Three

By Sunday morning, Jane had given up trying to influence the crutches. She was better off, she decided, using only one and having her left hand free to grab things when she lost her balance. This technique also allowed her to carry small objects, which she hadn't been able to with both hands wrestling with crutches. On Sunday afternoon Shelley bought her a pair of knee-length shorts that had lots of big pockets.

“Shelley, the last thing I need is pockets on my thighs. They already bulge and I'd look like one of those misshapen bodybuilders with the monster thighs if I put anything in the pockets."

“Okay by me, but where are you going to carry all the stuff that's normally in your purse when you go out?”

Jane thought a moment. "I could get a purse with a long strap and sling it over my shoulder."

“And have it flap around every time you lurch?"

“It's not me lurching. It's the crutches. The crutches have a mind of their own. I can't tell you how many times they've turned me left when I want to go straight ahead. Even one of them does that to me."

“Then just keep turning left and you'll eventually be facing the right way," Shelley said with a wicked laugh. "Anything you need?"

“A Sherpa," Jane said. "To fetch and carry for me. I keep dropping things and have to put the crutches down to pick the things up, then bend down and pick the crutches back up and usually drop the first thing again. Remember that movie we saw, Quest for Fire, and the Neanderthal who was trying to pick up all the melons at the same time and kept dropping them? I feel like that guy”

Early Monday morning, Shelley called on the phone. "Are we going to the botany class?"

“I assumed it wasn't happening," Jane said. "Mel told me Julie Jackson's still in a coma."

“But they might have scrambled and got a replacement teacher," Shelley said. "Let's run down to the community center and see.”