Half a year after an accident put me in a wheelchair, I attended my high school dance thinking people would either feel sorry for me, completely overlook me, or leave me sitting in a corner. But then one guy walked across the floor, completely turned my evening around, and handed me a memory that stayed with me for three decades.
I truly never expected to cross paths with Jude again.
At seventeen, an intoxicated driver blew through a stoplight and turned my world upside down. Half a year before the dance, my life shifted from debating curfews and fitting into gowns with my girls, to opening my eyes in a clinical room where physicians discussed my case as if I were invisible.
Both of my legs had triple fractures. My back suffered severe trauma. The conversations were filled with terms like physical therapy, recovery odds, and uncertain outcomes.
Prior to the wreck, my days were wonderfully normal. My biggest concerns were my test scores. I stressed over teenage crushes. I worried about getting the perfect photos at the dance.
Following the incident, my only fear was people staring.
When the night of the dance finally arrived, I informed my mother I was staying home.
She paused at my bedroom door with my gown in hand and replied, “You owe it to yourself to have this evening.”
“What I owe myself is avoiding everyone’s eyes.”
“Then look right back at them.”
