Leaning on them made me feel... different, but so at ease with my body for once in my life.
She quickly showed me how to move around without putting down my left foot, and explained what my physical therapist would teach me again later, about putting only half the weight on the weak leg later on, or using only one crutch.
There was something magical in the noise of the rubber tip of the walking stick tapping on the floor, followed by my left foot gently shuffling forward. Tap... shhhhh... tap. Shhhhh...
One month forward, my boss took me in her office and asked me about my recent mobility issues and if I needed anything to help me at work, like an adapted chair or anything.
She seemed a bit fidgety, not really daring to ask what was happening to me. And that was all for the better because I had no idea. I had not thought about it, it just felt so nice that my first routine in the morning was to gently grab my left leg and help it down on the floor like it was a soft but fragile little animal and then grab my slick black walking stick to help myself up.
Finally the question came up, breaking a rather embarrassed silence. It was oddly worded :
"Jodie, is it going to get worse ?" There was a longing in my boss' voice that I had never heard before. That's when everything about her fell into place in my head. I wasn't the only one who had enjoyed the wonky noises of my footsteps on the office's hall marbled floors. She'd always been nice to me, but ever since my left leg seemed to be desperately trying to catch up with the rest of my body, she had paid a lot more attention to me. Not professionally, but rather to the way I was doing my hair in the morning or my shade of lipstick, or... or how my dress was complimenting my (slightly plump) figure.
"Emma, I don't really know. The pain worn off since my fall, but the weakness lingers, and the doctors are a bit at loss. So far, so good and we can only expect for the best isn't it ?"
"Sure" she said, and I wondered what "The best" meant for her. And for me.
She said that if I was needing any adjustment to my workplace, or in my work schedule to attend physical therapy, I was more than welcome to request it. And that's when my decision was taken.
One week later, I requested an appointment as soon as possible with her, and she was more than happy to receive me between two meetings. She welcomed me at the elevator and quickly noticed, at my gait, that under my white trousers a light brace was holding my ankle in a straight and stiff position.
I had been a tightwad on the make-up department in the morning, to make sure that I would seem a bit out-of-it, and I sat down silently in the chair facing her desk.
I weighted my word, it needn't sounding too dramatic.
"Emma, I'm sorry to bother you with that but the doctors came back with... the beginning of an answer and apparently, it's not going to get better."
She said nothing. I was clutching my walking stick and her eyes were fixated on my fingers. So I kept going.
"They're not sure yet, but they said things like like neuro-degenerative disease, and orphan disease. Something like a late version of a Charcot Tooth Marie..."
"Charcot-Marie-Tooth." She briskly corrected.
"Yes, that's the one, I'm not too familiar with the term." I locked eyes with her, she, on the other hand clearly was. There was another silence.
"How can I... can we help you ?"
"Well, I don't want to sound too pessimistic, but over the last few days, the stairs at my house have been more and more of a bother. I've been willing to move out for a while now, so it might just be the perfect time to chose a place that will... prove easier to live in... in the future. I've been contacting a few real estates companies and I have a few flats and houses to visit. I was wondering if it wouldn't bother you too much if I was taking a couple of days this week, in order to speed up the process. I know I'm supposed to apply two weeks in advance for a day off, but it would really help. "
"Please, it's not like you're requesting the day off because of a hangover. I'll sort it out with the HR department. Will thursday and friday be ok with you ? ""That'd be just perfect !"
"Ok, please keep me in the loop! I'm sorry I have another meeting coming up... Let me..."
And she went to hold her office door for me...
As I stepped out, her hand touched mine, so slightly I actually doubted it had really happened. The hand that was holding the walking stick of course. It left me wondering, and maybe my cheeks went red. And maybe as I walked down the hall to the elevator, I let my left leg lag even more, and walked even more slowly, as I felt her stare drilling through my back. And maybe I felt slightly... oh, even so slightly aroused.
And yesterday was the day. I spent the afternoon leaning on my cane in the alley of my brand new, ground-floor and fully adapted suburban house. The sun was shining and I was wearing a light blue dress. I had not bothered doing my hair and the wind in my blond locks felt nice. I did not feel like running around, I just felt like putting my weight on my walking stick and let my hips move slowly, one uneasy step at a time. At some point, one of the mover extracted my crutches from the moving truck and asked me where I wanted them. I told him to stick them in the bedroom closet. Ready at hand.
While saying that, it felt nice to think that soon, everything, indeed, would be for the better.
When the truck finally vacated my alley, leaving me with about 40 unpacked boxes neatly arranged in my living room, I walked around the house, bare-footed, enjoying the feel of the brand new floor and letting the toes of my left foot drag around a bit. Then I went to my front porch, because the night was falling and I wanted to enjoy the dusk.
Tap. tap. tap. tap. tap. tap.
"Hi !" she said. "I saw the truck on my way back to work. I just wanted to say Hi ! And Welcome ! I'm Abigail, your next door neighbor. "
She freed a hand from her underarm crutches and I think I fell in love.
