• She changed me. I loved her before I even knew I did. It was so long ago that I met her, yet it seems like only yesterday.Like only yesterday she shaped me, and turned me from a crippled boy into a strong man. Like only yesterday that she taught me to dance. And as I stand at her grave, I remember how.

    I was just beginning my freshman year. I knew that it would be the same as all the years before: I would go to school, be tripped at the school entrance, someone would steal my crutches and hide it on the roof of the school. I would be pushed shoved throughout the day, go home and cry myself to sleep. That day was going to end differently. I gave up survival. I chose suicide.

    The day ended, and I waited for my mother to pick me up. As usual, the bullies came. They took my glasses and threw them in the trash. They took my crutches and threw them in opposite directions. They took my backpack and proceeded to dump its contents on the ground, kicking my books and papers around. Usually they stopped at that, but not that day.

    I could barely stand up, walking was not an option. They stood in a circle and shoved me around, laughing each time I stumbled and crumpled to the ground. I tried to fight back, but they were bigger, faster, and stronger. Each feeble swing erupted in pain as they continued their onslaught. I was sure that night would be my last.

    They were finished with me at last, with me bruised and my spirit more than cracked.I crawled across the ground to gather my materials, but quickly broke down into spontaneous, violent sobs. I stayed there for a while, just sobbing from my pain and humiliation. And that is when the hands of an angel found me.

    She laid her hand on my shoulder and gently asked, "Are you all right?" I just stared in awe at her beautiful face. Her brunette hair dangled down over her pierced, round ears. Her shining Caribbean blue eyes sparkled in the sunlight, and her perfect teeth completed her perfect body. I managed to gather my wits and reply shakily, "Y-Yes, I am." She smiled and extended her hand. I gratefully grabbed it. She wondered if she could help. The next few minutes were spent picking up my supplies. When we finished we sat down on the nearby bench and spoke.

    Her name was Iris. She had just moved from Minnesota with her parents, and was having trouble finding friends. All the guys hit on her instantly, and put their arms around her. She solved it with a slap. I laughed at that. She asked me what my name was. I hated my name, so to impress her, I chose to lie. "Chad." I easily said. "I don't believe you." "Would you believe... Chase?"
    "No."
    "Mark?"
    "Uh-uh."
    "Cyrus?"
    "Nope."
    "Jay?"
    "Sure."

    I gave up, and with a sigh, I glumly said, "Leroy." We sat silently for a few moments until she said, "It's a nice name." "Thank you" "What are your ambitions?" I gave her a confused glance. "Things you want to do." Ah. Truth to be told, I didn't. I had no hope for a good future. I figured she wouldn't believe me if i lied, so I told her the truth. "I don't. I have no ambitions."

    "Sure you do! It doesn't have to be anything huge, it can be something simple, like owning a candy store." It occurred to me then what I wanted. Sheepishly, I said, "I want... to be able... to dance." She smiled at me and said, "Well, what did I tell you? It's a simple thing really, to dance. I'd be glad to teach you." In awe, I said, "Really? You can do that?" "Sure. Back home, I even taught my own class." And for the first time in a dreadfully long time, I smiled. She looked at her watch and quickly said, " Uh-oh, I'm late. I have to go. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" "Okay." She walked away with incredible grace, and she entranced me. I was woken from my trance by the honk of a car. I walked over as fast as my crutches would allow me. When I entered the car, my mother asked the most predictable question anyone could ask. "Who was that you were talking to?" With a smile, I coolly said, "A friend."

    The following day, we made a schedule foe my lessons. It was like killing three birds with one stone. Everyday, after school, I would go to the gym to begin my walking lessons. I would overcome my disability while being able to avoid the school bullies and fill in the time between the end of school and mom picking me up. They would never think to find me in the gym. I took me the entire year to walk semi-strongly. I wanted to give up so many times, but she wouldn't let me. Every time I wanted to give up, she would ask me, "Will you give up on you're dream?" I never gave up because of that. No matter how many times I would fall, trip, or crumple to the ground, I never gave up.

    Over the summer we practiced in places where no one would find us: in the woods, and abandoned house, and even the females section at the mall. If it weren't for her undying resolve for me to dance, I would still be in my crutches. I would still be in the crutches of my mind. I would still be permanently impaired. It was just us against the expectations of everyone else. What a pair we made: A crippled boy who just wanted to dance, and a beautiful girl, who out of all the people in the school, chose me as her friend. Of all the people to teach, she taught me to dance.

    We began our sophomore year together. My mother drove us to school that day. I had a brief pause before leaving the car. I remember I was having a battle between two choices: to do, or not to do. The battle lasted years in seconds, a furious debate. But in the end, I made my decision. I chose to do.

    With that decision came the turning point in my life. The day I left my cage and walked free. The day I left the crutches in the car and walked through the school with Iris. The day I became respected. The day I lived.

    I waited the entire day for the teasing and the laughing, the pushing and the tripping, and above all, the humiliation. It never came. My body was spotless, and my spirit intact. It was a perfect day for me. The bullies all just walked by me, like I was never there. They looked at me without their usual scheming looks, deciding on how to torture me next. Instead, their eyes were clear, like nothing ever happened.

    The year went as fast as it came. During that year, I learned my first dance. It was incredible, the feeling of the stepping feet and the swinging arms. The sound of tapping shoes and clapping hands. It was a poem of music. A musical poem, who's beat increased, faster and faster, until nothing could be heard but the sound of the beat. And I danced to that beat, I danced until I could dance no more. I fell to the floor, laughing and crying with joy. Iris covered her nose and mouth, trying to conceal her happiness, for she had taught a cripple to dance. It was a miracle, for both of us. I could see the tears dripping from her eyes, slowly at first, but gradually picked up speed. And together, we laughed until our voices were hoarse and cried until all our tears were gone. For a miracle happened that day.

    If you believe this to be the end of the story, then you are sorely wrong, dear reader. I still have some years left before the end. Now, reader, continue the story.

    The weekend following that day we went to the nearby mountain. It was a cloudless day, with the sun shining warmly down onto the earth. It was my first time hiking, and I admit I was nervous. it was all so new: the boots, the slope, the smells, the sounds. It was all so beautiful. Little did I know that it, too, was dangerous.

    We were climbing past a group of firmly wedged group of boulders. Iris was taunting me from above, saying, "Come on, cripple! Gonna let a girl beat you?" I gripped a rock that was wedged under a boulder, and stretched for another grip with my other hand. The rock came loose. That dislodged the boulder, and it tumbled down the mountain with me. I stopped rolling down the mountain on a flatter plain of it, and the rest was a flash of pain beyond anything I had felt before, and blackness.

    I woke up in the hospital with my mother and Iris next to my bed, their eyes red with tears. Iris saw my eyes open and rushed to me, embracing me in a bone-crushing hug. My mother began to pet my head. I was so confused. "What's going on?" I asked. My mother disregarded the question and in return said, "Can you feel them?" "Feel what?" "Your legs," she cried, " Can you feel your legs?!"

    The boulder had completely crushed my legs, they were to be amputated later. I was shattered by the news, and I went through the steps. I denied that my legs were to be gone, that I was just dreaming. Then I became angry at everyone: the doctors, my mother, and especially Iris. Then I began to bargain with God, offering personal objects. Finally, depression set in, and it stayed. I never accepted the loss of my legs.

    It finally came time to leave the hospital. My mother had given me my old crutches, hoping that they would provide me with a small bit of comfort. They didn't. They brought back poignant memories that were better left forgotten. I, of course, could not use them. They gave me a wheelchair instead. I pushed my way out of the hospital, carrying the clothes on my back, a revolting wheelchair, useless crutches, and tortuous memories that refused to die. And once again, I began contemplating suicide.

    I never took my eyes off those crutches, forcing myself to remember each memory of torture, sorrow, and fury. I was allowed to stay at home for a week after leaving the hospital the hospital, and I spent every minute of it staring at those crutches, those accursed crutches, reliving every memory of pain I had endured before. My mother and Iris tried to comfort me, but there was no way past the impenetrable wall of memories I had accumulated. I remember the one thing, the one building block of that wall. That thought was: I had to go back.

    I returned to school, and much to my surprise, I did not take any bullying that day. In fact, I never saw much of my tormentors at all. It's like they just disappeared into thin air. Unfortunately, they didn't. I didn't encounter them during the day, but I did after school, as I began my wait for my mother to come pick me up. Once again, they came.

    One of them stole my wheelchair, leaving me helpless on the ground. They mocked me, spit at me, kicking me, using me as a punching bag, as was to their enjoyment. Wave after wave came, and there was nothing I could do. And yet, it wasn't enough for them. They gathered around my bruised and slightly bloody body, and I watched in horror as on pulled out some salt packets and a knife. And during the next ordeal, they laughed.

    If you believe that there could be no possible good ending to this tale, then you are wrong, once again, dear reader. For this story has an ending that follows in the footsteps of thousands of others, yet never ceases to gain it's applause. Now, continue on with the story.
    I laid there, bleeding and broken. I was blinded by my own blood, dripping over my eyes and creating a film of crimson. Each of the cuts still bubbled from the mixture of salt and flesh, they caused pain still even when the torturers were long gone. The sky was darkening, my mother was late. I was alone. There was no angel this time. Before everything went black, I remember I heard a scream, and felt the hands of an angel.

    I woke up in the hospital, yet again. It was the same as before: the I.V. was hooked up into me, mom and Iris were crying on the bench in the room, and I couldn't feel my legs. I thought that maybe it was all just a terrible dream, that I could still walk and that I never went through that ordeal. But as I observed the scars that I had and the stumps of what once were my legs, I knew that that was not what it was. I had still been tortured. I had still been abused. I still could not dance.

    It was that Iris had found me, and just in time as well. The doctors told me that if I had laid there for a bit longer, I might have had irreparable damage to some of my muscles, and maybe longer than that, death. It seemed that God was on my side this time. I realized that if Iris wasn't there in several places before I would have been worse off than ever. I thought about this for a full day, and at the break of the next, I decided something. I decided to accept, and to forgive.

    That day Iris came to visit again. I knew she was expecting the same treatment as all the other days before. Instead, I did something different. I stared out the window, hiding my face and tears from her. After a determined amount of minutes, I began turning my head slowly to face her. When I had faced her completely, I began to speak. “Iris... I am... sorry.” And I broke down into violent sobs. I felt her arms wrap around me, and there was painted a picture in my mind, of and angel, wrapping her wings around a crippled beggar. That picture told all that I needed to know of her, and of myself. Yet in that moment I decided to paint a new picture, one of myself not being a beggar, and of her not wrapping her wings around me. I painted a picture of two angels, side by side, hand in hand, as each embraced the other. I decided that. So I wrapped my arms around her, and together... we cried.

    I continued going to school, braving the bullying. But due to the torture and near murder that they put me through, the school kicked them out and sent them to juvie. I was never bullied again my junior year. I think that it might have been the protection from my guardian angel, along with my living angel. They were always there, in each class and each lunch. They walked with me as I rolled myself over to my usual waiting area. And during each day during my junior year, I always had my angels.

    The school year ended, another summer vacation. My birthday came again that summer. It was small, just Mom, Iris, and myself. I only got one present, but I loved it. I anxiously ripped open the wrapping paper to find a rather large, wooden box. When I opened the box, I found something incredible, something beyond my imagination. I could scarcely breath when I found what was in the box. I found legs.

    They weren't real legs, per se. They were metal ones that you attach to your stubs of legs. Iris and Mom had been saving lots of money to get me these, and it was well spent. I immediately put them on, stepped out of my wheelchair, and immediately fell. In fact, it took me quite a while to be able to walk with fake legs. It was incredible, and more than a little strange, to be able to walk with metal legs. By the time senior year started, I was able to walk steadily. Sure, I got a few strange stares, but not many commented on it, The ones that did were my torturers, having served their time and returned to school. But commenting was all that they did, nothing else. I was happy.

    Iris began to reteach me how to dance. I knew how to, but I had to learn to dance with metal legs. It was very, very difficult, but I managed rather well. I had to learn learn the many other dances that I never did previously: jazz, waltz, and several others. It took most of the year for me to learn them, but through hard work and diligence, I succeeded. Another miracle happened, and to this day I still thank God for what he did for me.

    The night that I had been waiting for for so long finally arrived: senior prom night. Where I could show the world a dancing cripple. I was so excited. I was going to prom with Iris, the most beautiful girls in the school. How lucky was I? Mom dropped us off at the gym. As we got out, Mom stopped me and gave me my crutches. “Just in case.” she said. I didn't believe that I would use them that night, but as it turned out, I did. I had to.

    We had gotten there early, so not many people were there yet. The only people there were Iris, myself, a couple of other students, and Jacob, the head of my group of torturers. More people were arriving in bigger and bigger groups. Iris and I were just talking when we heard the music start. I looked at her, and she gave me a look, a look that said, “Are you ready?” I knew my answer. My answer was yes. We stood up and began to walk towards the dance floor. Out of nowhere, Jacob came and hit me, knocking me down. He covered Iris' mouth to prevent her from screaming and kidnapped her, running in what seemed a random direction. I got up as fast as I could, but he was faster, and with a head start. I began to lose hope, but a voice sounded in my head, saying something. It said, “Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified,do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.” I knew then what I had to do. I took one one of my crutches, and with a prayer, pursued Jacob.

    He wasn't hard to find, since he had left an obvious trail. I found him outside an old brick building, long since abandoned. Jacob had tied Iris down and covered her mouth with duct tape. I could see him holding a knife, in case Iris had any ideas. He was going to rape her. He held the knife to her throat, and was busy trying to take off her dress with one hand. I couldn't let that happen. I crept up behind him as silently as I could, and hit him with my crutch over the top of his head. He fell limp to the ground, unconscious. I used Jacob's knife to cut Iris loose, and with my own hands, removed the tape from her mouth. I extended my hand and said, “Are you all right?” She took my hand and stood up. She then looked deep into my eyes, closed hers, and kissed me.

    I accompanied her back to the gym. My heart was beating rapidly, from what I just did and what was coming. She took me out onto the dance floor, as “Highway to Hell” ended and a slow song that I didn't recognize began. She put her arms around me, and I put my hands on her hips. The song got into the main part, and I looked into the eyes of my future wife as she stared into mine. And together... we danced.