Paraplegic (COMPLETED)

Chapter 9

The next day, I wake up before my alarm goes off; everyone else is still asleep. I can hear August snoring obnoxiously loud from here in my bedroom. Unfortunately, his bedroom is right next to mine, and what's even more unfortunate is he wanted to position his bed up against the same wall as mine, so the only thing separating the two of us is six inches of lousy drywall. Indonesia is sounding better and better.

Outside my window, the oak tree's limbs rustle and shake. I move to the edge of my bed and peer down to the ground—Aurora is climbing up the trunk. I slide the window open. "Need a little help there, Tarzan?"

She expertly grabs hold of one limb, pulling herself onto it, then repeats the process. "Nope. I need my upper-body workout for the day."

The oak tree is this big old thing, probably somewhere around fifty-years-old with strong limbs the size of telephone poles, all constructed upon a monstrous trunk. Each limb shrinks into small branches, which are clothed with healthy green leaves and cute little acorns this time of year. Aurora learned how to climb it when our third grade P.E. teacher put the fear of fire into us. Literally. It was the first time either of us had ever been in a fire drill and our teacher was explaining the importance of being able to climb out of second story buildings should it ever spontaneously combust into flames. Needless to say, climbing trees isn't my cup of tea; it's more Aurora's thing. But no matter how many "pretties" I put before "please", the teacher didn't allow me to be excused from the drill. I don't like admitting it, but that is one task I never did quite learn, so I had Aurora teach me using the oak tree. And even with her help, I never really got the hang of it. I have a nice battle scar on my left knee to prove it.

Aurora reaches the top of the tree and swings herself over the railing of my balcony, then moves through the pair of open French doors. She's already wearing her graduation crimson and gold cap and gown. Honestly, I'm impressed she was able to climb the tree while wearing that thing.

I shake my head and smile. "Ya know, there's this thing they invented called a front door. We have one of those. You should try using it."

She pulls her cap low over her eyes. "I prefer a more covert approach."

"What are you even doing here this early? Graduation isn't for another couple of hours."

"I know, I know, but I couldn't wait to give you this." She reaches inside her floral pattern messenger bag and withdraws a picture frame. Inside the frame is a photograph of the two of us; the one we took yesterday with her iPhone. The edging of the frame has words of BFFs, Love, Family, and, Sisters arranged in different places with fancy squiggly lines throughout. "I had mom print it last night."

"Aw, I love it! Thanks, Rora." I place it on the nightstand next to my alarm clock.

Pots and pans bang together from the kitchen. Mother must be making breakfast.

I turn back to Aurora. "Since you're here, why don't you stay for breakfast? You can ride to the ceremony with us."

"Sounds great! Wait. What's for breakfast?"

I shrug. "I dunno. Cereal. Maybe waffles."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. That's a pretty big difference there. Cereal is basically those curly, little wooden shavings left over from the pencil sharpener, while waffles—" She pauses and looks up at the ceiling, inhaling deeply. "Waffles is Heaven's way of letting us know it exists."

I laugh. "Waffles it is then!"

* * *

Downstairs, mother is standing in front of the stove with a bag of flour and a carton of eggs at her side. She looks up as we enter the room. "Good morning, McKenzie. Oh, Aurora! How nice of you to drop by."