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Back Scars Like Wings Save as PDF
Chapters (55)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. Acknowledgments
  54. About the Author
  55. What’s next onyour reading list?

“Not bad,” I counter. “And I’ll go with bacon face.”

“Quadriplegic zombie.”

I kneel on the bed, shouting through my laughter. “Scarface!”

Piper screams back, trying hard to stay in her wheelchair as she leans forward to bellow another one. “Snakeskin!”

“Crusty crab!”

“Crispy cripple!”

“Mutant mouth!”

“Pig face!” Piper clasps her hand over her mouth, realizing she called me a name instead of one of her own. This strikes both of us as hilarious, and I collapse onto the bed, holding my stomach. Piper doubles over in her wheelchair just as Cora bursts through the door.

“Girls!”

Piper sucks in her lips, trying not to laugh. Cora looks from me to Piper, her face red.

“That. Is. Enough.”

When she closes the door again, Piper and I both exhale giggles. She wheels to the side of the bed and motions for me to scooch as she hoists herself out of the chair and then inches backward onto the mattress, flopping her limp legs next to mine.

“So who wins?” Piper says.

“I’m pretty sure we both lose.”

Piper’s breath slows.

“The names don’t even bother me. Rubber and glue and all that,” she says. She points to the box of cards on my desk. “Those are the offensive ones.” She puts her hand to her chest and does a high fake voice. “ ‘Inspiration!’ ‘Your story is so inspiring!’ ‘You’ve inspired me to live to the fullest!’ Well, great, I’m glad my terrible personal tragedy could help you get your crap together.”

“And ‘miracle,’ like there’s some higher reason I’m alive,” I say. “My dad pushed me out a window. I lived. He died. That’s not a miracle; it’s gravity.”

“People are the worst,” Piper says quietly.

“Totally.”

“Except you. You don’t totally suck.”

“You should definitely write Hallmark cards.”

Piper laughs. “No, really. You don’t make me want to get a lobotomy, and that’s saying something.”

Piper’s zebra-striped arm presses against my own compression garments. She doesn’t jerk away or seem to notice she’s touching me. She’s not even a nurse or an aunt or a counselor who has to be close to me.

“You know what I mean, though, right? It’s hard to put into words,” she says.

“So don’t,” I say. “Words are overrated.”

Side by side, we watch the dream catcher dangle above our heads.

And for the first time in a long time, I’m not facing the nightmare alone.

Ava Lee

BS Therapy Journal

Feb. 26

Words I hate

(in ascending order of loathing)

gross

toasty

crab-hand

the penguin

scarface

pizzaface

zombie

well-done

crispy critter

freddy krueger

brave

inspiration

miracle

lucky

survivor

survivor

survivor

What do you call someone who didn't mean to survive?

Who sometimes wishes she hadn't?

9

If the high school hallway is the gauntlet, then the cafeteria is the guillotine.