Veer
Legacy Name: Veer

They told her she might never walk again.

"We did everything we could," they'd said, the same masks of concern on their faces that they wore for all of their patients as they flipped through the file containing her information. "But your legs were badly injured in the accident. There were several breaks between the two of them. We've operated but it could be months... or longer... before you've recovered enough to begin learning to walk again."

That was basically what they were saying " that it could be months, or it could be never before she walked again.

The girl had just stared up at them blankly. It was as if she were in a daze, unable to fully comprehend what was happening. Her life had changed so suddenly, so entirely unexpectedly and without her consent, that she was scrambling to catch up with it.

Her memory was still a bit foggy. She could remember getting into her car, headed for her audition... It had been a big one, she knew that much, and she'd been excited for it, for the chance it would give her. It was the first step she needed to take to become a professional ballerina! After this audition--assuming she succeeded with it, which, who was she kidding? Of course she would succeed! - doors would open for her. It was the beginning of her career!

But then there was a crash. And then there was black. And then she woke up in a hospital bed, her legs wrapped up tight in bandages, her eyes wide and her mind sluggish as they explained to her that her life was very seriously ruined.

"I'm a dancer," she said. She was almost ready to plead with the doctors, as if that would make a difference. "I'm a ballerina! I have... I have an audition to make it to. I can't be here, like this... This can't happen. There has to be something else that can be done..."

It was denial, however, and soon it gave way to anger as she realized it was real, it was all real, and there was nothing that could be done about it. But even the anger faded after a few days, replaced by hopelessness, despair, because her life was over, and she'd never dance again.

She could feel that as real and true and clearly as she could feel the almost constant pain that had claimed her near-shattered legs.

It had been her dream from the time she was little to one day become a professional ballerina. As a child she'd wanted to be the star of all of the big recitals her dance class put on, so she'd worked hard and long to ensure her position. That had carried into her teenage years, and she had become more serious, all the more determined. It wasn't long before she wanted to dance on all of the most famous stages all over the world.

Now she would be lucky if she could manage to walk on them.

She'd spent the next month in the hospital, never making it to that recital, that big break she'd been desperately lusting after for her entire life. Doctors kept a close eye on her wounds and the way that they began to heal, ensuring there would be no infection, no mess ups that would hinder her recovery, as if anything really could as far as she was concerned there would never be any real recovery, and she went through the weeks in a numbed daze.

Eventually, however, they sent her home. She was confined to a wheelchair, but with it she could get around well enough on her own, and it would still be weeks before she was ready to begin rehab, to begin learning to walk again, so there was no need to keep her any longer. It was just as well, because she was sick of the white, sterile hospital, sick of the cheerful "it'll be okay!" she had received daily, sick of the twisting, knotted feeling she got in the pit of her stomach at the very thought of the accident and what it meant for her. She was sick of it all. She was sick of herself and the fact that her life had been veered right off its course.

So she decided she'd never think of dancing again.

Bodies were frail. They broke all the time, every single day. It was stupid that she'd put so much time, energy, and focus into a career, a life, that depended so entirely on hers, because wasn't this bound to happen eventually? Wasn't she bound to be sick, injured, unable to dance one day? It had only been a matter of time... Now it was time to get serious.

Posters, leotards, sweats, shoes, even her hard-earned medals were gathered. She grouped them together, tossed them into boxes, taped them up. And then she threw them out. Or she tried to, anyway.

As she wheeled herself out onto the porch her backdoor led onto, the box in her lap and ready to go, something distracted her. It was just a tiny little noise, something she barely managed to hear over the creaking of the boards beneath her chair. But it was still loud enough that it made her stop everything she was doing.

It was a bird. And it was lying in a crumbled heap on her porch.

"Oh, no," she breathed out softly, cautiously moving closer to the injured thing. She was positive it was still alive. That must have been the sound she'd heard the bird giving a weak chirp.

Her hand went to the box in her lap, and she pushed it aside, allowing it to fall to the porch with a thud before forgetting it entirely. With some effort she managed to lean herself over far enough that she could glance closer at the hurting animal. She was able to see its chest falling up and down rapidly, a heart still beating wildly beneath its ribcage. But she also saw the smear of blood on its rumpled feathers and the way it held its wing.

It took her a few moments but she went inside, got a soft towel, returned to the bird, and gently took it from the porch. She was careful with it, touching it only when absolutely necessary, and she avoided its wing entirely. The bird in her lap, resting on its makeshift blanket, she went back into the house, so that she could more closely and more gingerly inspect it.

Inspection would show that its wing was injured. She'd seen this sort of thing before. Growing up in a rural environment, with parents who knew their animal care, left her educated enough to realize it, and she remembered how they'd often have to be put down when their injuries were too severe to heal properly.

This one was lucky, though -- sort of.

Her lips pursed into a bitter little pout as she examined its injuries more closely. Something serious was definitely wrong with the wing it held so close to its little body, the feathers a bit of a mess. The bird would live... but it was clear it would never fly again.

There was a pang in her heart, a sickening twist she could feel down in her gut.

"It's okay, little bird," she whispered softly, stroking its good wing delicately as she looked down at it, sympathy etched across her face. "I'll never fly again, either..."

They had a kinship, the girl and that bird, and that was why she took it in that day. She wouldn't kill it, wouldn't let it fend for itself out in the wild with its almost destroyed wing. She would nurse it, take care of it, teach it to live again -- as she taught herself to do the same. And she did so for weeks following her discovery of it.

Months went by, and they were filled with doctors appointments, x-rays, even a second surgery to repair her shattered bones. The bird was taken to vets, and its wing was repaired as best it could be. It was exhausting for the both of them, painful, emotionally tiring, and the only light the girl had in her life was that little bird. It waited at home for her always, and the two spent their days together, recovering from the ordeals they'd gone through. She liked to think she was a bit of a light for it, too.

But one day something changed.

She had just gotten home from yet another appointment, had dropped her bag off by her front door, and had gone searching for her little bird companion. But she couldn't find it anywhere. It wasn't hopping around on the floor, wasn't resting in the home she'd made for it, and it wasn't chirping at all. She couldn't find it at all! Panic began to set in, and wildly she looked around, searching-

She caught sight of it at the last minute, and for a moment she couldn't believe her eyes.

The bird was perched on a window sill in the kitchen. She'd left the window open, to let fresh air into the home, something she'd taken to doing after finding the creature on her porch. Now it stood there looking out, flapping its wings this way and that after somehow managing to get itself up that high. And it looked like it was going to jump.

She raced toward it in her wheel chair, determined to stop it, to catch it, to save it and stop it from making its injuries even worse than they were... but she was too late, and the bird was out the window by the time she was able to reach it.

Only when she looked out, certain she'd find it crumpled on the porch once more, just as she'd found it months before, it wasn't there. She blinked in confusion, looked up, and glanced around. She couldn't readily see it anywhere. Not until she looked up, anyway.

It was in the sky. And it was flying.

Her mouth fell open, and her eyes stung with tears. The vets had agreed with her assumption that the bird would never fly again. They'd said its wing was too badly damaged, that it was just about impossible. But here it was, soaring away, almost as if it'd never been down at all... She swallowed back the tears hard.

The bird had flown again. It had hopped right out of the window, and it had flown away, and she had seen it with her own eyes. The impossible had become possible. The impossible had happened. The bird flew.

So maybe...

She looked down at her legs, still in bandages, still secured in her wheel chair, incapable of supporting her body long enough for her to walk, let alone to dance. Then she glanced back out the window, not at the bird this time, but instead at the box she had abandoned there all those weeks ago. It was still filled with all of her shoes, her leotards, everything she needed to dance, everything she had packed away when her life had so suddenly veered off-track after her accident.

"Perhaps..." she said to herself as she reached a trembling hand up to the back door's knob, ready to open it and go and get her things back. "Perhaps it is time for me to fly again, too."

Story concept by me, beautifully written by User not found: dainty
Photo by 55Laney69 at flickr