Fragile Hearts

3: Aquatics

I survive my first week of college and even feel a tinge of pride. By the third week, I'm into the routine. Lucy makes me laugh more than I have in years. She's a natural born comedian. Sometimes, in psych class, she mimics the popular girls who are always whispering and I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing aloud.

I've seen Tyce several times in the hallways. For the first few days, he was standing outside my classroom and I wondered if he was waiting for me. Of course, I know that's silly, but he was nice and joked with me and asked how things were going. Every time we talk, however, he's interrupted by girls saying hello. I don't like the looks they give me, so I stopped coming to class early. Once, Tyce stuck his head in the room and when he saw me, he waved. Tina and her friends started whispering again.

I've never had a boyfriend and I just turned twenty-one. My mom and dad and brothers are always trying to build my self-confidence, but I guess I have a mental block in that department. They tell me I'm pretty, but I know they're just being nice. I'm average with a smattering of freckles. My eyes match my brunette hair, which is thick and wavy and reaches just below my shoulders. I guess my hair is exceptional, but everything else is plain. I don't have high cheekbones or a cute nose or full lips, and that's okay. I was never vain about my appearance. However, after the car accident that scarred one side of my face, I got to where I hated being around people because of their stares. Plastic surgery was performed a couple of years after the accident and it worked miracles, but old habits die hard, and I'm still covering that side of my face with my hand.

When I was nineteen, my brother Nate tried to set me up on a double date with him and his girlfriend. The guy was a computer geek and nice, and seemed to genuinely like me, but I got so nervous I vomited in the restaurant's bathroom.

If someone were to ask me if I'm happy with my life, I'd tell them I'm as happy as I can be. Given that I've lost a loved one and I'll never walk again, I think that's an accomplishment. On the plus side, I'm very thankful that I can dress and care for myself without assistance, since I'm a paraplegic and my legs are skinny. I used to have a physical therapist come to my house to exercise them, but now I have a machine that I use at least every other day to keep some tone in my muscles. There are lots of people in wheelchairs who lead normal lives, marry, and have families, but I guess I won't be one of them. My mom and dad tell me I'm too negative, but I can't seem to help it. I've seen many counselors over the years that want to pry into my head. I only allow them to go so far. They think I have amnesia from the night my sister died. I let them believe that. But I really remember what happened. It's not something I can talk about.

Surprisingly, I enjoy most of my classes; except speech. No way am I getting up in front of everyone. I'll just refuse and get expelled from that class.

My favorite class is aquatics. I'm in a program specially designed for physically challenged students. There are two teachers and several aides. Most of the aides are students majoring in physical therapy. For some reason, I'm not afraid of the water, probably because I used to swim so much before the accident. I feel unshackled when I'm in the pool. I get a different aide every day and so far I've had both guys and gals helping me. I'm not even upset when an aide touches me. Something about the water makes me forget everything.

I'm waiting in line for the lift with a couple of students in front of me. I can't wait to feel free again in the water. Finally, I'm helped into the lift.

I feel that strange charging of the atmosphere and glance toward the pool entrance. Tyce just entered. He's wearing gray swim trunks that almost reach his knees. My eyes widen. I don't want him to see me in a bathing suit. It's a pretty blue, one-piece, but no matter how pretty the suit, it doesn't change how I look. I shrink downward, hoping he won't see me.