Early that summer, the doctor told my mom she was done
with polio, despite a left leg she couldn’t count on and a
left arm that lay listless in her lap. Two weeks before school,
I broke my collarbone falling off my best friend’s bike.
My right arm, immutable in a scratchy too-tight sling,
I grumbled and complained to whomever would listen.
Mom drove me to school for weeks to save my feelings,
and to protect my shoulder. I arrived at my classroom
in an oversized blouse with one empty sleeve
to accommodate the bulk of the sling. In order to drive,
mom adapted the driver’s seat with cushions so
she could sit up close to reach the pedals.
In order to get into the car, she would sit on the edge
of the seat, then swing her legs around front using
the steering wheel for leverage. She’d reach
across her body and lift her left arm onto her lap.
Getting into the passenger seat, I would mimic her
and sit on the edge of the seat, swing my feet around,
then reach across to shut the door. She’d look at me,
wink, and then say, “Are we ready, Kiddo?”
Late summers now, as carloads of kids and moms
go on their way, I picture those days being toted,
protected, loved. Because of her I would answer,
“Yep Mom, I’m ready”, and I felt very brave.
Copyright Jean Cassidy August, 2022
LifeLines icon created by Ellen Schon
