A flash of lightning lights up the sky before us.
3 more minutes to go.
We have all been waiting for this moment for so long, it hardly seems possible that it is all happening right now.
2 more minutes.
A wave of adrenaline courses through my veins. This will work, I know it will. It has to. We have spent the last 2 years working at it. 1 more minute left. The anticipation is driving all of us crazy. I look around me at all of the familiar faces. Jake smiles at me, and gives me the thumbs-up sign. As I look at what we, 6 high school students have made, my mind still reels. It all started about 2 years ago.
It was my first year in McKinley High School, and, of course, I felt nervous. Every 15 year old girl does, but I was extra nervous because this was my first year in a new school, in a new town, and walking on my own again.
Three years ago I had been walking to school when all of a sudden a car went zooming around a corner, going way too fast in a school zone, lost control, and hit me straight on. The driver just left me there, all alone, just 12 years old. The worst part of it all: that day was my birthday. The city that we lived in had inadequate hospital resources, so we had to move to Canada. As my slow and painful healing process went on, throughout all of the grueling hours of physiotherapy, and during the lonely hours homeschooling, all I could ever think about was what would have happened if I had left the house a minute earlier, if I had been on the other side of the street, a small alteration in my path that day, anything at all different would have changed things. I found out that playing the “what if” game for hours alone could be hazardous to your sanity. Then, a year later, my parents died in a car accident. That was a blow. I had no siblings, no parents, and no relatives that wanted me, only a vast fortune and a huge hole in my heart where all of my comfort used to be. Days came and went in a blur. Family and friends passed through, some with a word of apology, some with a small dish or warm food, some with only a pat on my head. All heartfelt and sincere, not acknowledged. My nanny stopped talking to me because I stopped talking to her. Gradually everybody stopped coming by, the nanny stayed downstairs, and I sat in my parents’ room alone in my wheelchair, looking out the window for someone or something. One day, as I was staring into space, out the window I saw a young woman walk by. She was beautiful, but she looked sad. I noticed her stop, turn around, and walk into the driveway, and for the first time in weeks a thought went into my mind. A spark of life in my nullified world. Clearing the cobwebs from my mind, I started to stand up. And then: Nothing. It all came back in a flurry of thoughts and images. I forgot that I was paralyzed from the waist down. Right them my door quietly opened, and the beautiful lady poked her head into the room. “May I come in?” I noticed a slight English accent, unusual for Alberta, a rural farming province in Canada. A hick town is more like it. A slight nod of my head was my only response. She came in and crouched next to my wheelchair. “Meg,” she said slowly “My name is Mary. I am to be your new nanny. Miss Rowan, your previous caretaker, has, um… well my dear, she has quit.” As I sat there listening, my eyes stung with long pent-up tears. I tried to hold them back. I was never particularly fond or Miss Rowan, but she had been with us since a week before my parents died. With her gone, it felt like my whole life, everything that I ever held dear in my life had been taken away. My brain blocked out the rest of her words. I went into shut-down mode. I bottled up all of my emotions and vowed never to love anyone ever again. It only left heartache.
A year had gone my. I had come to trust and respect Mary, but I never loved her. She was the one who put me through the physical therapy, pushing me but never past my limit. She is the one who got me to walk again. In that year, on my 14th birthday, Mary asked me what I wanted most. Earlier, I had been looking at my legs, and I decided that I never wanted to wear skirts or shorts again. From the various surgeries that I had undergone, my legs were left white and scarred. I told Mary that the only thing that I wanted was for my legs to look normal. On that day, she and I made a deal. By my 15th birthday, before school started, my legs would look normal. But in order for that to happen, I was going to have to be able to walk.
3 weeks before school started, we decided to move. I had spent all of my life in small towns, where everyone knew everyone and their business, and Mary decided that I didn’t need that anymore. I agreed. We took 2 weeks to totally pack up the house and to find a house. A week from when school started, we were in our new house. I was so busy getting ready for school to start that I really didn’t have much time to notice anything around me.
On my first day, walking into school, I was unashamed to be walking in wearing a pair of capris, my legs tan and smooth. My first day went by in a fog; I was overwhelmed by the 7 hours I spent surrounded by a crowd of people larger than I had been in in over 3 years. Teachers, some of which were friendly, some who were over-helpful, and a couple were just plain mean. Hundreds of kids, tons of groups, and, of course, the obligatory “popular crowd”. I had never considered myself very pretty, but I knew that I had an above-average I.Q. I was prepared to be made fun of in the 10th grade for being smart just as we had done in 6th and 7th grade, but I was not prepared to be asked to sit at the “popular table”. From years of being alone with Mary, I knew that my social skills were slightly lacking. I found out that the use of terms such as “omg”, and “like” were way overused. But I also found out that even though the populars are stereotyped, some aren’t that bad.
One guy, Jake, seemed nice, even though he didn’t speak much. There was also a girl, Lauren, the fiery red head with a lot to say, although most of what she said was useless. Then there was Mitch. Hot to the third degree. Jockey to a fault. Dumb as a doorknob. Of course, there was Samantha, the brilliant brunette, and Chris the hot cheerleader who had the same intellect as a mosquito. I can’t forget Daniel, who was as smart as he was sweet and cute. His twin brother, Dillan, was very shy, but he could do complex algebra in his head. They must have brilliant parents. Unfortunately, they are identical, so try to distinguish one from the other on the first day was impossible for me. When I was on my way home from school on the second day, I felt my legs start to go numb. This happened some times, but only when I got tired. Then I would panic and lose control faster. That hadn’t happened in over 2 months. I then started frantically looking around, half hoping that someone would be there while still hoping that no one would be because I hated being vulnerable. I heard footsteps coming quickly up behind me. That’s when I really started to panic. I knew that I was going to pass out soon, so I started running, but because I was losing feeling, I started to stumble, and many times I almost fell. The footsteps were getting faster and closer. Then I just lost control and started to fall to the ground. Strong arms caught me before I hit the pavement. From the panic and adrenaline pumping through my veins, I felt myself drift away into the oblivion.
