“Look who’s here to see you, Brenda,”the nurse said.
She led a tired-looking woman to the girl’s bedside.
Brenda huddled on her side, facing the wall. When her mother touched her shoulder, she pulled her head closer to her chest, as if making her body smaller would help her disappear altogether.
The nurse patted the mother’s shoulder.
“Brenda’s still not talking to us,” she said in a low voice.
Brenda’s mother bit her lip to keep from crying. She remembered exactly how bubbly and happy Brenda had been before the car accident that led to the amputation of her leg. She’d been one of the most popular girls in her sixth-grade class.
When Brenda first awakened from her surgery, she had raged at her mother. Why had this happened? Now, she felt like a freak. No one would ever want to be her friend. She would never date, never have a boyfriend.Then, Brenda had just stopped talking.
“I wish could bring her friends to visit her,” said Brenda’s mother. “It’s just too long a bus trip, though, about three hours each way.”