You Never Notice Until It's Gone

The toothbrush trembled in my left hand. A task I'd performed unconsciously for thirty years now demanded fierce concentration. Water everywhere. Toothpaste on my cheek. My mouth fully cleaned, but it took a while.

It’s been three weeks since the mountain had claimed its price.

The pins throb inside my wrist. Through focused attention, I can feel them. Three metal skewers holding my small carpal bones together. The surgical wounds slowly knitting closed, blood pulsing through healing tissue with each heartbeat. My right arm rests useless in its cast.

I was flying down the trail that morning, drunk on speed and summer air. The jump. The landing. That sickening moment when control slipped away. My body catapulted forward, and instinct threw out my arm to break the fall.

The crunch was audible.