nurses left, she came back shortly with a doctor trailing after her.
I didn't get why I still was hooked up to these machines. Why was I still on these medications if I wasn't sick? I just wanted to go home, but since all of my family is gone, where was home? For me, home had always been where my family was, but now I was all alone.
The doctor finally decided if I didn't want any IVs’ (I found out later that the clear bags and needles were called this) then I didn't have to have any. The doctor and the nurses left, and I was blissfully alone. But maybe it was better to have something to do because now all I could do was think. I decided I wanted to get up and show everyone that I was healthy enough to leave this stupid place.
I sat up and moved my legs over to the side of the bed. My legs felt weird like they were disconnected from the rest of me. But I decided I was going to try and walk. So I pushed off the edge of the bed and fell flat on my face. I sat there, attempting to get up, I had to use my arms, I couldn't make my legs work right. Every time I managed to stand, my legs collapsed beneath me.
Why could I not remain standing for more than a second? Why? I just wanted to prove I wasn’t sick anymore. The therapy lessons they had me in weren’t doing anything; I never talked to the therapist. Why bother when they couldn’t possibly understand what I had been through? I knew they were keeping something from me; I just had to figure out what and then I could leave. But where would I go? I had nothing to live for; it didn’t matter anymore, why should I even bother. I couldn’t even stand up.
My life was worthless. I wished I had died in the accident, instead of living. Why did those stupid people have to find me? How did they find me? The plane had crashed miles from any living humans. It should have taken them hours, maybe even days for anyone to realize something was wrong. How did they know where to find the crash site? It was all so confusing. I sat there and pondered over it. I used my hands to straighten out my legs. There was a long scar on the back of my left leg that I hadn’t noticed before. What had happened in that crash? I knew that I had been injured, but this was a huge scar, it had been long enough, I should have been able to walk by now. What was going on? A cut on my leg shouldn’t keep me from walking, and if I couldn’t walk, then I couldn’t swim. That was a problem more real to me than almost anything else.
I tried to turn around and grab the bed, but my lower back was stiff. I bent over, trying to touch my toes, but again my lower back wouldn’t bend. I reached behind myself to feel my back, and there was a small bump, that went halfway up my back. A scar, almost like the one on my leg, but thinner and less rigid, along it there were three spots were my spine felt hard and wider than it should have been.
Then it hit me; I had broken my spine when I fell from the plane. It must have been bad for them to use old techniques of putting a substitute in. But why could I still not walk? Modern technology should have fixed the problem enough that I could walk unless it had been irreparable. There was a story of a boy born without half of his spine. They had replaced it with the special metal that could be used to replace most types of bone, but the boy still couldn’t move his upper half, there was no ligaments or muscle there to do the job. He spent his entire life in a home for physically disabled people; he ended up dying early.
I wouldn’t have the same fate, would I? But I couldn’t stand, so it must be true. I was paralyzed from the waist down, a paraplegic. My legs would never work again. I felt numb; this kind of thing only happened in movies, not real life. Right? But it had happened to me, so it must happen in real life too. Guess I was stuck in a wheelchair, I just hope the family that got me for foster care wouldn’t mind my handicap. I had no chance of ever getting my legs working again.
Chapter 3
Three weeks later I was put in the Foster care program. The first place I went to was a small but cute cottage; it had two bedrooms and one bathroom. It was just a lovely old lady, named Tabitha, and me. Often I would find myself lost in my thoughts lying by the small pond trailing my fingers in the water, it was peaceful and calming.
When Tabitha died less than a month later, I was put with a family of four, the mom, two younger boys, and a four-week-old baby girl. I lasted about a week there.
My third foster home was a tiny apartment. The parents were nice, but the cat hated me. I left when it attacked me, and the couple didn’t want to get rid of their “precious baby.”
The next family I went with was the Matchens. The only thing that I didn’t like was the fact that everyone there said I was a cripple, worthless, and pathetic. I never told the social worker, Jain.
On May 27, 2417, Jain came with the news that I had been chosen to be adopted.
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The family that wanted to adopt me looked amazing. Jain gave me a picture and portfolio of information before she left. There was a mom, a dad, an older daughter, a tall skinny boy, a younger more bulky looking boy, three girls who looked almost identical, and two younger kids, a girl, and a boy. They were the royal family of the Aurica Kingdom. Their surname was Arindes.
I didn’t know why they wanted to adopt me; I was nobody. The closest I had gotten to fame was being the sole survivor of the first plane crash to happen in almost a full century. I thought that maybe it was because they were doing one of those charity things, where the royal family has an orphaned kid come live with them until they help them, and then they give them back to the orphanage, but Jain assured me that was not the case.
So I agreed to meet them next Saturday, at a small vintage restaurant. Jain says if I liked them, then we could set up a second meeting. I was nervous but excited at the same time. I had no idea what their individual personalities were going to be. Or what they looked like now, the picture I had of them was a few years old. I suppose they were too busy to get another family photo.
The next week crept by at a turtle's speed. I had school to go to, and after that, I had chores that needed to be done. Mrs. Matchens said even if I was crippled and unable to do many things, I still had to earn my place. My chores consisted of doing the many dishes, making sure to scrape every little speck from the dish before I put it into the large dishwasher. Then I was “privileged” to change the twin’s diapers. They were four years old and still not potty trained. The last thing I had to do was clean the whole house spotless while the rest of the family went out to dinner and then a movie or some other special event.
I didn’t mind it when they did this, which was often; it meant I got to have time to think. And sometimes, when I knew they were going to be gone for a while, I would sneak into the oversized pantry and fridge, looking for a treat to eat. I often found something that satisfied my cravings for actual, sustaining food.
When they figured out what I was doing, they hired a babysitter. The funny thing was, the babysitter they hired was Jain’s younger sister. She knew what the Matchens were like, so she helped me to find a better way to hide the thievery.
Finally, the day came, I was going to go and live with the Arindes family. The original meeting had gone well, the restaurant was very nice, but it was secluded due to the family's status. Everything had gone smoothly, and I couldn’t wait to arrive at the family mansion. I packed all that I owned, but it wasn’t much.
Since I was never going to ride a plane again, I was going by Tube Train, with Jain. The Tube Train was a way of traveling incredibly fast, faster than a plane. It consisted of a system of tubes all over the continent. In each tube was a specially-made capsule that could travel up to 3,000 mph, but was set at a slower pace of 895 mph. It was a long trip, and we were traveling it in the space of 12 hours. We would stop once in a small town just past the border of the Gem states.
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