Mia the Magnificent (15 page)

Lisa picked up the bottle and read the label. “These are pain pills. You’ll never get better if you use pain medication to mask your injuries.”

“Just hand me the pills, Lisa,” I said.

“But I’ve been studying your case for the past week and figured out a complete mind and body program to help you heal in the quickest time possible, and it doesn’t require medication.”

“I’m already doing physical therapy through the hospital,” I said, grabbing the pill bottle from her hand, unscrewing the lid, and popping a few tablets into my mouth.

“Physical therapy is only a start,” said Lisa. “On my plan, you’ll combine physical therapy with eating organic food, while listening to ancient Tibetan monk chants.”

“No, thanks,” I said, washing the pills down with a sip from the Gatorade bottle my mom had left out for me. “I think I’ll just stick to codeine.”

“But how are you ever going to get back to normal with your head full of toxins?”

“Lisa, look at me,” I said. “My face is twice its original size, my eyes are black and blue, I have cuts all over my body, and I’m stuck in a wheelchair. I don’t think getting back to normal is in my near future.”

“So just because of one little setback, you’re going to abandon independence?”

“One little setback?” I sputtered. “I think I would call being in a
wheelchair more than a little setback, Lisa. I mean, how am I supposed to be independent when I can’t even leave the house? My wheelchair doesn’t fit through the door, even unfolded, so my dad has to carry me in and out. I can’t shower, I can’t reach the cupboards in the kitchen to get my own food, and I can’t get to my bedroom to pick out my own clothes. I am as completely unindependent as a person can be.”

“Independence is a life force. If you really want to break free and be your own person, then you have to accept people’s help while maintaining your spirit. Just think of Susan B. Anthony, Martin Luther King, Jr., and Nelson Mandela.”

“Uh, those guys fought for people’s rights. I just want to take some codeine and have you do my homework.”

“But don’t you see? It’s the same thing!” Lisa pounded her fist on the coffee table, and I had to lurch forward to make sure the orange Gatorade didn’t spill onto our white carpet. “Being independent isn’t something you strive for just when life is easy. It’s something you try for even when times are tough. In order to be truly liberated, you have to stand up and—”

I cleared my throat.

“OK, bad use of words,” Lisa said, her cheeks reddening, “but you get my drift.”

“Wow,” I said, feeling a little less cranky now that I’d had some codeine, “you’re really on a roll today.”

“It’s just because I want you to get better,” Lisa said, her blue eyes welling up with tears.

I sighed. I never could resist Lisa’s sad face. “So, what am I supposed to do on this plan of yours?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Lisa said, her tears immediately replaced by a giant grin as she removed a granola bar and her iPod from her backpack. “The first step is to eat this energy bar while listening to a chant I downloaded.”

I looked at her. “You’re not serious.”

“I am,” Lisa said with a solemn nod. “And when you’re finished, I guarantee you will feel better.”

Figuring Lisa wouldn’t leave me alone until I at least gave her voodoo ritual a try, I reluctantly slipped the headphones onto my ears. Pressing the play button, I chewed off a corner of the granola bar. After swallowing my first bite, I said, “Hey, this isn’t half bad. What’s in it?”

“Rutabaga and wheat grass,” Lisa said. “Now, no more talking.”

Trying not to think about what I was eating, I bit off another hunk of the bar and closed my eyes as Tibetan monks chanted in my ear.

“Hey, peg leg,” Chris said, shaking me. “Wake up.”

“Huh?” I said, groggily opening my eyes.

“I said, wake up.” Chris slapped me lightly on the top of my head. “You’re drooling.”

“What?” I wiped the river of spit pouring from my mouth. “Where am I? What time is it?”

“Man, are you out of it,” Chris said, picking up the bottle of pills lying on the coffee table. “How many of these did you take?”

“It wasn’t the pills, it was the Tibetan monks.”

“Tibetan monks?” Chris said, setting the bottle down again. “Remind me to try some of these sometime.”

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. “Where are Mom and Dad?”

“Dad’s working late and Mom’s writing.” Chris sat down and flipped on the TV.

“Don’t you have something better to do, like trying to find out what missing link you came from?” I asked, fixing the cushions under my leg as I wondered how long it was until I could take my next codeine pill.

“Actually, I do have something better to do,” Chris said. “I’m meeting a girl at the movies in a half hour.”

“So, you and Gina are still going out?” I asked, utterly disappointed in Gina’s taste in men.

“Yeah,” Chris said with a grin, “but I’m going to the movies with Rachel. I met her at the mall and she’s totally hot.”

“You’re going to go to the movies with Rachel while you’re still dating Gina?” I asked incredulously. “I can’t believe you’d do that to Gina. I thought you guys were friends.”

“What’s the big deal?” Chris asked, turning off the TV, apparently deciding there wasn’t anything good on. “Gina and I aren’t exclusive. I can go out with whoever I want. Besides, Gina will never find out because Rachel goes to a different school. Tim told me to always make sure of that so I don’t make the same mistake he did.”

“Tim’s mistake was that he went out with two girls at once and he totally had to pay for it. Cassie and Alyssa both broke up with him while he was wearing a dog costume. Now he’s all alone and has only himself to blame. Do you want the same thing to happen to you?”

“Tim’s not alone,” Chris said. “He and Alyssa are back together.”

“What?!” I exclaimed. “When did that happen?”

Chris shrugged. “This week at school, I guess.”

So, that’s why Tim hadn’t bothered to visit me at the hospital. He was too busy making moves on the crazy cat lady. I couldn’t believe it! Here I was with a broken leg, a sprained ankle, and no driver’s license until I was eighteen, while Tim was back at school hitting on anyone wearing a uniform skirt. I wouldn’t even be in this mess if it wasn’t for Tim’s stupid idea of me looking him in the eyes to tell him I didn’t have feelings for him. Well, I definitely had some strong feelings for him now—like utter revulsion.

“Chris, roll me that wheelchair. I’m going to make a phone call.”

“Oh, no you’re not. I’m not going to let you call Tim until you cool down,” Chris said. “Because if you call him now, you guys will just get into a big fight, and I don’t want to hear it.”

“I’m not calling Tim,” I said. “I’m calling Gina. I’m going to tell her all about your little rendezvous. There’s no way I’m going to let Tim turn you into someone like him. My little brother won’t break a girl’s heart just for fun.”

“I’m not going to break anyone’s heart,” Chris sputtered. “I’m only in eighth grade, for cripe’s sake.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Girls can get their hearts broken at any age. Now hand me that chair.”

Chris grabbed the handles and pushed the chair out of the room.
“You’re not calling Gina.”

“Bring me that chair!” I demanded.

“Not a chance,” Chris said, walking away. “I’m not going to let you ruin my chances with Gina or Rachel. You’re staying where you are.”

“Chris! Get back here!” I shouted as he disappeared around the corner. “Mom, help! Chris took my chair!”

“Yelling for Mom won’t do you any good,” Chris called from the other room. “She’s writing at the library today, and I’m leaving for the movies, so I hope you’re comfortable where you are.”

“Chris, wait! Come back!” I yelled. But it was no use. I heard the back door slide shut, and then the roar of the garage door as Chris took off on his bike.

I crossed my arms. What was I going to do? Not only was I trapped on the couch, but I badly had to go to the bathroom. I looked over the edge of the couch. It was an awfully long drop. If I survived the fall, I’d have to pull myself across the floor to the bathroom and hoist myself onto the toilet. A similar situation had taught me I didn’t have the upper body strength for that. Plus, I couldn’t put pressure on my sprained ankle, and my other leg was plastered within an inch of its life, so I was stuck.

Jeez, wasn’t it bad enough that I couldn’t walk or bathe myself? Now I was going to need diapers. And Lisa wanted me to be independent. How was I going to accomplish that? I was about as helpless as a baby drinking milk from a bottle.

A bottle! Maybe I wasn’t as helpless as I thought I was. After all, I still had a brain. Grabbing the empty Gatorade bottle next to the couch, I slipped down my sweats, scooted my rear end to the edge of the couch, and felt an enormous rush of relief.

In a few moments, the bottle was filled, I was empty, and all was right in the world. Now, what to do with the evidence? I couldn’t leave it sitting around. That was just gross. I guess I could tell Chris it was a new juice flavor—Yellow River, produced by the I. P. Daily
Company—but not even Chris was dumb enough to fall for that. I eyed the peace lily next to the couch. It did look a little parched...

“What are you doing?” my mom asked, walking into the room just as the last of the liquid seeped into the soil.

“Nothing,” I replied hastily, sure my mom wouldn’t consider my resourcefulness such a good thing. She really liked that plant.

Looking at me with suspicion, and sensing not all was right inside the Fullerton family home, she said slowly, “Is everything OK?”

“No,” I said, scooting the empty bottle behind the couch cushion. “Chris rolled the wheelchair into the kitchen, leaving me stuck here on the couch when I had to go to the bathroom.”

“I’m sure it was just a simple misunderstanding. Chris wouldn’t deliberately move your chair,” my mom said, still in denial over the fact she had spawned a demon child. “But I’m home now, so I’ll help you.”

“I don’t have to go now,” I said, rolling my eyes.

My mom lowered her voice. “Did you wet your pants?”

“Mom,” I said with exasperation, “that’s not the point of my story. The point is that you left me alone with Chris when I was completely helpless to battle against his dark arts. I mean, for sixteen years, you smothered me. But now that I really need you, you’ve abandoned me.”

“I didn’t abandon you,” my mom replied. “I went to the library for a few hours. And maybe you’re right. I have been overprotective of you. Perhaps it’s time you learned a little self-reliance.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I exclaimed. “I’ve been saying that for years. You finally agree with me when I’m laid up with a broken leg and sprained ankle?”

“The timing is less than perfect,” my mom agreed. “It’s just that I’m so excited about this book I’m writing. But if you really want, I’ll stop writing and devote all my attention to you until you get better.”

As a horrifying image of my mom hovering over me for the next twenty years popped into my head, I said, “Why don’t we compromise?
Show your devotion to me by whipping me up a chocolate shake, and then you can go back to writing.”

My mom smiled. “I think I can live with that.”

“But first,” I said, “can you get me my chair? I really need to make a phone call.”

The following Monday morning, as Lisa wheeled me down the St. Hilary’s hallway, I felt like the princess in some sort of warped homecoming parade. Everyone stopped and stared at my still-swollen face and bandaged body, and I didn’t know if I should wave, say hi, or throw candy at them.

“Are you sure you’re going to be all right without me?” Lisa said. “I asked Mrs. Jensen if I could switch my schedule to be your personal assistant. She said no, but I’m willing to skip class if you need me.”

“You? Skip class?” I said. “Lisa, I’m in a wheelchair, not dying.”

“I know, but I feel terrible leaving you like this. If I wasn’t in charge of running the canned food drive today, I’d ignore Mrs. Jensen’s order and do it anyway.” Her eyebrows furrowed. “You ate the breakfast I prepared for you, right?”