would be completely disorganized without her.
    Tonight she sits with me before bed and sighs softly. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
    I shake my head.
    I can’t seem to look her in the eye, and it makes me mad at myself.
    She strokes my hair. “I love you, Jessica.”
    My chin quivers. “I love you, too, Mom.”
    “Maybe it would help to have Kaylee sleep down here with you? I’m sure she’d—”
    “No!” I tell her. “I’ll be
fine.
”
    I hate that it comes out angry.
    She’s quiet a moment, then whispers, “Things will get better. I promise you, they will.”
    I nod, but I still don’t believe it, even though things
are
better than they were. I’ve been to PT twice, and back to see Dr. Wells once. Everyone’s very “impressed.” They all say how great I’m doing.
    And I’m moving around better. My stump still hurts, especially since I’ve been off the meds. But this morning I noticed a real improvement when I went through the massage and desensitizing routine. The rough-towel treatment didn’t seem so rough. I found I could massage harder.
    So why am I so cranky?
    “I’m sorry I’m being like this,” I manage. “I think I’m just tired.”
    “Remember,” she says after a moment, “every day is another day closer to getting your new leg.” She kisses me on the forehead and stands. “You heard Dr. Wells today. He says you’re healing very quickly.”
    I nod and force a smile. “I know.” Then I settle in for the night while she gets the lights just right and eases out.
    And I do sleep.
    For about two hours.
    Then at 11:04 I wake up really having to use the bathroom.
    I try to ignore it, but there’s no going back to sleep. So I get out of bed and hop down the hallway, but as I near the bathroom, I hear a sound.
    It’s soft.
    Unfamiliar.
    I pass the bathroom door and continue toward the kitchen.
    Hop, hop, hop.
    I brace myself against the entry and see my mom with her head buried in her arms, weeping at the table.
    Hop, hop, hop. I lower myself into the chair next to her and about give her a heart attack.
    “Jessica!” she gasps, sitting up, revealing the family photo album under her arms.
    She tries to close it, but I take it from her, and for the first time in weeks I see my right leg.
    My whole right leg.
    Gold shorts, royal blue singlet, three medals around my neck, and two legs.
    Two strong, smooth, and furiously fast legs.
    She tries to pull the picture away, but I anchor it and stare at my legs. And after a full minute of staring, I close the album and shove it to the side.
    I want to say
something
, but I can’t find the words, and neither can she.
    All we can do is wrap our arms around each other and hold on tight.

PART II
     

     

 
    S HERLOCK NUDGES ME AWAKE AT 5:45 .
    Just like he has every morning since I started running with him.
    “No, boy,” I tell him. “No.”
    He whimpers, licks my face, and waits, his tail sweeping across the floor.
    Sherlock’s bed was moved from the kitchen into the family room, and at first it was hard because he wouldn’t leave my stump alone. He knew something was wrong. Different. He would sniff it, or try to get near it to check it out. Thankfully, he’s over that now and just spends his time hanging out with me.
    I love him so much.
    He is always good, faithful company.
    But at 5:45 every morning he makes me cry.
    Especially when he wakes me from the running