Carrie opened her eyes and looked at the glow in the dark stars painted on her bedroom ceiling. Her mother did that for her when she was nine, a year before she died. She traced one of the stars with her finger, remembering what her mother said about them. “You can reach for the stars with your heart and your mind.”  Her mother constantly encouraged her to be bold. She understood Carrie’s need to make her own choices, whenever the opportunity presented itself. Limited by her circumstances, she yearned for freedom. Self-doubt, a loving but overprotective father, and the facts of her life, made the kind of freedom teenagers took for granted, seem as unreachable as the stars on her ceiling.  

She rolled to the right to look at the clock. Not quite six a.m. Fully awake now, she looked through her bedroom window. Another cold January day, but no snow. She would have to go to school. It didn’t take long to get ready. Carrie barely looked in the mirror. No one (other than her father) ever said she was pretty. Not yet fully developed, Carrie would one day have what could only be described as an intelligent face, always pretty. In keeping with her self-image, she kept her hair short and straight and wore only the lightest shade of lipstick.

Her father, a successful businessman, loved her and did his best to support her, but he seemed clueless about the life of his teenaged daughter.  Carrie loved her father dearly, but he was cautious. At times, he behaved like a man who believed the world was built specifically to hurt her.    

Carrie’s right leg was deformed, an accident of birth. The leg was a useless appendage that had to be dragged everywhere. She could have spent her life in a wheelchair. But, as soon as she was old enough to decide, reassured by her mother’s encouragement, she insisted on walking, even if it meant using a rollator, a four-wheeled walker. By pushing off with her good leg, she was able to guide the rollator in any direction, making it possible for her to walk.

She learned early, that she was different. While other kids could run, jump and climb stairs, she was doomed to be a spectator. No climbing the steps to the sliding board for her. Losing friends was painful. In junior high school, she began to shut out kids who tried to befriend her. She learned the hard way that when her limitations began limiting her friends’ activities, she would soon be abandoned. It always started with a dwindling number of texts, apologies about needing to study, or a faked illness. Worst of all were the trumped-up arguments that somehow justified dumping her.

Carrie felt defenseless. To protect herself, she no longer sought others out. She either discouraged or ignored friendly gestures. By the time she enrolled at Roosevelt High School, Carrie was already adept at keeping to herself. She never raised her hand in class. When a teacher called on her, she responded as briefly as possible. She never attended a sporting event. She refused to join extracurricular activities.

She watched the other students run through the halls, laughing and telling their secrets. Some of the girls in school would see her coming and suddenly turn around and walk quickly in the opposite direction as if they just remembered something important. Boys, admittedly not all of them, made fun of her, calling her gimp or saying things like “Hey, dragster, the nursing home is calling.” Eventually, Carrie became invisible to them, to her mind, an improvement. Still, she shed many tears in her darkened bedroom.

She was, however, an excellent student. She did her homework, studied for tests and got good grades. When she started high school, her father considered having her home schooled, but Carrie’s grandparents felt that she needed to be around kids her own age. He was reluctant to expose her to more disappointment and the abusive silence he was sure would be visited on her, but in the end, he relented. Sometimes, not often, he surprised her. On her first day of high school as her father was helping her out of the car he said, “A lot of what you will experience here will be beyond your control, Carrie. Your grades are not one of those things. Trust me, honey, these next four years will go by fast. The road to a good life starts here, but you have to earn it.”   

Carrie took her father’s rare words of encouragement to heart. She decided to work hard. One day she would be visible for her achievements. The day after her freshman year ended, her father, more aware of her struggle than she realized, was terribly worried about her. He suggested that she volunteer at the local hospital. When she refused, again, her father surprised her. He insisted she give it a try, something he rarely did. He was actually cross with her. She yielded, secretly happy that he was treating her the way she imagined other fathers treated their children.

She was readily accepted as a volunteer, assigned to the hospital’s visitor reception desk. She worked afternoons on Tuesdays and Fridays. She liked it, so she continued to volunteer after the school year started. A woman named, Olivia, heavyset and not yet 40, worked alongside her. They got on well. Olivia was able to draw her out like no one else could. Carrie even confided that she wanted to write screenplays one day. Shyly, she confessed that some nights she had dreams in technicolor of driving herself through the Midwest and over the Rocky Mountains to find work in Hollywood.

“I know it’s really a stupid dream, especially for me,” Carrie said. The woman didn’t think so. Like her mother, Olivia constantly encouraged Carrie’s dreams. But then, in late October, her father’s work schedule changed and he couldn’t leave work to drive her to the hospital. Another friend lost.    

Sitting on her bed that morning, she shivered as she looked over her notes for her human geography test, scheduled for that afternoon. Her father probably forgot to turn up the heat. She heard him call her for breakfast. She wasn’t hungry. Her stomach was in knots. That morning she hated Roosevelt High School and never wanted to go back.

The day before had been a particularly bad one for Carrie.  First, she had miscalculated making a right turn into a classroom, moving a bit too fast. The rollator hit the door jamb, the force knocking her backwards. She lost her balance and fell. Thoroughly embarrassed she yelled, “get away from me!” when one of the boys tried to help her up. During the last period of the day, a teacher she truly liked, harshly criticized her in front of the class for doodling instead of taking notes. She was devastated. Should she just pretend she was sick and skip school? Her father called her again. She was dressed now and anyway; the geography test was important. She put her notes away. She might as well go.   

Her father was waiting for her in the kitchen. He dropped her off at school every morning. He smiled when he saw her. “Good morning Birthday girl! Sweet sixteen.” Carrie looked at him in disbelief.

“You forget it’s your birthday today?”

“I guess.”

“Good, your birthday surprise will be even bigger than I hoped.”

“What surprise? You know I don’t like surprises.” It was another one of her defenses against disappointment.    

Her father put a plate of eggs and an English muffin in front of her. “Let’s eat breakfast first.” He whistled softly as he poured her a glass of orange juice. He sat and took a loud sip of his coffee, grinning at his daughter.

“Really? Not today, Dad, please.” She was in no mood for one of his annoying little jokes.

He took another sip, quiet this time. “By the way, I forgot to tell you. I ran into Olivia last week. We had a long chat. She really misses you at the hospital.” Carrie just shrugged.

When she took her last bite of toast, he stood and walked to one of the kitchen cabinets. He pulled out a card and a tiny box and handed it to her. “Open it up,” he said.

She opened the card first.  Her father had written the words, “Your journey is just beginning.” She took the tiny box and carefully removed the wrapping. She opened it and saw a key.

“What is this Dad?”

“It’s the key to your car. It’s specially outfitted so you can drive it. All the controls are at your fingertips. I picked it up last night.” He was grinning, but inside he was fearful. It was a big step for both of them. “It’s in the garage. Care to have a look?” Carrie grabbed her rollator and stood. She led her father to the garage. “You’ll need driving lessons of course, but you can ride in it with me this morning to see how it works.”

The car was beautiful, much nicer than anything Carrie had ever dared to imagine. It was a sedan, painted a sporty red, with a charcoal gray leather interior. “Where will I go?” Carried was worried and not a little bit confused. A car meant freedom, more than she could possibly have hoped for. It meant her father believed in her, certainly enough to trust her to make her way anywhere, even to California someday. But how could she manage to handle what suddenly seemed like such a complex machine?

“For starters, you’ll be able to drive yourself to school,” he said. “You can get your volunteer job back too. And maybe a part time job so you can pay for gas.” He was smiling broadly.

“What if something happens, like an accident?” Carrie asked.

“That is a possibility, Carrie. An accident can happen to anyone. We both know that bad things happen sometimes.” He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. He continued, softly now. “One of the worst things that can happen to anyone is to always play it safe.” He put his arm around his daughter. “Honey, you’ll need something more than this rollator to make it to California someday.”

She looked at the red sedan and fingered the key. She would never forget her sixteenth birthday. For the first time in a very long time, Carrie was excited. More choices were on the horizon.