My brother kicks my prosthetic leg every time he gets angry.
I've taken a lot of falls because of it, but this time was the worst. My shoulder felt like it had split down the middle.
I didn't cry, didn't make a scene. I only said I wanted to go to the hospital, and that was enough to set my parents off.
"So he gave it a couple of kicks. What's the big deal? It's just a fake leg. It can't feel anything anyway."
"Your brother's got a temper. Bottling it up isn't good for his health. Letting him take it out on you is just doing your duty as his older sister."
I said, very quietly,
"But he's only two minutes younger than me."
"Listen to yourself. Two minutes younger, and suddenly he's not your brother?"
"Don't forget you're a cripple. You'll be a burden your whole life. Someday you'll be relying on your brother to look after you."
Dad picked up the prosthetic and tossed it onto me without a second look.
"See? It's perfectly fine. Two more kicks won't break it."
Mom added from the side, "And if it does break, you just get it fixed."
They seemed to have forgotten I was once a healthy child too.
I lost this leg saving my brother.
Ever since, even leaving the house is a struggle.
This time, I want to leave.
Stop being a burden to this family. Go somewhere with open sky and wind.
1
Charles Finch kicked me today because I was trying to surprise him.
I'd asked him,
"Charlie, do you want to go to West Coast University or Ashford University?"
My scores could get me into Coastal University here at home, and I'd also been invited by Ashford University, two thousand miles away.
Both offered four years of free tuition, plus a scholarship.
They knew my brother's scores were poor, and that my leg made things hard for me, so both schools had offered to bend their admission rules for him, so the two of us could support each other.
But my brother thought I was mocking him for barely scraping four hundred, and he stomped down hard on my prosthetic.
I bit down against the pain, picked the leg up, and fitted it back on.
Since they wouldn't let me go to the hospital, I'd make do with a painkiller.
I dragged myself over to the TV stand, only to find the cardboard box where I kept my medicine was gone.
I searched the whole living room with everything I had. Nothing.
I turned to look at my mother in the kitchen.
"Mom, where's the medicine I keep here?"
She was chopping scallions, not even lifting her head.
"What medicine? There's too much junk piling up in this house. Your dad and I cleaned yesterday. Threw out anything we didn't need."
I leaned against the wall, shaking all over.
"That was all my medicine."
Not junk.
Her knife paused for a beat, then went on chopping.
"Then why didn't you put it away properly? Leaving it lying everywhere, so your brother can't even find his own things!"
I looked toward what used to be the storage room, the room that was now mine, and my mouth went bitter.
It wasn't that I wanted it lying around.
The storage room faced west and got the afternoon heat, no place to keep medicine. The living room was all I had.
I shuffled forward, meaning to dig through the trash can, when my brother suddenly said,
"Don't bother. It's already been taken out to the dumpster."
I ignored the smugness in his eyes and asked my mother.
"Then... Mom, could you give me fifty dollars? I'll have a courier bring a box of painkillers."
She finally turned to glance at me, the cleaver still raised in her hand.
"Can you stop being so dramatic all day long? Your fake leg got kicked a couple times. Is that really worth taking painkillers over? Or is this just your roundabout way of squeezing money out of me?"
"I honestly never knew you were this scheming! You have no idea how hard your dad and I work for that money!"
"Besides, it's a good thing that medicine's gone! All drugs are part poison. Taking too much is bad for you!"
She turned her back, the cleaver coming down on the board, thunk, thunk, thunk.
I stood in the living room, looking around, and it hit me all at once that there was nothing left in this house that had anything to do with me.
The family photo of the four of us that used to hang in the living room had been swapped, at some point, for one of just Mom, Dad, and my brother.
The trophy I won in middle school for first place in the city's eight-hundred-meter for girls, along with the framed photo of me running, was gone too.
Everything that proved I'd once been whole, they'd thrown out as junk.
It was my shoulder that throbbed, but it felt like something was stabbing my heart, over and over.
My brother took a call and shouted to Mom,
"Mom, I'm treating my friends to a birthday party at a karaoke bar tonight. Give me some cash."
Mom set the cleaver down at once and fished her phone out of her apron.
"How much?"
He was still thinking about the right amount when she'd already wired him five thousand.
"Book that new place, the one with the nice atmosphere. Don't let your friends think this family's cheap! Did you order the cake? Remember to tell them ahead of time you want real cream."
"Get the deluxe private room, and pick up some fruit and drinks too..."
She stood there jabbing at the screen, chattering out instructions, as if she'd completely forgotten today was my birthday too.
I understood. The me I was now wasn't even worth fifty dollars anymore.
My brother shot me a triumphant grin, then sank back into the couch to play his games.
I pulled my eyes away and replied to the invitation from Ashford University, two thousand miles off.
【I'd be glad to attend your school! On one condition: don't bend the admission rules for my brother!】
When Ashford University got my reply, they actually added another twenty thousand to my scholarship.
That twenty thousand made my shoulder hurt a little less.
I put my phone away, slowly got to my feet, and started toward my room.
I'd taken barely two steps when Mom called out to stop me.
