You Have Permission To Dance

 

I climbed off the table slowly and carefully.

“Are you in any pain?”

“I’m waiting for something to begin to hurt, but so far, nothing does. That’s miraculous, but also kind of…eerie, considering what I’ve been through. Not just the room full of gas that ate my skin off, but what I’ve been through for years before that. My knee doesn’t hurt, and it hurt for a long time.”

“We replaced a lot of things besides your skin and your lungs, yes.”

I ran a hand over my arm.

“By the way…am I always going to be this pink?”

“No. Your normal pigmentation should come back in a few months. Also your hair.”

I flexed and bent and reached.

“This really feels amazing. I feel like dancing.”

“You have permission to dance.”

I laughed, and executed an about-face, and then another, winding up facing him again. I dropped down into a squat and leapt up to touch the ceiling, then did begin actually dancing.

It felt good. So good.

 

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