The Opposite of Falling Apart [Formerly Three and a Half Good Legs]

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** IF YOU DID NOT READ THE AUTHOR'S NOTE ENTITLED 'BEFORE YOU BEGIN', PLEASE GO BACK AND DO SO BEFORE STARTING THE STORY. THANK YOU!

J O N A S

Jonas had done two things when he'd come home from the hospital for the first time after the accident.

1. He'd taken a sharpie and scribbled out the lower half of the left leg on his 'bones of the human skeleton' poster that had hung on his closet door since 5th grade (the first time he'd decided he wanted to be a doctor).

2. He'd looked at the newly altered poster and cried, for the first time after and only time since.

He was looking at the same poster now.

"Jonas, honey?"

His mom's tone was familiar. It was the same tone she'd been using with him for the last year. It was as if she was tip-toeing around him, walking carefully to avoid stepping on something sharp like glass shards or a Lego. His gaze fixated once more on the mass of permanent ink on the poster. Irrevocable, unshakable. The key word was 'permanent'.

"Are you there?"

Jonas sighed into his phone, the static breath rebounding in his own ear. "Yes, mom. Here."

"Ok," she said. "Look...I know you...haven't really driven since...Well, you know." She paused, before pressing onward, her tone diplomatic. "Your sister forgot the permission slip for her travel team and you know they're leaving later this afternoon. I really wouldn't ask under any normal circumstances but I have a big meeting at work today and I just can't get away to bring it to her.

"I was just wondering if you could take it to her."

Easier said than done. He frowned, massaging the place right above his non-existent left knee where the rest of his leg should have been.

"Jonas?"

Jonas pictured himself saying 'no' and then pulling the covers over his head to block out the outside. "Ok, mom," he said, instead. After all, he'd put her through enough, hadn't he? He could do one thing for her, right?

"Ok? You'll do it?" Jonas could hear her relief through the phone. He also didn't miss the hope in her voice. She'd been trying to get him to leave the house for something, anything, since the end of the school year (really, since Jonas's Great Tragedy). He could also hear the concern in her voice. He knew she'd be worried that she was asking too much. Jonas felt bad—the uncomfortable feeling of guilt squeezed at his insides. After all she'd done for him, she shouldn't have to worry about asking too much.

"Ok," he said, again. He wished he could say that he felt more confident about saying it the second time.

He could practically see the smile on her face. "Thank you, Bird!" she exclaimed. Jonas closed his eyes and tried not to cringe at the childhood nickname ('You're so skinny, like a bird!' his mom used to say). He could picture her smiling an actual smile (not tired, or forced) and he felt a little better about himself for once. His mom was continuing, her words humming in his ear. "Taylor said the form is either on the counter or on her desk in her room. If you could just take it to the school and give it to her..."

"Yeah, all right," he said.

"All right." A pause. "I love you, Jonas."

Jonas pictured his mom. In the year since his accident, she'd seemed to shrink somehow. Her dark eyes didn't hold as much light, and there was a little streak of gray in her dark hair, that she always tried to tuck behind her ear. Jonas thought that maybe the worst thing in all of this was what it had done to Elise Avery. He held his breath a moment, before letting it out and replying. "Love you too, mom."