Author's Note: Two years ago a very good freind lost her arm in a single car accident. Even after two years, I watch her struggle with depression and a shattered self image. It's often time frustrating to watch, but more often humbling to see someone coping with a loss I don't know that I could bear. this story is for her and for all of those who daily have to face that battle.
Chris sat at her vanity, her eyes blank as sweat poured off her shaking body. She was back there again. On I-45, headed north and back to her home. It all happened in slow motion, first the oncoming car swerving erratically. She remembered breaking, moving to the slow lane, and preparing to go onto the shoulder if necessary. She never got the chance, at over one hundred miles per hour the red corvette hit the median and jumped the rail. Frozen moments in time. She could feel her heart leap into her throat, hear the sickening sound of glass shattering and metal crunching, feel again the solid thump as the airbag deployed.
And then she was staring at her face in the vanity. The waking nightmare gone as quickly as it had come. She looked down immediately, hoping against hope it was just a nightmare, but the smooth clean stump where her left leg had once been was there, telling her it was all real. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed until her whole body shuddered with each breath.
***
Chris walked carefully out the front of the building and hailed a cab. It had taken her two years of rehab to learn to walk on the prosthesis and even now, it hurt her with each step. The myoelectric was less painful, but more work and it was so expensive she only wore it occasionally, using the more simple one for everyday moving around the house or going without. Once she had prided herself on wearing daring, but elegant heels to work every day. Now she could barely maintain her balance in tennis shoes.
The cabbie was Indian, his English so broken she could barely understand it. He shot away from the curb and into traffic, causing the tall woman's heart to leap into her throat. She still feared cars, and supposed she always would. The memory was just to strong and stark to fight down when she was in a moving vehicle.
She was thankful when the cab pulled to the curb and tipped him handsomely, just to avoid any confrontation. She knew she would need all her resources and couldn't afford to waste them here. Not today. Her first day back at work.
The place hadn't changed at all, of course that was expected. H.P. Levin & Sons never changed. The company had become successful by a commitment to tradition. People seemed to appreciate the unchanging façade with their accounting firm. Something solid and sure that put them at ease, and the current directors keenly appreciated the competitive edge it gave them.
She was very early, hoping to avoid making a scene. The first person she met was Sam, the aged janitor. Like the company, he never changed. He had been gray and balding, with weathered black skin and wrinkles when she started here, fifteen years ago He looked exactly like he did the first morning she had arrived, fresh from school, the company's first full time female accountant.
"Miss Chris?" he said, taking his bedraggled cap off.
"Hello Sam," she managed.
"It is you!" the old man said, smiling so wide and genuine she couldn't help but smile back.
Before she could do anything he wrapped her up in his arms and hugged her tightly. Three years ago, she would have found such familiarity embarrassing. Now, she just hugged him back.
"We were all so worried about you. Welcome back, ma'am, can I get you some coffee? There's fresh in the break room, just brewed it myself."
"That would be lovely, Sam, thank you so much."
"It's purely my pleasure," he said, ambling off at the slow mosey she knew was hurrying for him.
Chris continued on to her office. It too hadn't changed. Her secretary had obviously dusted and cleaned it in her absence. A few files lay on her desk, the accounts she had done at home while rehabbing. She had been surprised and rather flattered, when none of her clients had asked for a new accountant. She knew loosing her leg didn't change her mind, but still, she always feared people would see her differently.
Sitting was a major undertaking and she had just managed to get the weight off her stump and place the prosthesis under the desk when Sam came in.
"Here ya go, black and strong. I brought some sugar and sweetener, wasn't sure what you take."
"Black is fine Sam. How've you been?"
"I been fair to middlein'. You know how it is around here. The company time forgot," he said with a big smile.
"How's Grace?"
"Mean as a rattler."
She laughed then. Sam's wife Grace was perhaps the sweetest, most gentle woman she had ever met. There wasn't a mean bone in her frail body and he knew it, but he always made out like he was married to Hecate herself.
"Liar. Seriously?"
"Well, she had some trouble with her liver. Was in the hospital a while. I didn't know how I was gonna pay for it, but Miss Sarah, when she heard she took care of it all. Had Gracie transferred from the General over to Columbia Pres and got her the finest doctors. She's fine now, but she can't get around as much as she used too."
"And little Sam?"
"Ain't little no more, that boy is a big ole chunk of man. He's over there somewhere. Can't tell us where, but he's due to come home in a month or two."
"Send him my love," Chris said, meaning it.
"I'll do that ma'am and it it'll tickle him pink. He always had a thing for you."
"Well, I'm single," she replied, enjoying the banter.
She knew full well that little Sam was married to a girl from Virginia Beach, near where he was stationed.
"I gotta get going, ma'am, the bosses'll be in soon and they get plum bent outta shape if the wastepaper baskets ain't empty to start the morning. You take care of yo'self and don't over do it."
Sam turned and nearly collided with a tall, raven haired beauty in a smart black business dress.
"Mon'in, Miss Sarah," he said, doffing his cap again.
"Good Morning, Sam," she replied.
"Coffee, ma'am?"
"No, thank you, I got some Starbucks this morning."
"Waste of good water, if ya ask me," he said, as he shuffled off to empty the wastepaper baskets.
"Hello, Chris," she said after Sam had departed.
"Hello, Miss Levin."
"Miss Levin? Why so formal?"
