Brave

Chapter 15: Brave

Sam calls later in the afternoon. "Hey, girl. Do you want to see a movie tonight?"

I hesitate. Why? I don't know. I've fallen into a pattern of thinking that I can't do anything until I'm "better." But what does "better" mean? Am I normal enough to go out in public? I guess the real question is, am I up to it, emotionally, mentally?

"Hello-o-o-o?" Sam sings into the phone. "Are you still there?"

"Uh, yes, sorry, Sam. I was trying to decide."

"Have you been out at all since you've been home from the hospital?" She asks.

"Not really, I guess."

"You're not sick, Sarah," she reminds me.

"I know. I'm just sore and tired."

"If you feel up to going to a movie, I will personally push your wheelchair everywhere we go, okay?"

"Sure, that sounds good. Who's going with us?" I ask.

"Cam and Morgan, of course. Maybe some other folks from the dorm. Do you want to invite Ethan?"

"Um, no, I don't think I will this time." No need to bring up the drama just now.

"Okay. We'll pick you up at 7:15," Sam hangs up and I feel a little smile creeping across my face. I don't think I've been this happy to be going to a movie since I was about five years old.

Sam pulls up in her mom's mini-van. Everyone rushes out of the van and scrambles up to the house. They're just as giddy about going to the movies as I am. And I think they're excited to have me back.

"Are you ready, princess Sarah?" Cam asks, as he takes the helm of my wheelchair.

"I need my jacket from the front closet. Do I need gloves and a hat?"

"No, it's pretty nice out," Morgan assures me as she grabs my jacket and holds it out for me to slide my arms into it.

My friends are quite adept with my wheelchair, helping me in and out of it, folding it and storing it in the mini-van. I'm sure that's why Sam opted for the mini-van instead of her little Ford Fiesta. They act like kids when it comes to pushing the automatic door buttons.

We load up on sugary snacks and salty popcorn and head into the theater. I'm surprised at how normal I feel, in spite of the fact that I'm riding around in a wheelchair. One little girl stops and stares at me. She looks me up and down three or four times. Then her stare lingers on my leg, my half a leg with the remainder of the denim material tucked up underneath it. I remember what Mitch told me: People will stare. This little girl doesn't know any better, but I decide to make her as comfortable as I can by giving her a warm smile. When she sees that I've noticed her, she looks away and catches up with her mommy.

That wasn't so bad.

My friends park my wheelchair and park themselves right next to me in prime spots for the movie. I'm glad they've chosen a comedy. It feels great to laugh with them again. After the movie, we head to our favorite cafe. As I wait at the table for Sam to order my cherished vanilla-caramel cappuccino, I'm met with sympathetic eyes. A girl from one of my classes comes up and says, "I'm sorry to hear about what happened to you. You look great."

"Thanks," I tell her.

I'm surprised at the number of people who recognize me, either from classes or the dorms, or by word of mouth. I'm surprised to receive a constant stream of well-wishers throughout our coffee date, and I'm moved by everyone's concern. It's almost like they've been waiting for me to show my face in public again so they could tell me all the good things they've been telling me - that I'm a hero, that I'm an inspiration, that they're praying for me or that I'm a walking (or almost-walking) miracle. I let that one slide since I do feel a bit more bolstered by everyone's care for me. A few people seem uncomfortable, probably because they just don't know what to say, but for the most part, everyone expresses genuine concern and compassion for me.