I never thought I’d see Marcus again.
When I was 17, a drunk driver ran a red light and changed everything. Six months before prom, I went from arguing about curfew and trying on dresses with my friends to waking up in a hospital bed with doctors talking around me like I wasn’t in it.
My legs were broken in three places. My spine was damaged. There were words like rehab and prognosis and maybe.
By the time prom came, I told my mom I wasn’t going.
Before the crash, my life had been ordinary in the best way. I worried about grades. I worried about boys. I worried about prom pictures.
Afterward, I worried about being looked at.By the time prom came, I told my mom I wasn’t going.
She stood in my doorway holding the dress bag and said, “You deserve one night.”
“I deserve not to be stared at.”
“Then stare back.”
She helped me into my dress.
“I can’t dance.”She came closer. “You can still exist in a room.”
That hurt, because she knew exactly what I had been doing since the accident. Disappearing while still technically present.
So I went.
She helped me into my dress. Helped me into my chair. Helped me into the gym, where I spent the first hour parked near the wall pretending I was fine.
Then they drifted back toward the dance floor.
People came over in waves.“You look amazing.”
“I’m so glad you came.”
“We should take a picture.”
Then they drifted back toward the dance floor. Back to movement. Back to normal life.
Then Marcus walked over.
I glanced behind me because I honestly thought he had to mean someone else.
He stopped in front of me and smiled.“Hey.”
I glanced behind me because I honestly thought he had to mean someone else.
He noticed and laughed softly. “No, definitely you.”
“That’s brave,” I said.
He tilted his head. “You hiding over here?”
Then he held out his hand.
“Is it hiding if everyone can see me?”But his face just changed. Softer.
“Fair point,” he said. Then he held out his hand. “Would you like to dance?”
I stared at him. “Marcus, I can’t.”
He nodded once.
“Okay,” he said. “Then we’ll figure out what dancing looks like.”
I laughed before I meant to.
Before I could protest, he wheeled me onto the dance floor.