J O N A S

Jonas sat on the couch while his mom talked on the phone. He'd asked her to call the therapy place that Dr. Akeson had referred him to. His fingers were tapping on his leg again, a rhythm-less pattern on the hard plastic of the prosthetic socket.

The office was located at the north branch of the hospital Dr. Akeson worked at, closer to Jonas's house. The building, from the outside, looked about ten years older than the hospital it sat next to. He'd asked his mom to drive by it on the way home from his appointment the other day.

"She's very good," Dr. Akeson had told him about the therapist. "She's worked with a number of amputee patients recently, with good results, and I think she'll be very helpful."

Jonas had seen the prosthetist earlier that day and gotten the socket adjusted slightly, just enough to take some pressure off what Dr. Akeson thought was a neuroma. So far, so good. A few steps, and pain free other than some soreness.

"You have an appointment available tomorrow?" His mom said, loudly, as if for Jonas's benefit. She covered the phone receiver and gestured at Jonas. "Is that ok?" she mouthed.

Jonas shrugged, and then nodded.

"Great!" his mom said. "Tomorrow at 11:30." Jonas zoned out again as she finalized details. Bring crutches...bring the prosthesis...blah blah blah. He was tapping again.

He looked out the window and frowned.

He really hoped he wasn't making a mistake, giving walking another shot. Putting himself back out there...leaving behind the little safe place he'd built for himself at home.

You have to start sometime. You can't stay here...do this...forever, after all.

He sighed and propped his chin on his hand, watching as a neighbor jogged by, headphones in, oblivious to the world. Jonas followed him down the road with his eyes for a few moments, before looking away.

_

The therapist's office was nice, or at least as nice as any other doctor's office Jonas had been to (surprisingly nice compared to the dated brick exterior). The walls were decorated with pictures of patients, smiling and happy, assisted by therapists and various physician's assistants. Some were in wheelchairs; some were using walkers. Some were being helped with various exercises. Most of the patients were elderly.

Jonas frowned, looking around, before making his way to the receptionist's desk and signing in on the offered clipboard. He filled out the new patient paperwork and brought it back to the desk, before returning to his spot on one of the sofas in the waiting area.

He'd had his mom drop him off, but requested that she not come in with him. He was half afraid that he'd fall, or that he'd not be very good at balancing (even though he'd already walked some, and been relatively fine), and he didn't really want his mom to be there for that.

He felt a little like there was an extra heart in his throat at the thought of starting therapy again. He tried to stop himself from tapping his fingers against his leg, but eventually gave up when he realized he just kept going back to doing it.

He got out his phone and absentmindedly checked his email. There were a few from school, a painful reminder that summer would end sooner rather than later. At least if he could walk, people would stare less. His head hurt.

"Jonas Avery?"

He got up, forcing a tight smile as the physical therapist greeted him. He kept his grip tight on his crutches.

"Hi!" she said. "I'm Kim Shepherd; I'm going to be your therapist. Dr. Akeson sent your chart over."

"Hi," Jonas said in return, rather lamely. She led him back into the office and to a spacious room set up with a couple of chairs, some parallel bars that Jonas recognized from his first post-accident therapy sessions, and various equipment pieces that he'd never used before.

"I thought we'd start with some basics today," she said. "I know that you've had some therapy sessions before, but I think that it's best to look at this as a sort of...fresh start. I don't want you to come into it with any expectations of yourself based on that previous therapy. It's been quite a while since then and, from what Dr. Akeson has told me, you've mostly just used the crutches."

Jonas nodded. "What do you want me to do?"

"First, I want to talk about what your ultimate goals for these sessions are."

Jonas looked at her in confusion. "I want to walk?" he said, almost like it was a question.

She smiled slightly. "Is that all?" she said.

He frowned. "What else is there?"

She laughed softly. "Jonas, if you want it badly enough, the sky really is the limit. You can run again...there are even amputees who play sports..."

Jonas thought about it for a moment. His head felt a little fuzzy. Dr. Shepherd was wearing perfume that, ordinarily, wouldn't have bothered him, but was starting to compound the headache he'd come in with. He decided against getting his hopes up. "Just walking, for now," he said. "I think I'll focus on that first."

"That's perfectly fine," she said, not pushing him.

She stood and walked over to the parallel bars, gesturing for him to follow.

Once he did, she took his crutches and leaned them against the wall, letting him use the bar in front of him for support.

"All right," she said. "I assume that you've already learned to balance...to sit and to stand...without the prosthesis on, and without the crutches."

"Yes," said Jonas. "Although I thought we were starting from the beginning?"

Kim smiled. "We are," she said. "With the prosthetic leg. No sense repeating the sitting and standing lessons if you already use them in your day to day life."

She gestured for him to come around until he was between the bars, and then to put one hand on each, balancing himself in the middle. She instructed him to transfer his weight from his good leg to both legs, including the prosthesis. He did.

"How does that feel?"

"Ok..." he said. "A little sore, but other than that—it feels ok." He frowned slightly. "Surprisingly..."

"Ok!" she continued. "This is one of the things I'm going to have you work on at home until your visit next week. I want you to spend a little time each day, putting weight on your leg. If you feel like taking a few steps, you can, but I mostly want you to focus on getting used to letting it bear weight. You can increase the time as you go along, if you want." She studied him. "Do you ever feel nervous about putting weight on the prosthetic leg?"

"A...little," he admitted. "Sometimes I get this feeling that it won't hold me up, or that it isn't stable enough..."

"That's perfectly normal. A lot of amputees need to learn to trust their new leg. It's something different; it takes getting used to." She turned to face him. "Eventually, putting weight on the leg will be second nature."

She picked up her folder. "I think that's all we're going to do today."

"What?" said Jonas, unable to stop himself from sounding incredulous. "That's it?"

Kim smiled, turning to look at him once more. "Learning to walk again is a slow project," she said. "It's important not to go at it too quickly, to avoid injuring yourself. Best to practice putting weight on it, and learning to trust the prosthetic leg. And I'll see you next week. For now, I'm going to go get some pamphlets with some exercises you can do to strengthen your upper body and remaining limbs. It's important that the rest of your body serves as a balance for what's not there anymore. If you'll just wait here, I'll have my assistant bring them in for you, and then she'll take you to the front desk. Same time next week?"

"Yes...I suppose," said Jonas, a somewhat confused frown still fixed on his face.

"Ok," she said, cheerfully. "Just wait a few moments."

Jonas watched over his shoulder until she left the room. When the door closed behind her, he turned back around and looked down at his feet. He had thought maybe he'd leave the office today, having at least taken a few steps. He took his right hand off the bar until it was just his left supporting him, and took a few careful steps forward, each step looking more like a limp. He didn't have pain anymore—the prosthetist had fixed that—but it was like walking when your muscles were sore...there was still an ache.

"Jonas?" he heard a surprised voice from behind him.

He hadn't heard the door open, and the voice made him jump, his heart picking up, blood thudding in his ears. He whirled around instinctively, forgetting about his prosthetic leg. He felt himself slipping, and reached to grab the bar but missed, falling ungracefully to the floor instead.

He sat there for a moment, eyes closed, his face pricking with heated embarrassment. First day of therapy...already made a fool of myself. What a precedent.

"I'm sorry for startling you...I just—I was just surprised to see you here."

Jonas opened his eyes to see Brennan leaning over him and watching him with an expression of concern.

"B-Brennan!" He half-scuttled backwards, bumping into one of his crutches and knocking it to the ground with a loud clatter. His embarrassment mixed with frustration, churning in a potent mass deep in his chest. "What are you doing here?" As if the grocery store, the library, and his Facebook friends list hadn't been enough.

She hesitated, looking slightly hurt. She avoided making eye contact with him. "My aunt," she said. "She's a...physical therapist. I was shadowing her today, but I was taking a break during your visit. She sent me...to give you some pamphlets..." Her voice trailed off.

She frowned, looking down at the various materials in her hands. "About exercises for amputees?" Her eyes traveled to Jonas's, the confused look still fixed on her face.