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I cast my gaze out the windshield at the blur of trees and cars we pass. Several miles later, Bryce turns into a parking lot past a sign that reads Acadia National Park.
Excitement bubbles in my stomach. I lean forward as my eyes dart around the heavily wooded area. Tour busses wait along the side of the lot, loading long lines of tourists. Other groups go off into the forest on their own, wearing large backpacks and carrying camping equipment.
Bryce shifts his truck into park, and I fling open my door, hopping out and inhaling a lungful of fresh air.
Bryce rounds the back end of his truck, and lowers the tailgate. “There’s a lot to do here, but I could only pack so much into two days. If you like it, we can come back.”
“I love it. I want to come back.”
He smirks, sliding a Patriots hat over his head. “You don’t know what we’re doing yet. What if I’m taking you to snake mountain?”
My hands freeze at my sides. “Please tell me that’s not a real thing.”
He shakes his head, and hands me a baseball cap with the New York Yankees logo on it. “Put this on, and don’t tell anyone that I spent my money on a New York team. Let’s get sunscreened up before we go. Don’t want that pretty skin of yours to burn.”
I lift my eyebrows. “You think I’m pretty?”
He coughs. “I mean ... uh ... your skin is fair.”
“So you don’t think I’m pretty?”
“That’s not what I said. Of course, you’re pretty. I just meant ... you know ... the sun ... ah, shit.”
I tip my head back and cackle. “You’re too easy.” I squirt a generous amount of sunscreen into my palm, and nudge him with my elbow. “I think you’re pretty too.”
He rolls his eyes. “Gee, thanks.”
Oh, yeah. This trip is going to be fun.
Bryce
“Snake!”
Charly shrieks, and scrambles behind me. “Where is it?”
I clutch my stomach as my laughter bellows into the wilderness, scattering a few nearby birds.
She smacks my arm. “Would you stop doing that? You’re like the boy who cried snake. You’re going to see one for real, and I won’t believe you, and then I’ll end up dead from a venomous bite.”
“Guess you’ll have to believe me every time.”
She growls, which has the effect of angry Tinkerbell. “You’re lucky this place is too beautiful for me to stay mad at you.”
I watch her face as she turns it up toward the sun, her eager green eyes taking in the beauty all around us—the birds in the trees, the bees buzzing around the vibrant roses along the trail, the jagged rocks overlooking the blue Atlantic—and all the while, she’s oblivious to the fact that she’s the most beautiful thing in this entire park.
Instead of questioning my ability to take her on an adventure, she put her faith in me, and trusted that I’d be able to handle whatever I planned for her. That was a pleasant surprise. She didn’t bat an eye when I took out my arm crutches instead of my cane. What’s more, I didn’t hesitate to use them in front of her. I’m not ashamed of using a mobility aid to help me. Does a person hesitate to use a ladder when he needs to climb higher? No. So I shouldn’t feel embarrassed to use something that helps me walk. But I’ve learned over the years that the visual representation of my injury makes other people uncomfortable. It makes them treat me differently than they would’ve if they saw me walking without it.
I used to hate the term disabled. I was in a place of anger and denial after my accident. But I spent time in rehab, and I learned the importance of that term from people within the disabled community. We need the word to become destigmatized in order for able-bodied people to understand what it means for us. It’s more than a label, or a box to put us in. It’s who we are, and that is nothing to be ashamed about.
After Nana warned Charly this morning, I was sure I should call the whole thing off. Now, I’m grateful that I didn’t let my ego get the better of me, because I’d be missing out on seeing Charly’s face light up. Her emotion is pure, and she wears it on her sleeve like a badge of honesty. She makes me want to be more like her. Carefree, spontaneous, curious, open to the wonder around her. I’ve been closed off for a long time. This is the first time in years that I’ve felt a spark of hope.
Charly is the light to my shadow, and I want to bask in her warmth wherever she goes.
Anticipation coils around my gut as we reach the first destination on the trail. Charly gasps as the trees give way to an open sunlit cliff. Water crashes against the rocks below while seagulls circle above, calling to one another as they swoop down for fish.
“Look at this view.” She pulls her phone out of her pocket, and snaps pictures from every angle.
“Give me your phone.” I hold out my palm. “I’ll take a picture of you.”
