Carly

The day I met Carly, I knew my life would never be normal again. It was a choice I had, and I chose her. The first time I saw her, she was in the book store, choosing between a Michael Crichton novel, and Tony Hillerman thriller. At first sight, many may have steered away from her wheelchair. Some people get nervous at the sight of a phsically impaired person. Even I was like that once. But Carly seemed different. I walked up to her, said hi, and told her that if she wanted my opinion, I would definetly choose the Crichton novel. She laughed, and I knew I had found a new friend. 1

Carly lived in a small apartment downtown with her mother and 4 month old sister. When she first invited me for dinner, I was shocked at how tiny their space was, and how little they had, and I began to feel guilty for eating their food. But Carly and her mom seemed so happy, I was soon laughing and cracking stupid jokes that would set us all off again. I remember that night as one of the best I ever had with Carly.2

As time went on, Carly and I became best friends. We went to the same school, and so every morning, no matter the weather, I would walk the two blocks from my house to her apartment and meet her at her front door. From there, I would wheel her chair down the thin sidewalks through the littered parks, and across the dangerously busy streets to our school. Brooklyn Junior High was not the best school in New York, but it was just fine for an average 8th grade girl like me. Before I met Carly, I had a few friends, average like me, and no boyfriend. Of course I didn't get a boyfriend after meeting her either, but that's not the point. 3

As soon as the kids at school realized that Kaitlin Grange was friends with "the cripple girl" I was instanly deserted, as if in quarantine. At first it bothered me. Every time I walked passed a group of girls, they would stop conversation, move away, and giggle nervously. But later, things like this stopped bothering me, I was to interested in Carly. Her bright mind, and open sense of humour always kept me occupied, and she enjoyed my company just as much. One morning as we walked to school she asked me a question. "Kaitlin, do you ever wonder why I'm in this wheelchair?"4

"I have wondered," I replied, "But I don't need to know."5

"Well Kaitlin, you see, I have Multiple Sclerosis. It's why I'm in this wheelchair, and it's why I'm going to die." She said it so seriously that I was really afraid for a moment that she was going to die right then and there. I didn't have anything to say, so I just mumbled a confused, "Oh" and kept pushing her. 6

After that, we didn't talk about the wheelchair anymore. Sometimes the thought would creep into my mind, and I would stop for a moment, and look at Carly, wondering how it would be to be her. But then I would push it out again and continue what I was doing.7

One day, about a year after I had first met her, her mother called my house. "Kaitlin, could you come over please? As soon as possible." Her tone of voice scared me, and I quickly agreed and ran out the door. I sprinted all the way, the whole time telling myself that it was okay. But I couldn't come up with any believable excuse for the phone call except, "Stop Carly, don't think like that. Everything is just fine." I reached the apartment and rung the door bell. Sara, Carly's mom came to the door. Her makeup was smeared by tears, I knew something was wrong. 8

"Kaitlin, I'm really sorry, Carly is in the hospital. Something went wrong. I don't know if she'll be coming out again." Tears came and we cried together for a long time. Evantually she got up and brought us some hot cocoa and cookies. After eating, I said I'd better be getting home, and left. No one questioned me when I got back, and I went straight to my room. I had to think about it. The truth was scary. I was afraid.9

Two weeks later, Carly died. That day marked yet another change of direction for me. I was devastated. For once, I had found a friend, the perfect friend, she had trusted me. And now she was gone. I felt responsible. I felt afraid. To many things. Standing in the living room as my mother said I'm sorry again and again, something snapped. It was true, she was dead. Tears came down my cheeks in torrents, sobs racked my chest. I couldn't breath, couldn't think, couldn't see. I sunk onto the couch and cried. Carly's life had been fragile. So fragile, like a butterfly's wing, and it had torn. A simple tear, and she was gone.10