Dare You To Be

Skating. It was something I lived for, breathed for. I longed for it everyday, still do… but I will never get to feel the ripping of my edge on the ice, the cold, brisk air on my face as I step onto the ice for an early morning practice session, and the joy of winning or the sorrow of losing. I would never feel that again. I hugged my stuffed bear as I lay in the hospital bed. My life was over. Done… how could I live when I couldn't skate.

It had happened so fast, most of it a blur. The day started out like every other day. I was on my way up to the rink for my practice sessions. It had been snowing the night before, so it was a little slick out, but, as usual I minded what my parents told me, and drove a little slower than what the speed limit was. As I was driving on the highway the car in front of me hit an ice patch, swerved, and hit the side of my car. All I remember was feeling the impact of the cars hitting each other then everything went black.

Later, I ended up waking up in a critical care room in the hospital. The doctors told me that the car had ended up rolling three times, and even though my seatbelt had held, my back had been broken just above my hips. I would never walk again. The instant those words hit my ears, I started to cry. They said that there was a slight chance that I would walk again, but the chance of it was extremely rare. I told them to leave; I didn't want to see anyone.

For days my family, the doctors, and physical therapists tried to cheer me up, try to prepare me for a life in a wheelchair. I couldn't accept that, not when I had been a skater who had been competing in the Junior Olympics. This couldn't be it. But who was I kidding; my life was over, what else did I have to live for?

Some of my friends from skating stopped by but I told my parents to send them away. They couldn't see me like this. No, no one I knew, especially from skating, could ever see me like this. They just couldn't. I didn't want to see the pity in their eyes for me.

After a couple of days, the doctors started me on physical therapy. But I just wasn't motivated.

I would yell at the therapist, "Why does it matter? It's not like I'll ever walk again anyway!"

I just went through the motions, when the therapist wanted me too. I gave up countless times without even trying. What was the point? I would never skate, or walk again. I would never dance at prom, or take hikes through the woods with my dad. I slipped into a state of depression. But one day, a friend of mine, who was also a skater, walked into my hospital room, even though I had told him to leave.

"Go away, Danny!" I growled, trying to suppress my anger, "I don't want you to see me like this!"

"I know you don't want me to, Peyton." he Danny argued passionately back at me, "But you have to get over this, you're stronger than this. I know you are! I dare you to be what you were! I dare you to have the strength to pull yourself through this!"

I looked down at my sheets on the hospital bed, playing with an invisible stain, and then let my graze return to is intensely gazing eyes with tears in my eyes. "But how?"

"You'll see." He said with a smile, "But you have to be strong. Can you do that? Can you be the strong person that you were before this accident?"

"I think so." I said in a small voice. I felt tears come to my eyes, but when he gave me that soft smile, I just had to smile back.

Over the next year, I continued going to physical therapy, and I worked hard. Danny came to visit me almost every day, and he helped with my exercises. Every day I grew a little stronger. Eventually I let my friends come to visit me, and I was more and more cheerful. I still missed skating, tear up when I see it on TV, but I know it's not the end of life. There was so much more to live for.

As time went by, it turned out that the slight chance that I would be able to walk again was going to happen. Slowly, almost agonizingly slow, movement and feeling returned to the lower half of my body. Each day I am able to go one step further.

After a while I returned home, and even though I used a wheelchair, that didn't stop me from walking around the house for as long as I could. I was determined to be able to walk again no matter what.

When more months had passed, I was walking, though not always steadily, but still walking. I had never accomplished something so big. I had never felt so proud of myself. I did it. A couple days after I had stopped using my wheelchair Danny came over again. He smiled at me and immediately walked into my room and opened my closet door.

"Danny, what are you doing?" I asked as I watched him rummage around in my closet. Silently, he pulled out my figure skates, walked back, and handed them to me. He then took my free hand and led me out the door to the car. I didn't ask questions, I knew where we were going. I uncomfortably sat in the passenger seat of the car. The ride was silent the whole way to the ice rink. We walked into the rink. The sheet of ice was empty.

Danny sat me down on a bench, pointed to my skates, and said, "Put them on."

"But Danny…" I stuttered.

"Just put them on." He replied cutting me off.

I sat and put on my skates. He sat down next to me and put his own on at the same time. Danny then took my hand, leading me to the ice.

"I…I can't do this." I said looking at him with worried eyes.

"Yes, you can." He replied with his classic smile, "I'll be beside you the whole time."

We stepped onto the ice together. Slowly we started skating laps around the rink. For the first time in over a year, I felt the ripping of my edge on the ice, the cold, brisk, air hitting my face as we moved, and I felt the pure joy of accomplishing something that was better than any gold medal. I was skating. Something I thought I would never do again. I had accepted the dare Danny had given me, and I had won. A smile broke out on my face. Stopping, Danny turned me towards him, and gave me a soft kiss on the lips. As I smiled at him, with all the joy in my heart, he smiled back and whispered softly to me,

"Welcome home."