Page 11 of This I Know
He pulled a prescription pad out of his front pocket and began scribbling.
“Here.” He tore off a sheet and handed it to me, then continued writing another. “I’m writing you a prescription for physical therapy. You’ll need to continue it for a while. Twice a week to start should be enough to head us in the right direction. After that, we’ll reevaluate you to see where you’re at.” He took a break from the scribbling to look up at me. “If you continue making progress, we can decrease your sessions to once a week. And this ...” He looked back down and ripped off the second prescription in a steady swipe.
I took it and placed it neatly on top of the other in my hands.
“… Is something to help with the pain.”
I held it back out to him. “Oh, I –”
The doctor refused to take the prescription back. He pierced me with his eyes and then twisted his body around to look at my mother, who was still seated comfortably, her arms resting on her crossed knee, her palms entwined together.
“Oh,” she said. “Avery prefers to stay away from the pharmaceuticals. It’s a … health-conscious thing.”
“I’m sorry?”
“It’s just … I’m sure she doesn’t want them.” Her attention shifted back to me. “Are you in pain, honey?”
I shook my head. I was, a little, but I could tolerate it.
The doctor disregarded my mother’s last statement. “Mrs. Dylan – I’m sorry. Mrs.?”
“Ms.”
“Ms. Dylan. Are you going to let me do this?”
My mother sat up straight. Her lips came together in a pursed line and her eyes widened. Her angry face. “I’m sorry?”
“Avery is an adult now. She’s more than capable of thinking for herself and telling me what I need to know.” He turned his attention back to me. “Well, Avery?”
Their eyes were on me. “I don’t like how they make me feel. I’d rather not take them.” I tucked my chin closer to my chest, well aware I was sounding like an organic-food-eating, barefoot-walking, overly-anxious patient. “I’d like to be clear-minded, that’s all.”
“Of course. I see.” He tucked the prescription pad back into his shirt pocket. “Well, there are alternative therapies out there, but I won’t be able to get you that kind of information. You’ll need to go through a naturopath for something like that. I can give you a referral if you like.”
“That’s fine,” I said. “Thank you, doctor.”
He walked out of the room and closed the door.
“I don’t like that doctor,” she said.
“Mom, he’s fine. At least he listened to me.”
My mom sighed and rose from her chair, moving closer to me. She bended down.
“You’re right,” she said.
This closeness, I didn’t mind. The motherly kind. I place my hand around her forearm and smiled while she pushed a stray lock of hair away from my face. She looked into my eyes and said, “I was going to wait to tell you this, but I think your ready.”
My breath hung on her every word.
“They caught him for you, Avery. You don’t have to do anything. It’s already done.” She stroked the hair away from my forehead. “All you have to do is get better.”
The words felt just as good as you’d imagine.They caught him.It’s beautiful. I want to say it over and over. I’d been waiting for this moment; the simple relief of gazing into the most loving eyes a person will ever know, and getting the best news possible, considering. I had secretly hoped for it, to hear that the creep was behind bars. I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding. No matter how old I am, I don’t think there will ever come a day when I don’t long for my mother during my weakest moments of crisis.
Waves of emotion rush through me. I can’t describe the feelings. I imagine it’s something you had to have gone through to know, as unoriginal as that sounds. There was anger, yes – tons of anger toward that one evil man, and I doubted that was going to go away any time soon. But there was also a panic at what was yet to come: Will I have to testify? How will I manage to walk down the street alone again? How will I manage todanceagain?
How will anyone look at me again without thinking,That’s the girl…How will I ever forgive myself for not taking a different street?
I looked down at my legs, hidden under the cheap hospital sheets. I leaned back, into my mother’s arms. She cupped my head. None of this is fair.
