I was only twelve when it happened, but that is old enough to know that not many people survive car accidents that severe. My dad was driving, and my two little sisters were sitting on my left. The car was speeding; it was functioned by a drunk driver. We were in the left lane when it hit the driver’s side. My father died instantly due to a neck injury. My little sisters were knocked unconscious, and my mother had a broken arm from slamming into the door from the jerk. I wasn’t unconscious, but I couldn’t feel my left leg.
Three ambulances came and took us all away. The drunk driver was dead, too. My little sisters, twins at age ten, were both in critical condition from head injuries. Eva died in the first two hours, and Addie died the next day. My mother had a cast on her right arm. My left leg was amputated right below the knee. It had been shattered beyond repair. The funny thing is, I was so dazed, I didn’t even feel it. But I did feel all the emotions passing through me when I figured out what happened to my little sisters and father.

“Angel Davidson, the doctor wishes to see you.”
The sudden call brought me back to the waiting room. I smelled the cleaners and looked around the half-full room. People were staring at me. The nurse must have had to call for me twice. “Come on,” Mom said. “Let’s go.”
The room was white with the scent of lemons like someone had just gone through and wiped everything down with a disinfectant wipe. There was a small window in the back of the room that let in sunlight. Everything seemed… orderly. It always amazed me how a doctor’s office appeared calm, even though it was anything but.
“Angel,” Dr. James said when I walked in. “I have not seen you in a while. How is your… umm, disability?” There it was again. Disability. I hated it when people used that word to describe me. Disabled. It left a bad taste in my mouth. I thought about telling him this. Instead I said: “Okay, I guess.”
Why would I say that? I was not okay. I was anything but okay. My life was miserable. It was just me and my mom; and I was crippled.
“Look, I know you aren’t okay just as much as you know that. Which is why I’m getting straight to the point. Your health insurance has offered to pay for a prosthetic leg for you. If you and your mother agree and sign the contract, we could have you fitted for one. You would receive it in less than a week.” He sat back in his chair as my mother and I stared at him in shocked silence. I was completely bewildered. My mind was completely blank.
All the questions came at once. “Will I be able to walk? Will it hurt? Will I be able to play soccer again?”
Dr. James smiled sadly at me. “You will be able to walk, it may hurt a bit for a while until you get used to it… and you will probably never be able to play soccer again.” At the last part, my mouth dropped open.
“What’s the point of getting one then? If I can’t do the things I love, what’s the point?” The question echoed in my head. What’s the point? What was the point of any of this, anyway? A prosthetic leg was supposed to make everything better, normal. Why didn’t it then?
“I’m sorry Angel, but it’s beyond my ability to let you play soccer again. Normal soccer anyway. You might be able to join a league for disabled kids in your area or state. I’m sure Minnesota has one.”
“Where do we sign?” asked Mom.
“No, Mom!” I cried. “If I don’t get to play normal soccer with my normal friends, I don’t want to play it at all!”
“The prosthetic leg will help you in other areas of your life, and it would certainly be more efficient for both of us,” she said quietly. At that moment I realized how selfish I was being. My crutches were really a nuisance to take places and to clean up after when they left scuff marks on the floor. It had been hard for her, too, and I felt really bad about it right then.
Dr. James gave her the paper. She signed it, then looked at something and slowly slid it in my direction. I looked down at the form that was now in my possession. It required both a guardian and child’s signature. I sighed and looked at my mother’s hopeful face, and then at Dr. James’s quizzical one. I gave in and signed it.
“Great!” Dr. James said. “I will be right back in to take measurements. You two just hold tight for a couple of seconds.” While Dr. James went out to get measurements, my mother and I sat in silence in wait of his return. I closed my eyes and wondered about the next day at school. I knew everyone, as it was a small town. Grandville. The name made it sound high and mighty, but with a population of less than 4,000 residents, it really wasn’t. I used to have a lot of friends. They had long since forgotten me. I used to be Angel, the one who could shoot a three pointer with his eyes closed. Angel, the one who set the school record for the 100 in track. Angel, the one who could play soccer. Now I was just Angel, the kid who had to watch while everyone else did everything.
Dr. James came in and took measurements of my good leg first, and then my bad leg. “Great! We will call you when your prosthetic leg has come in for you. Until then, hang in there!”

When we got home, I went immediately to my room, as I usually did. I layed in my bed and felt sorry for myself. I always knew, deep down, that I would never be able to play soccer again, but I didn’t want to have to admit it to myself. Humans are weird that way. We cling to that one little piece of hope, and just hold on for our dear lives.
I was still lying there when I heard a strange noise coming from the street. I sat up. Thump! There it was again. I urged myself off the bed and grabbed the windowsill before I fell over. There was a moving van next to the house across the street. The house had been on sale for just under a year. Nobody thought that anyone was going to move there. Grandville was the kind of town people didn’t move to. They moved away, but not to Grandville.
I was suddenly interested. I hopped over to my crutches, grabbed them, and then went out in search of my mom. She was in the kitchen. “Hey Mom, do you know who is moving into that house across the street? There is a moving van outside of it.”
“I think the family’s last name is Johnson. According to Mrs. Dodds, they have a daughter your age.” Mrs. Dodds was our next door neighbor. She was an old, bad tempered, wrinkled hag who hated it when my soccer ball rolled into her yard. Of course, she really had nothing to be mad at me for now, because my soccer ball had long since stopped rolling into her yard. Why my mother would go to her was beyond me.
I looked around our kitchen. Everything was orderly and had a specific place. We had refurbished it last year because Mom said that it didn’t need to look as shabby as we felt. Everything was granite, stainless steel, and wood stained a pretty color of brown. It smelled slightly of cinnamon, because cinnamon rolls were the sweet of the week.
I looked back to my mother. She sighed and said, “Are you going to come out with me and introduce yourself to them, or are you going to stay here and sleep?”
I sighed and muttered, “I’ll go with you, I guess.”
“Great! We’re bringing the cinnamon rolls to them.”
When we walked into their yard, we were not immediately noticed. Everyone had things to do and places to be. Nobody said anything to us until my mother walked up to a man telling everyone where to put things. “Are you Mr. Johnson?” she asked politely. He turned and looked at her, half annoyed that she was taking up his time.
“Yes. Can I help you with something?”
“Actually we were here because we are your neighbors, and we wanted to introduce ourselves.” At we the man looked over to see who was with her. The first thing he saw, of course, were my crutches. His face changed into an expression of sympathy when he looked at my leg.
“Of course! I will round up my wife and daughter, and we will have a proper introduction.” He walked off to find them, and my mother and I patiently waited. Well, she patiently waited. I shifted my weight from one crutch to another, and then back again. Mom had said they had a daughter my age. I wondered what her reaction would be when she saw me. Would she be immediately repulsed? It may sound a little harsh, but that was some people’s reaction to me when they saw me. Would she be interested? Would she pity me?
Mr. Johnson came back a few minutes later with a tall, willowy woman with red hair and numerous freckles. A girl stepped out from behind her that had the same red hair, freckles, and height. She had an athletic build, and bright, attentive green eyes. They had even more freckles than me, but theirs worked with the rest of their look. I had shaggy black hair that came just past my ears, dark brown eyes that were set back into my head, and freckles everywhere. I also had an athletic build, but it was kind of hard to pull it off when I only had one leg.
“Hi!” the girl said. Mrs. Dodds was right. She was about my age. “I’m Skylar. What’s your name?” She held out her right hand. I looked down at it. It was metal. She had a prosthetic arm. “Umm, are you going to answer my question or not?” Skylar asked, slightly annoyed. I reached out and shook her prosthetic hand.
“Uh… I’m Angel. Angel Davidson. Welcome to Grandville.”
“Thanks! Do you go to Grandville High School?”
“Yeah… I’m a freshman.” By this time, the adults had ceased to listen to our conversation. They were probably talking about politics or whatever else it was that adults talked about.
“Hey, me too! What courses are you taking?” I had to wrack my brain for the answer to that question, but questions of my own were boiling up inside of me. Instead of answering her question, I asked my own.
“How did you lose your arm?” She stared at me in a shocked silence, probably wondering how I could be so rude. She did answer my question, though.
“I, uh… got too close to a chainsaw when I was twelve. Instead of cutting a fallen branch, it cut off my right arm. Now may I ask, what happened to your leg?” I really didn’t want to have to answer that question, but since she answered mine, it was only fair.
“Car accident. There was a drunk driver. He killed himself along with my dad and twin sisters.”
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! Your story is so much worse than mine. At least I got a prosthetic arm. You don’t even have a prosthetic leg.”
“Actually, it’s coming. I had a doctor’s appointment today, and he said it would come in less than a week.”
“Then why do you seem so… depressed? I mean, usually someone would be happy to have news like that. But you… you’re not.” I was silent for a while. She kept staring at me, and I kept looking away from her. “You don’t have to answer me, you know,” she finally said. “I was upset when I got my arm. The doctor said I would never be able to play tennis again. But I do. Doctors are weird that way. They always look at the worst side of things. I prefer the bright side, the side with the happy ending. So, if it makes you sad, don’t tell me. I know we just met and everything, but I’m here for you. When you get your new leg, I mean.” Skylar turned around and walked back to the moving van. She picked up a box and walked inside with it.
I walked back to the house and sat down on my bed to think. Why did I not answer? We were obviously going through sort of the same thing, and she seemed nice enough. She poured her whole life story out to me, and what did I do? I stood there like an idiot. Wow, you’re really at the top of your game today, aren’t you? I thought to myself.

Throughout the week, I saw Skylar in a variety of places. She was in two of my classes, and I always saw her at lunch. She seemed very popular, despite the lack of flesh on her arm. I wondered why she was so well-liked, and I wasn’t. On Wednesday, she approached me at lunch.
“Why are you sitting all alone?” she asked. “I’ve noticed that you don’t sit with anybody ever, and no one ever asks to sit with you. Do you want to come sit at our table?” I looked over at her table and realized that it was all girls.
“Nah, I’m okay,” I said, and continued to eat my salad.
“Fine, if you won’t sit with us, I’ll sit with you,” Skylar said defiantly. “Let me go tell my friends really quick. I’ll be back in a second.” She walked over to her table and said something to her friends. They all looked over at me, at which point I became very interested in my fingernails. Skylar walked back over with her lunch and sat down on my right.
“So,” she said, obviously trying to start a conversation. “I was just wondering when your prosthetic leg was going to be here… I really want to help you with it. You apparently have something you want to do with it, since you didn’t answer my question the other day. I think that coming from a person who had to deal with this stuff herself, it would be beneficial for you if we had lessons to teach you how to use it.” I soaked this in. Skylar would help me if I wanted her to. This seemed extremely nice for someone who had just moved in four days ago. I remembered how bad I felt not answering her question, since she was going through some of the same stuff. I thought about it, and then answered.
“Sure, that would be amazing, if you would like to help me. I don’t think that anyone else here would want to.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed that people seem to avoid you. You kind of radiate an unhappy feeling. Knowing what you’ve been through, though, it really does make sense for you to feel this way.” I looked down again and finished my salad without saying anything. As I went to dump my tray, Skylar stood up and grabbed my arm.
“Wait. There’s something I want from you if we are going through with this arrangement.” Oh great, I thought. here comes the part where she asks for money. I was just about ready to tell her that if she asked for money, the arrangement was off. Instead, she said “Answers. You never answered my question the other night. I asked you why you seemed so sad when you are getting a prosthetic leg. Most people would be happy.”
I turned around to face her, and said “I didn’t want to get a prosthetic leg because the doctor said that I probably would never be able to play normal soccer again. I kept thinking what’s the point? If I’m not going to play soccer with my friends, why play it at all?”
She looked at me for a second. “That’s what you didn’t want to tell me? Angel, your family died. You told me that. But when it came to your sports, you wouldn’t tell me?” I turned around again and started walking. This time she didn’t stop me.

“Okay, Angel. Now we just strap this part around your calf and… yep, like that… you got it. Alright, it’s on!” I was at the doctor’s office for the second time that week. It was Friday morning, and I was going to be missing the whole day of school because it was going to be the first time I would walk with both legs in two years. According to Dr. James, it would take adjustment.
“Slowly stand up, and you can use the table behind you if necessary.” I stood up, and immediately there was a sharp pain where my leg ended, just below my knee. After my surgery, I had been told that I was lucky that my knee didn’t have to be amputated as well. I had been told that if I was ever to get a prosthetic leg, it would be easier for me to control it because I still had the joint.
I flinched at the pain, and leaned back against the table for a second, then I got back up and tried it again. It was hard to control where my foot went. I couldn’t really demand it to move where I wanted it to go, like I could with my other foot. I felt like a giant, fourteen-year-old-toddler, teetering around, learning how to walk. My new leg was metal and not as thick as my other leg was, mind you-it didn’t have any skin or muscle on it.
I walked around the room once, twice, three times. This, of course, took me all of fifteen minutes, and the adults were watching me as they talked about how to care for it. I would have to take it off in the shower and to go swimming (my main exercise) or to sleep, but otherwise I could leave it on. I was supposed to use my crutches for the first couple of days, just so I could get used to it.
We left the doctor’s office and went home, where I basically just watched T.V. in my room and practiced walking. The hours ticked away, and when 3:00 finally rolled around, I was excited. I really wanted to show Skylar my leg. I hadn’t talked to her on Thursday, but I had everything all planned out to tell her that I was sorry for being such a total jerk and that she was right, that I was being selfish and I was sorry. Just before I had gathered my self-confidence, the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it!” I yelled across the house to my mom. I grabbed the door and opened it. It was Skylar.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry about what I said to you Thursday! Will you forgive me?” I was taken aback. I was going to make the apology, not her. But if this was how things were turning out, I had no problem with her making the first move.
“No, you shouldn’t be, because you were right; I was being a jerk to not answer your question that first day, and I was really selfish about everything. I’m sorry.” She smiled, then looked down at my prosthetic leg, noticing it for the first time.
“Hey! You got your leg! I noticed you weren’t at school today, and I thought you would be getting your prosthetic leg because you said it would be coming in less than a week. Do you need help?”
“Actually, it’s getting easier, even today. I still have to use my crutches to walk around,” I said, displaying my crutches, “But after a week or so, I should be off them for the first time in two years.”
“That’s so great, Angel! I’m really happy for you.” She stood there for a second and and looked at me expectantly. “Well, are you going to invite me in, or just stand there?”
“Oh. Okay, sorry. Umm… won’t you come in?” I said sarcastically.
“Yes,” she said, matching my sarcasm, then and stepped through the door. She looked around, then went to the living room and sat down on the sofa. “So I was thinking about how to teach you to play soccer again. I thought we would start off with teaching you how to walk without your crutches.” Skylar got up and took my crutches away from me. “Now try to walk forward. Slowly, though. You don’t want to fall.” I inched forward about as fast as a caterpillar.
“You’re getting it!” We spent about two hours just trying to improve my walking, and then Skylar went home. She told me that she would come everyday after school to teach me how to walk again. How to run again. How to play soccer and be normal again. The first time I met her, she said that she liked to look at the bright side of things; the side with the happy ending. I spent so long thinking I couldn’t look at the bright side. Now that Skylar’s showed me how, I think I can have a happy ending just like her.