Sam calls later in the afternoon. "Hey, girl. Do you want to see a movie tonight?"

I hesitate. Why? I don't know. I've fallen into a pattern of thinking that I can't do anything until I'm "better." But what does "better" mean? Am I normal enough to go out in public? I guess the real question is, am I up to it, emotionally, mentally?

"Hello-o-o-o?" Sam sings into the phone. "Are you still there?"

"Uh, yes, sorry, Sam. I was trying to decide."

"Have you been out at all since you've been home from the hospital?" She asks.

"Not really, I guess."

"You're not sick, Sarah," she reminds me.

"I know. I'm just sore and tired."

"If you feel up to going to a movie, I will personally push your wheelchair everywhere we go, okay?"

"Sure, that sounds good. Who's going with us?" I ask.

"Cam and Morgan, of course. Maybe some other folks from the dorm. Do you want to invite Ethan?"

"Um, no, I don't think I will this time." No need to bring up the drama just now.

"Okay. We'll pick you up at 7:15," Sam hangs up and I feel a little smile creeping across my face. I don't think I've been this happy to be going to a movie since I was about five years old.

Sam pulls up in her mom's mini-van. Everyone rushes out of the van and scrambles up to the house. They're just as giddy about going to the movies as I am. And I think they're excited to have me back.

"Are you ready, princess Sarah?" Cam asks, as he takes the helm of my wheelchair.

"I need my jacket from the front closet. Do I need gloves and a hat?"

"No, it's pretty nice out," Morgan assures me as she grabs my jacket and holds it out for me to slide my arms into it.

My friends are quite adept with my wheelchair, helping me in and out of it, folding it and storing it in the mini-van. I'm sure that's why Sam opted for the mini-van instead of her little Ford Fiesta. They act like kids when it comes to pushing the automatic door buttons.

We load up on sugary snacks and salty popcorn and head into the theater. I'm surprised at how normal I feel, in spite of the fact that I'm riding around in a wheelchair. One little girl stops and stares at me. She looks me up and down three or four times. Then her stare lingers on my leg, my half a leg with the remainder of the denim material tucked up underneath it. I remember what Mitch told me: People will stare. This little girl doesn't know any better, but I decide to make her as comfortable as I can by giving her a warm smile. When she sees that I've noticed her, she looks away and catches up with her mommy.

That wasn't so bad.

My friends park my wheelchair and park themselves right next to me in prime spots for the movie. I'm glad they've chosen a comedy. It feels great to laugh with them again. After the movie, we head to our favorite cafe. As I wait at the table for Sam to order my cherished vanilla-caramel cappuccino, I'm met with sympathetic eyes. A girl from one of my classes comes up and says, "I'm sorry to hear about what happened to you. You look great."

"Thanks," I tell her.

I'm surprised at the number of people who recognize me, either from classes or the dorms, or by word of mouth. I'm surprised to receive a constant stream of well-wishers throughout our coffee date, and I'm moved by everyone's concern. It's almost like they've been waiting for me to show my face in public again so they could tell me all the good things they've been telling me - that I'm a hero, that I'm an inspiration, that they're praying for me or that I'm a walking (or almost-walking) miracle. I let that one slide since I do feel a bit more bolstered by everyone's care for me. A few people seem uncomfortable, probably because they just don't know what to say, but for the most part, everyone expresses genuine concern and compassion for me.

Maybe I'm not such a freak after all.

"You want to sleep over?" I ask Sam, after she's dropped Cam and Morgan off at the dorms.

"Sure, let me ask my mom when she needs her van in the morning. My first class doesn't start until 11:00." She pulls out her phone and after a brief conversation with her mom, she tells me she's all mine for the night.

When we get home, we grab some more snacks and sneak them into my room, feeling like grade-schoolers. I don't know how Sam and I do it, but we've had some serious binge-fests, and we never seem to pay for it.

Once we're cozy in my room, I realize that I have to undress in front of Sam. We've been room-mates and best friends for years, but I wonder if my new appearance will bother her.

"Sam, are you okay with me changing right here? You won't be weirded out or anything?"

Sam gives me a look that says "don't be ridiculous," so I move to my bed and commence in removing my shoe and sock. Then I have to lie back, unbutton my pants and pull them down over my bottom before I sit up again. It's much easier than trying to stand up and push them down while I'm balancing on only one leg.

Once the pants are off, I notice she glances at my legs – both of them – but she doesn't seem freaked out. Curious, maybe.

"Did you see my scar?" I show her the long line along my left thigh.

Then she really takes an interest. In addition to being a math nerd, she's always been kind of interested in gross stuff. Sometimes, I think she should have been a boy with her daredevil attitude and her ability to stomach just about anything.

"Do you want to see my stump?" I ask bluntly. "I have to change the dressing anyway."

"Oh, sure, what the heck. Nothing can weird me out too badly. The worst thing I've ever seen was you lying in a pool of your own blood." I just grimace at her, not wanting to allow that image into my brain. "Well, it was the worst moment of my life," she whispers solemnly.

I peel off the bandages and show off my stump proudly. I think it actually helps to show other people. It's like a proclamation: This is me, people. Get used to it!

"Wow, that's not too bad," Sam says upon inspecting my stump very closely. She lifts it up and looks all around, causing me to fall back on the bed again.

"What the heck are you doing?" I ask her, laughing uncontrollably.

"Look," she tells me. "You still have your goofy freckle constellation."

"You're such a weirdo. I don't know if I should find that disturbing or comforting. I mean, you are the only one who knows about Chester." That's what we named the collection of freckles on my right upper thigh, which looks remarkably like a cat. It's visible when I wear a bathing suit, but no one knows we gave a name to my freckles.

"Will you tell Ethan about Chester?" She asks, and then she dissolves into a heap of laughter on my bedroom floor.

"Very funny," I tell her, although I'm trying to control my giggles. "But seriously, I don't plan on showing Chester to anyone!"

Sam stops laughing and asks, "So, anything new happen since you last talked to me?"

"Nothing. Well, except that I, um, kind of kissed him." That's when I tell Sam everything about me losing it in therapy, about Ethan transferring me, and then about him coming to apologize. I'm practically out of breath when I finish my tale.

"So, you told him that he was coming on too strong. And then you kissed him?" Sam's face is drawn out into an exaggerated look of confusion and disappointment.

"Yeah," I say, feeling more embarrassed than ever.

"So, where do you two stand right now?"

"I told him I shouldn't have kissed him and that I'm not ready for a relationship yet. So he agreed to give me some space."

"That's fair, I guess," Sam agrees. I look at my best friend warily. She rarely lets her real feelings go untold. She's holding back, I can tell. I stare at her intensely until she continues. "It's just that I want you two to fall in love and get married and have babies and it will be so romantic because he saved your life...."

"You're a sick, sappy, hopeless romantic," I laugh. "But seriously, don't push me, okay? This is still kind of huge for me, you know, being disabled and everything. I really do need some time to figure things out. Please?"

I find that when I say things out loud about my accident or my amputation or simply being disabled, it helps to somehow cement the fact into my brain. Like bit by bit, when I say these things out loud, I'm accepting my new reality, and I'm creating my new reality as well by choosing how I present it.

"I know. I'll back off," Sam agrees. "But now you what I think anyway."

The days pass quickly until my new leg arrives. My parents are both coming to therapy with me for the delivery of the new prosthesis. They've been taking turns as much as they can, but this is exciting for all of us. And Ethan had promised me he would be there, too. But that was before our discussion about space and all that.

As soon as Fern gets us situated in the therapy gym, Tori arrives with new leg. Once everything is connected, we decide to try it out. Fern fastens a gait belt around my waist. She gives me specific instructions for standing up from my wheelchair. Once I'm standing, she puts her hands on my hips. She tells me that she is going to gradually move back and allow me to stand on my own. She will continue holding the belt while I try out my new leg. The walker in front of me will help, too. All in all, it feels awkward and somewhat uncomfortable. I feel a little frustrated because I've been waiting for this and since it was made for me, I thought that it would fit better. I only manage a few graceful steps before I have to take a break.

Tori reminds me that discomfort is very common and that I will eventually get used to it. She can make any adjustments needed to increase my comfort level. But most of all, it will take time for my stump to adjust to the new attachment. My new leg.

"Okay," I say, feeling slightly dejected. "Do you know where Ethan is? He said he would be here today."

Fern answers plainly. "I don't know. I saw him come in this morning, so I know he's here."

We make our way around the gym a few more times, and I focus all my energy on taking the steps exactly the way Fern tells me to. The leg is similar to the one I'd been using to do physical therapy, but since it was built for me, it should be better in the long run. However, it still feels different. For a moment I feel her let go of the belt, and then she grabs it again, and it feels like she has a much stronger hold on it.

Soon, though, I realize that Fern isn't holding my belt at all. I hear Ethan's voice close behind me, softly encouraging me. "You're doing fantastic."

I breathe a sigh of relief and then ask playfully, "What took you so long?"

"I had a long meeting and I just got out. But I told you I would be here, didn't I?"

I nod. Ethan guides me in turning and then walking toward a full length mirror at the end of the gym. I catch sight of myself, with two legs walking almost like normal. I'm just a little more slow and clumsy than I used to be. But I see something new with Ethan standing right behind me, smiling his constant encouragement into my eyes. For the first time, I feel the way Ethan sees me.

I feel brave.

* * * * *

Double update - yeah! :D