“Did you remember your shinguards?”
“Yes, Mom,” I recited back.
“Your cleats? Water? Soccer ball? Mouthguard?” she listed.
“Uh-huh,” I said mindlessly. I focused on the red light making me late for soccer practice, willing it to turn green. When it finally did, I screeched,  “It’s green!” My mom pulled up as the car in front of us sped away. I looked out of the car window, daydreaming. And then I saw it. A huge, blue pickup truck was barreling towards us. I let out a deafening scream that I’m sure the whole world heard.
“Ugh.” I winced as I sat up in bed. I turned to look at my clock. 5:00 am. I might as well get up now. That dream will just haunt me again if I fall back to sleep. “Mooooooooom!” I moaned.
“Yes, Vivian.” She rushed in. Her long, brown hair had gray streaks, and she had bags under her eyes. Her eyebrows were furrowed as she stared at me, pitifully.
“I think I’ll get up now,” I said, yawning.
“That dream again?” I nodded. Wordlessly, my mother rolled over my wheelchair. She hoisted me up and into the chair. “Ow,” I yelped. Darn phantom limb sensation. I settled myself into the wheelchair. It was so odd, not being able to walk. And to think, that just three months ago, I was a soccer star. Now, as I stared at where my left calf used to be, the only thing I saw was a stupid prosthetic that I couldn’t even walk on. All because a drunk driver ran a red light and crashed into our car. 
Squeak, squeak, squeak. The sound of my wheelchair on the linoleum floor of my school drew stares. They said that high school is supposed to be the best four years of your life, but so far, that was a lie. Ever since the accident,  I was failing math and science, and language arts wasn’t much better. Oh, and don’t even get me started on history. The only period that I looked forward to was lunch. I still sat with my friends, and when I was with them, it seemed as if nothing had happened. At least until they started talking about soccer. I wasn’t able to go to last week’s game, because I had to go to physical therapy, so I couldn’t even chime in. Ugh. I listened longingly as Andrea raved on and on about how well they did last week.
“And, when Ciara kicked the ball right over the goalie’s head!” Everybody laughed.
“Sounds like it was a great game,” I said.
“You should’ve been there, Viv.” Andrea looked sad.
“I know,” I said while I gazed at my best friend. “But I’ll be there tonight, guys.” I boasted, lightening the mood. “I wouldn’t miss the final for the world!” Everyone smiled as I reached out and put my arms around Cadence and Audrey.
Five hours later I found myself rolling onto the field. “Hey there, Vivian!” Coach Kim smiled as she waved me over. “Like the team spirit,” she remarked as she looked me over. I was wearing my Amherst jersey and had painted my face blue and green.
“Least I could do.” I planted my chair next to everyone’s bag as I watched my teammates warm up. Former teammates, I corrected myself. I made myself comfortable as the game began.
“WOOOOOOO!” I cheered as the whole team piled on top of each other in the middle of the field. They all had huge smiles as they held up the trophy. I can’t believe we won! I almost squealed with excitement. When things finally wound down, I rolled myself onto the field and heard them chattering.
“I think my mom can take the rest of us,” Cadence told the team.
“Take us where?” I asked. The team was at a loss for words.
“Umm...Well, there’s gonna be a party at my house,” Andrea finally broke the silence. “You know, to celebrate the big win.”
“I know my chair won’t fit in your car or Cadence’s, but I’m sure my mom won’t mind driving me,” I replied.
“That’s the thing, Viv,” Andrea fiddled with the hem of her jersey. “It’s probably best if you don’t come.”  I stared at her, in shock. “There’s gonna be a lot of people, and with your chair and all, it wouldn’t work out very well. I hope you’re okay with that…”
“Th-that’s fine,” I stuttered out a little too quickly. “See you Monday, I guess. Bye.” As I rolled off the field to my waving mom, tears welled up in my eyes, and I felt one slip down my cheek.
It was Saturday night, and I still hadn’t got out of bed since the game. How could she do that! She basically banned me from her party. My best friend, of all people. Was this the girl I was practically joined at the hip with? Was this the girl who helped me up when I fell, who hugged me when I cried, who laughed with me when I laughed? It can’t be...  I picked up my phone and scrolled through my Instagram feed. They all posted smiling pictures. They probably gave no thought to me at all. Heck, Monday they’d tell me I couldn’t sit with them anymore. I was the wheelchair girl who they didn’t want anything to do with. I picked up the tub of ice cream I’d been eating from and stared at my tear-stained pillow. “Cleo,” I whispered to my cat. “Do you think I’ll ever have a life?” He looked at me with his huge green eyes, like he might have the answer. Then he meowed at me and walked out of the room. I lay back down in bed and put the pillow over my face. I broke down in tears for what seemed like the hundredth time that day.
It was the next Saturday when my mother finally dragged me out of bed. “We’re going to physical therapy,” she stated, her tone of voice implying that I should not object. I guess she realized that I wasn’t actually sick. I sat up and my mom helped me into the chair. The drive to Buffalo seemed to last an eternity. I mostly just looked out the window at the passing evergreen  trees watching the first snowflakes of the season fall. Life just went on, the world continued to rotate, even when my world was falling apart. My own parents, my own mother, didn’t seem to have the answer. How could she and Dad know what was “good” for me? They had never been through this, they didn’t know my pain. I was so isolated, with different ideas, different remedies being thrown at me from all directions. But none of them would work. I was a lost cause that none of them, not even physical therapy could fix.  Mom had really wanted me to try physical therapy after the accident, and I never agreed with her. Couldn’t she see that there was no hope? That I would be bound to this wheelchair for the rest of my life?  Finally, we pulled into the parking lot. As I went in, I saw countless others: people in wheelchairs, on crutches, with walkers and canes. Some I knew would get better. Stephanie, the hockey player, and Sarah, the runner, would recover. But Sam and Andrew were just like me, they might never get better.
“Hi, Vivian!” My therapist, Lauren, waved. She was super optimistic, always pushing me to do new things, complete new tasks. She believed that one day, I would be able to play soccer again, and function as a normal human being. With the prosthetic, of course. She said I should trust her, that she had a “degree.” Whatever. I rolled over to our corner and started another depressing session of leg lifting and hobbling.
I woke up the next day to the sound of my mom’s voice. “Get up. We’re going somewhere.”
“Huh?” I stretched and rubbed my eyes. “ I don’t have physical therapy today.” Silence. I got into my wheelchair anyway. The car ride was silent, and different thoughts ran through my head. Where were we going? Do I have to do more physical therapy? Oh please no. I didn’t even eat breakfast. Is this going to take long? All my thoughts were silenced when we pulled into the parking lot of the Buffalo Lecture Hall. Lecture? What was going on? We went inside and I was shocked by who I saw standing at the podium. There was a woman, maybe 30 years old or so. She seemed normal until you get to her legs. Her shorts revealed two prosthetic limbs, and yet she walked around perfectly. She tapped the microphone and began to speak.
“Welcome ladies and gentleman. My name is Cynthia Krause, and today I am going to tell you my story.” Well, this was going to be interesting.
By the end of the lecture, I was clapping as hard as I could. I would have given her a standing ovation if that was possible. Most people did. I looked over at my mother, who was smiling at me. She held up two tickets that read Meet and Greet with Cynthia Krause. “Yes!” I practically screamed. I was about to meet my new idol.
When I rolled into the “meet and greet” room I was excited to see that it was a small gathering. I looked over to see Cynthia walking towards me. “Hi, there! I’m Cynthia. What’s your name?”
“Vi-Vivian,” I stammered. “Pleased to meet you, Ms. Krause.”
She laughed. “Please, call me Cynthia. Now, I’ve already told you my story. But it looks like you have one to tell, too.” She looked at my leg and smiled. I looked at my mom and began to talk.
“Well, I got into a car crash…”
After I finished telling my whole story I was practically crying. Cynthia put her hand on my shoulder and started to talk. “I’m so sorry that you lost part of your leg, but I can see that you are a true survivor. And it may seem stupid now, but you don’t need those girls. When I was in your position, I admit, I was discouraged, to say the least. But, I’ll tell you one thing. You cannot give up on yourself. Even if everybody else does, you can’t. And I’m telling you this not because I am a motivational speaker. I’m telling you this because I know that it's true. I know from my own experience. And, I know, that if you work hard enough, you can walk again. You can even play soccer again if you really want to.  If you reach deep inside, I’m sure you’ll find your own fighting spirit.” And then she winked and walked away, giving me a lot of things to think about and even more to do.
And that’s the story of how I got here. Five long, hard months later and I am here. Right now, I’m staring adversity in the face. Right now, Lauren wants me to do what I thought I never could. Walk. I take a deep breath and push myself up. I’m holding onto my mother on one side and Lauren on the other. I lift up my leg, move it forward, and place it down. I do it again, and again and again until I make it all the way across the room. The impact of what I’ve just accomplished doesn’t hit me until I lean against the wall. I have just walked. Across an entire room. And I begin to cry. But not tears of sadness or tears of pain like before. Tears of joy. Because now I think I can do it. I can live my life again.. I know I can.