It's My Life - Stacie Ramey Page 0,82

a white sun that doesn’t hurt to look into. There are people playing Ring Around the Rosy all around me and the sand they kick up lands on my body, but it doesn’t hurt or scratch.

“Well, look who’s here,” a voice says.

“She’s awake,” another one says.

Her voice lights up my insides with these tiny sparks that make me feel understood and loved.

Soft hands lift my head and lie it in a lap. I look up and see a woman with brown hair and a bright smile. “I’m going to stay with you for this next part.” And I know she’s one of the saints. Keeping me in balance. “You’re doing very well, Jenna. Your body wants to heal. Rest and let it. Stay with us and let your body heal.”

I want to ask her so many things, but my eyelids feel incredibly heavy and I let them close again. Hands fall over them, and the comforting pressure of those soft hands on my closed eyes promises a deep restorative sleep, and I’m so grateful. No spasms. No bad dreams. Only a sound, restful state. I embrace this feeling. It’s been too long since I let go of all the bad and all the worry and all the pain. It feels like the right decision.

When I wake up after hours or weeks or months or years—it’s all the same to me—I find two things on my hospital tray: a red rose and a Batman watch.

Thirty-Two

Everyone was slightly shocked when I chose to go to rehab straight from the hospital, but I felt like it was the best thing to do. It would give me time to work on my attitude. It would give Mom a break. And most of all, it would give me time to get stronger. To see what was possible.

Rehab is no joke. I found that out the first day I was here. They work you out hard, so hard that you can’t wait to go to sleep at night. My first night here, I got a care package from Mom and Dad. The soft sugar cookies I like, new sleeping socks (I hate cold feet), and a letter from Rena.

Jenna,

Mom says I’m not allowed to call or text you when you’re at rehab, that you’re there to work and I am supposed to leave you alone. I wanted to tell you how proud I am of you. How incredibly awed I am by your strength.

Work hard and come home soon.

Xoxo, Rena

These are the things that get me through. Especially since there have been very few texts from Julian. He told me before I left he was going to a hockey camp over winter break, and that we should both take this time to “get all beast.” His words. I’m sure he’s busy. But I also I wonder if he’s over me? Has he moved on? Maybe he hasn’t forgiven me for catfishing him. I take out his Batman watch.

My physical therapy assistant gets me set up for therapy. Each time the therapist tells me to lift my leg, I listen. I try not to brace. I try not to recruit other muscles to work for my underused ones, weak ones. It’s hard, and sometimes I cry because it hurts so much it makes my head fill with stars, but I keep going. Jennifer’s voice inside me reminds me, “You are her.” And I believe I can be.

They’ve given me a schoolteacher named Mrs. Stein, who has short salt-and-pepper gray hair and dresses like she’s working at a law firm. “Hello, Jenna,” she says when I wheel myself into her office. “Let’s see what we are going to do with you, shall we?”

I nod.

She pulls open a very thick file with my name on it and peers at her computer. She looks at me, back at the reports, and then back at the computer. “Hmmm.” She clicks through the screens some more. Then says, “Strange.”

I sit, ready to defend myself.

“I’m sort of confused,” she says. “It seems like you were in all gifted classes, doing very well and then…”

“Then I sort of gave up on myself.”

She takes her glasses off and smiles. Her red lipstick makes her teeth look so white and pretty. Her smile is like Mom’s; part all-knowing and part hoping for better news. “That working for you?”

I laugh. “No.”

“Well,” she says as she claps her hands together. “Let’s see what we can do about that. Because the good news, Jenna? You’ve got nothing but time