Baby Me's Arc

Chapter 7 of 7

The days passed and the sharp smell faded from her skin, but the heaviness stayed. Then one morning Dad picked her up and carried her outside to the car. Mom stayed behind with the bundle. Just the two of them this time. The train rocked and hummed beneath them. Dad held her on his lap by the window, his arm steady around her middle. She watched buildings slide past, then trees, then open fields. The rhythm felt good, like being rocked in warm arms that wouldn't set her down. Dad's hand stayed on her side the whole time. When she reached toward the window glass, he let her touch it. Cold and smooth. She pulled back and his hand was still there, warm against her ribs. The wanting that had been tight in her chest since the white hallway started to loosen. This was different from the pony, different from the cameras. Dad wasn't watching anyone else or waiting for her to do something. He was just holding her while the world moved past. The clinic smelled like the white hallway but Dad carried her inside instead of setting her down. A man in regular clothes, not a white coat, brought out metal and leather pieces and laid them on a table. He picked up her leg and held it while he wrapped the cold metal around her calf. Dad's hands stayed on her shoulders. The man buckled leather straps tight, then tighter. The metal pressed hard against her skin. She tried to pull her leg back but the man held it firm. The straps bit into her flesh. She looked up at Dad and his face was watching the man's hands, not hers. The man finished one leg and started on the other. Each buckle pulled tighter than the last. When he finally let go, her legs felt trapped, held down by something that wouldn't let go even when she wanted it to. The man told Dad something about wearing them every day. Dad nodded and lifted her off the table. On the train ride home, Dad held her the same way he had before, but her legs felt heavy and strange in his lap. The metal dug into her skin with each rock of the train. She shifted, trying to find a position that didn't hurt, but the braces moved with her. They wouldn't come off. Dad's arm stayed warm around her middle and she leaned into it, trying to feel just that and not the tightness around her calves. She understood now: some things that held you were meant to help, even when they hurt. The braces weren't like the white coats staring or the cameras flashing. They were something else. Something that would stay on her body whether she wanted them or not. Dad's hand moved to rest on her knee, right above where the metal ended. She looked down at the leather straps and the buckles and knew they would still be there tomorrow. She would have to learn to walk with them. But Dad's hand was warm and he hadn't set her down once since they left the house. That had to mean something.