E-mail: angelchildr@freaky.nu
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Learning from the ground up.
Series: "Crisis Wing" - Part 3
Distribution: http://penned-insanity.freaky.nu/ (My site) or ask.
Author's Note: "Crisis Wing" is a disturbing series. Please be warned.

* * * *

As I hadn't been able to reach my roommate, and my parents were still several states away, during the day I was still wearing the clothes I'd arrived in. Three days was quite enough, and when I woke on the fourth day, I simply couldn't bring myself to pull my socks on again. Just the thought of it made the skin along the back of my neck try to crawl up toward my hairline.

I chose instead to go barefoot. The nurses were not pleased, forcefully requesting that if I wasn't going to wear shoes, could I at least put on some socks. I informed them that since they'd taken the laces out "for my own safety," my shoes no longer stayed on my feet, and I would wear socks when someone got me a clean pair. I would not wear the same ones four days in a row.

The interesting thing about going barefoot is that you can completely relearn a place through the soles of your feet.

I learned that the tiled floor of my room was always cold, even when the sunlight spilled through the window and formed geometric patterns on the hard, smooth surface. The carpet of the long hallway, I learned, was rough and provided little warmth or padding to a person's feet. It was not the comfortable type of carpet you could dig your toes into. In fact, it was little better than the tile in my room.

There was the floor of the room where we ate our meals and had agonizingly dull group activities. It was covered in the same tile as my own room, but I discovered that somehow it was always warmer. There was the floor of the office the doc had in the wing. He'd tried to make it comfortable, and while he had the softest rug a person could find in that awful place, my feet loathed to feel it and itched to leave as quickly as possible. The tile of the shower room was warm, but always wet. It made the nurse's shoes squeak and always dipped in one spot where a pool of icy water waited for your feet. I learned to step around it.

The small mat under the medication window was harsh on feet. It was the type of mat people kept outside their doors to scrape mud away from visitors' shoes. I had no idea why such a mat was needed beneath the medication window. During my barefoot times, it only strengthened my hatred of stepping up to that window every day.

The common room held the most variety for my feet, and was where they spent most of their time. Most of the room was the same rough carpet as the hallway, only a different color. My feet didn't care about the color, only the fact that the material under them provided little comfort. It only took a few steps though to find places that were almost soothing for my feet.

In front of the television, between the couches and chairs, was an old, braided rag rug that could have just as easily been found in someone's grandparents' house. The colors were muted where some of the fabric was beginning to fray. It was obvious that the rug hadn't arrived in the wing as a new purchase. Instead, it was most likely someone's attempt to make the place "homier" and more relaxing for the patients. I suppose it worked, at least for me, because I realized that my toes curled over the edge of that rug more often than not.

Along one edge of the common room, in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, was a narrow strip of golden wood. It didn't matter what time of day it was, that smooth, highly polished strip of the floor was always warmer than the rest. The band of wood was just wide enough that I could place my toes against the lower edge of the window and my heels just touched the carpet.

I would spend long minutes on that wood, my feet soaking up the little warmth it gave off. It was a mixed blessing, that wood, for while I stood there to warm my feet, I was forced to look out the windows. Which unfortunately looked over the river. It was a calming sight for most, but while my feet were warming, I watched the feet of thousands of students walk over the footbridge that spanned the river, moving to and from classes.

I would spot somebody just as they approached one end of the bridge, then follow them with my eyes as they made their way to the other end. I was too far away to see details like faces, but I imagined I could see the people that lived on my floor, in my dorm. Once I thought I could make out the figure of my roommate in her dark brown coat. I was grateful when the autumn weather turned sour and I was able to warm me feet while watching the rain fall, obscuring my view of the bridge.

* * * *

Send feedback!