AN: This is really part of a much larger fic project that I am working on for my own enjoyment. I doubt I'll ever post that, so here's an outtake of sorts.


When I first heard about the wheelchair, I thought I might be sick. I'd been teaching at McKinley for five years now and had seen them in the hall, but had managed to avoid any real contact with any real disabilities. Sure, I'd had that kid that was dyslexic and Suzy Pepper was pretty crazy, but I could deal with the small stuff. It was only, well, the big stuff that freaked me out.

So the first day Artie Abrams wheeled himself into my sophomore Spanish class, I purposely looked away, down at my syllabus. The rest of the class soon filtered in, surrounding him, but as I turned to greet my new class, my eyes stayed focused on his wheels. He must have noticed, because he gave me this huge smile, silently saying it was OK, but it wasn't. I flinched away, starting the class. Maybe I could make it through the year, just ignoring him.

I was wrong. When I held auditions for glee club, he was the last person I'd expected to show up, but there he was, belting out some Beatles tune in a deep, vibrant voice. Plus he played guitar. I had to let him in; our club only had 4 other kids.

So twice a week, I had to face him and his wheelchair. He always had a bright smile on his face, keeping up with the best of them. While the other kids immediately accepted him, I tried to avoid his eyes. It helped when the cheerios and jocks joined up. I could keep Artie off to the side, behind his guitar. He seemed OK with this, for the most part.

It wasn't until I started really thinking about sectionals that I realized the big problem. He was there, but somehow not really a part of us. If he was gonna be in glee, he had to be part of the team. My heart shrank every time I saw Artie. I knew no one felt exactly like I did, but they must feel some strange version of it. It wasn't so much pity, but something bigger. Something I kept hidden deep inside.

My father had an older brother and he constantly told me stories about when they were kids and crazy stories about the adventures they had. Dad really respected his older brother, really looked up to him. My uncle was supposed to be some football star back when they were in high school and was the star jock. He got accepted to Penn State on a football scholarship. He joined the army his sophomore year in college, claiming that he felt proud to defend his country. He got sent to Vietnam, a top solider expected to kill tons of commies. He came back a double amputee. He had a purple heart and an alcoholic temper to prove it. We'd met him when I was 8 and I'd run out of the house, crying.

When he was 8, he'd had his legs taken away from him, I remembered from the short memo the school had sent all his teachers before school started. And he smiled, he kept us going. I still shuddered any time I saw a wheelchair and somehow, he made do. He was happy, despite it all.

Suddenly, I was proud to have Artie Abrams in my glee club and I had a brilliant idea.