At Prom, Only One Boy Asked Me to Dance Because I Was in a Wheelchair

We’re together now.

Slowly. Like adults with scars. Like people who know life can turn on you and don’t waste much time pretending otherwise.

His mother has proper care now. He runs training programs at the center we built and consults on every new adaptive project we take on. He is good at it because he never talks down to anybody.

“Would you like to dance?”

Last month, at the opening of our community center, there was music in the main hall.

Marcus came over, held out his hand.

“Would you like to dance?”

I took it.

“We already know how.”