Week Eight-=-One On One

I had my first appointment at One On One physical therapy last night. It was pretty great to have someone touching that ankle and stretching me. They gave me exercises to do at home, which I'm supposed to do 4 times a day. That seems excessive to me, but if it makes things heal faster, I'm bout it. I am a good little follower of directions. 

There was a girl there wearing the shortest black shorts imaginable and a shrunken softball jersey top, running around in her New Balances and long dark hair, doing exercises and smiling. I met her when my therapist called her over. He said this was her first day walking without her boot. She and I conferred about how great it was to get out of casts-- she was in a hard cast for 7 weeks and the boot for 8. That's longer than mine took. Is taking. She broke her talus snowboarding. Her ankles looked perfect now, both of them.  It gave me hope. Later, Tom called mine elegant and reassured me I'd have the other one back someday. 

Afterwards I took myself out to a prix-fixe dinner at an Italian restaurant in Brooklyn. I sat there with my robo-boot under the table and didn't even think about the ankle. It was nice to be out, alone. I watched people walk by the restaurant and ate my filet of sole and drank my Pinot Grigio. Then I had to take a car back to Bushwick, which cost 25 bucks, taking the shine off the evening slightly. No matter. I'll be able to take the subway soon enough.