Or go back to school.
She said I had already survived enough.”
“And you disagreed.”
“I told her surviving wasn’t the same as living.”
The words had sounded brave when I said them to my mother.
They had sounded less convincing in the kitchen afterward, when she stood with both hands gripping the back of a chair and asked whether I was trying to punish myself.
I hadn’t had an answer then either.
Vega leaned against the truck’s frame.
“Why selection?”
I almost laughed.
“Because I wanted to know if my body still belonged to me.”
His face changed again, subtly.
I continued before I could lose my nerve.
“After surgery, everyone had an opinion.
My surgeon said what I could do.
My mother said what I shouldn’t do.
People at work watched me carry groceries and offered to help even when I didn’t need it.
Friends stopped inviting me swimming.
They thought they were being considerate.”
The medic glanced at me.
“And you hated that.”
“I hated being treated like a memorial.”
Vega lowered his gaze.
For the first time, I wondered whether he understood that feeling.
The medic took my temperature and shook his head.
