Ava knew how to disappear. It started with her voice. Once, she spoke softly, carefully, just enough to be heard. Even that had begun to slip away. At first, she raised her hand, answered questions, and even asked them.
Belief in one's ability to grow is a powerful force, yet setbacks can cause that belief to waver over time. At six, Oliver couldn’t zip his coat. Despite his coordination and strength, the task became a symbol of frustration.
It starts small. A job application goes unanswered. A restaurant lacks a ramp. A stranger speaks to the caregiver instead of the person with a disability.
The bus stop has no bench, just a cracked stretch of pavement where the curb slopes unevenly into the street. Heat shimmers off the asphalt, pressing down on the small crowd.
The bookstore smells like fresh coffee, a blend that invites pause. I move with small, deliberate adjustments—shifting my weight, using my walking poles to navigate the floor.
A friend of mine, a writer, once told me that every idea she pitched had to come with justification—proof of its merit—before anyone would take it seriously.
Movement is neither effortless nor certain. Spastic CP is a neurological condition that disrupts the signals between brain and muscle, creating stiffness, rigidity, and involuntary contractions.
The drawer opens. A hand searches as it did years ago, when a photograph rested at the edge of a mirror. Always there, until one day, it wasn’t. It must have slipped, fallen behind the dresser, or perhaps ended up in a forgotten box.
Section 504, disability protections, access, and questions about its future.
The morning carries a sharper chill than expected. Winter’s air stings, crisp and unrelenting. The world lies still beneath its white cover. Snow clings to branches, intricate and crystalline.
