Free The Onion Girl by Charles De Lint Page A

I don’t know how to fix it, I find out how.

    And I’ll do the same with the hand I’ve been dealt now.
    But all my life I’ve wanted to be the kid who gets to cross over into the magical kingdom. I devoured those books by C. S. Lewis and William Dunthorn, Ellen Wentworth, Susan Cooper, and Alan Garner. When I could get them from the library, I read them out of order as I found them, and then in order, and then reread them all again, many times over. Because even when I was a child I knew it wasn’t simply escape that lay on the far side of the borders of fairyland. Instinctively I knew crossing over would mean more than fleeing the constant terror and shame that was mine at that time in my life. There was a knowledge that ran deeper—an understanding hidden in the marrow of my bones that only I can access—telling me that by crossing over, I’d be coming home.
    That’s the reason I’ve yearned so desperately to experience the wonder, the mystery, the beauty of that world beyond the World As It Is. It’s because I know that somewhere across the border there’s a place for me. A place of safety and strength and learning, where I can become who I’m supposed to be. I’ve tried forever to be that person here, but whatever I manage to accomplish in the World As It Is only seems to be an echo of what I could be in that other place that lies hidden somewhere beyond the borders.
    So now that I can cross over, if only in my dreams, it’s all I can do to come back to the World As It Is and be the Broken Girl again. Even if I was perfectly healthy, I’d have trouble returning. This is my chance, maybe the only one I’ll ever get. If it took a hit and run and a crippled body to get me there, I can deal with it. Because I’m not escaping from, I’m escaping to.
    I know everybody’s worried. I love my friends, and I hate making them feel so bad, but I can’t seem to find the right words to explain what this opportunity means to me. I don’t think any of them, except for maybe Geordie and Joe, know how much I need the otherworld.
    Though, if I’m going to be honest, the aftereffects of being hit by that car, the paralysis and broken bones, don’t make time spent in the World As It Is all that appealing right now. I’m so used to being active, to dealing with my problems on my own, that the helplessness of being the Broken Girl is killing me. I can’t even exercise on my own. I’ve only got movement in one leg—a lot you can do with that, right?—and my left arm, though it’s weighed down with a cast.
    This morning the physical therapist came by to see me, along with
Daniel, that handsome nurse Sophie claims is sweet on me. He’s just got a good bedside manner.
    Because of budget cuts, the therapist’s workload is too big and he can’t always be here to do it himself, so he’s showing Daniel how to exercise my paralyzed arm and leg, a combination of movement and deep muscle massage. It’s supposed to be done at least twice a day. More often, if possible. So this afternoon, Daniel comes by for the second session of the day and it’s driving me crazy, his moving my leg, my arm, my heck like I can’t, chatting all the while. Time was, I’d be happily chatting back. As Geordie says, I can be terminally friendly. I may have had to learn how to like people, back when I rejoined the human race, but it’s not hard anymore because I genuinely do like them now.
    But at this moment, I just want to be alone. I don’t want Daniel manipulating my limbs like I’m some kind of puppet. I don’t want to visit with my friends who are all suddenly acting awkward and stiff around me. It’s like, be careful around the Humpty Dumpty Broken Girl. Humpty Dumpty walked down the street. Humpty Dumpty got knocked off her feet. We’ve just put the pieces all back together, but the glue’s not