Morph, My Story Page 2

aren’t thousands of feet in the air. I don’t know why she forced us to take this trip. She hates flying, and we never flew anywhere as a family in my lifetime. I just wanted hang gliding lessons at the local airport as my wish, but Mom overruled me. Her own karma from rejecting my request forces her to endure this trip. The Make a Wish Foundation never saw that request to peaceably soar in a hang glider back home, Mom making up excuses, declaring me too young. So instead we got this wish, a loud trip tearing through the sky towards our destination in the Florida Keys.

  The Foundation paid for this trip, everything. Part of the hypocrisy arose from my true wish to be normal, not famous, rich, or swimming with dolphins, just to be able to walk down the street, not bound to a wheelchair, but the Make a Wish Foundation can’t grant that wish.

  With Mom boycotting hang gliding, I followed Grandma’s suggestion and picked the ocean. I’ve never seen the ocean. I’ve seen land that stretches for as far as you can see. On vacations I’ve seen mountains higher than the clouds, but to this Oklahoma girl with a seashell necklace, the ocean doesn’t exist. So after selecting the goal of visiting the ocean, my wish coordinator suggested the dolphin rehabilitation program at Island Dolphin Care.

  “Do you see the water, Kara?” Mom asks.

  Outside, the Atlantic Ocean stretches out beneath the plane, the same ocean that I’ve been looking at since Miami. I hold a loop of the seashell necklace in my mouth, my one piece of ocean, trying to make it all more real, and not just a vision from above. “Yes, everywhere,” I want to touch the ocean, not look at it from thousands of feet away. From here it looks like television, worse as scratches across the glass interrupt my view, but it’s real.

  For a second she smiles, but my mother’s cheeks fail to keep it aloft. I’ll miss her when I die, her and my dog. Her more, but right now Thor would make a better flying companion. Thor would be pushing and nudging his way to stare out the window with me, not looking at the ceiling. He would hate these non-opening windows though.

  After we land on the ground and finish our roll to the terminal, the airline attendant smiles at me, “Please wait.” It’s my turn to pause and watch as the other anxious passengers disembark. “We’re waiting on a lift. There’s been a delay.” The passengers walk by us, Mom and I trapped in our seats. Most try not to look, but it might be their last chance, so they casually turn without any justifiable reason to the right as they pass our aisle. I lock eyes with most of them, breaking any hope they had of going unnoticed.

  On the flight I kept my purple and black striped seat cushion from my wheelchair between my legs to still them. Unable to reach the floor, they would sway and clang into each other with every change in direction of the airplane without the pillow. The doctors want to amputate them, keeping them a risk they say without any benefit. At this stage the chance for infection grows, threatening my entire body, but I’ll keep my useless little bits a while longer.

  From under my airplane seat I pull out the folded morph tires for my wheelchair. Pulling out the axles and rotating a metal spoke reforms the wheel from an oval into a circle. I slide over to Mom’s aisle seat. She stands in the walkway already holding our carry-on luggage. With the other passengers gone, the attendant drags over my lightweight chassis, it’s not heavy but she appears to be dramatically having trouble. Who she is pandering to, I have no idea. I pop in the morph-wheels easily moving it around. The cushion snaps on and I hop into the wheelchair without strapping in my legs to roll off.

  For my own personal exit a portable elevator lift finally arrives to the plane driven by a man wearing a straw hat. This place is small, no elevated walkway into the terminal for our plane, just straight to the tarmac. Everything is out of proportion in this airport, as our puny puddle-jumper dwarfs the private prop planes parked next to it.

  Inside the terminal I push myself over to the carousel in my purple chariot. I need to remain active for as long as I can. Having people pamper me hurts any long-term chance at success. More places on my skin will permanently harden, another restriction on movement, but not yet, I’ve still got some flexibility.

  I spot my bag and position myself by the revolving path of luggage. After years of traveling by arm power, the muscles on my arms bulge as much as they can on my teenage frame as I lift my suitcase. Mom’s bag follows and I quickly toss mine to the ground. It will be a week down here on our trip. Two days in Key West before traveling up to Key Largo for the five-day program at the Island Dolphin Care.

  Turning from the mass of people still looking for their belongings I spot a man with balloons. Wearing khaki shorts, a long sleeved white shirt partially rolled up and sandals, he smiles at me. His face looks like a larger version of the rich guy from the old Jurassic Park movies, someone’s grandpa smiling and waiting for his family. Not the artificial smile of the airline assistant, but a full-blown ear-to-ear grin directed at me. He pulls behind him at least a dozen helium balloons all dark blue with the Make a Wish shooting star overlaid with my name. This smiling stranger walking towards us is waiting for me.

  “I’m Nick.” Instead of holding back, afraid to touch me, his hand feels warm in mine. “My pleasure to be your guide this week,” he says as he reaches down and then kisses me on the top of my head. “This way.”

  Outside towering over the other vehicles a modified Mercedes van waits for me, with its handicap lift already down. Inside a wide screen television covering the rear window plays a video showing a pod of dolphins chasing a boat and across the ceiling there are blue led accent lights twinkling. From the television and lights, the entire interior is washed in blue.

  “I thought that you should start getting prepared for tomorrow. Wanted you to feel like you were already in the ocean.”

  “Thanks.” Tomorrow was snorkeling and Monday was the first day at the dolphin encounter.

  “We’ll be going out on my boat tomorrow. Should see some dolphins, maybe some rays and sea turtles, more real stuff than you will see locked up in Key Largo.”

  Out of the airport Nick drives us to the hotel on the water. I can’t say a hotel on the beach because there really isn’t one; the building ends feet from the water. The hotel doesn’t have a real balcony just a sliding glass door that opens to a railing inches away. Looking out over the railing from the third floor I see a sliver of sand with chairs lined up for sunbathing but not much room for anything else before the ocean. No wide-open beach, dunes or sea grass, just building, row of chairs and then immediately the water. Even from up here I can tell that the sand doesn’t hold any real shells, just fragments smaller than the pieces on my necklace.

  So I’m here in a hotel with a fake balcony looking down at a beach that barely exists, but with the window open I can feel the sea. With each wave reaching the shore my ears hear new sounds and begin to anticipate the next crash. My skin begins to tingle as the salt air reaches my tongue making me crave more, and I feel warm. Not hot from the stupid heat, but inside something feels new and right. It’s the ocean, the presence of this vast body trying to touch me, but I’m still not able to join it and despite the pain I smile. Tomorrow we will meet for the first time

  Day 2 - Sunday

  Our Sunday morning agenda includes a snorkeling trip. At the marina I easily spot the boat flying the Make-a-Wish flag - a dark blue shooting star on a light blue background. As I roll down the dock Nick waves from the Fish ‘n Ship. Not sure if Mom notices the name and I can’t spot any reaction on her face. She has on a wide floppy hat and sunglasses with large round lens blocking her eyes, leaving just the tip of her nose and mouth exposed. Even though she is in sandals, she maintains her high-heel walk with her right arm bent while keeping her hat from blowing away with her other arm.

  “Hey Kara,” Nick shouts while keeping his now familiar smile flowing from one side to the other, “I’ve brought along a diving buddy for you.” At his side stands a brown dog, no discernable breed, with alert perky ears with an orange doggy lifejacket around his body. “His name is Deogi,” Nic
k yells to me as his dog jumps from the boat to the dock and races towards me. Reaching me he quickly spins around me to walk by my side. Leaning into my wheelchair he matches my pace so I can easily scratch him. Deogi is smaller than Thor but still not a small dog, easily able to put his head in my lap and he does when I stop.

  “How much experience do you have in the water?” Nick asks.

  “We have a pool.”

  “She’s a natural,” Mom adds from behind me showing that she is paying attention.

  “Can you float?”

  “I can float,” I reply pulling myself up higher in my chair while petting Deogi. Nick looks at my legs, but turns quickly. It’s hard not to notice them. They don’t help when I swim, but being small they don’t drag me down either. Years of relying on my arms provides me with more than enough strength to plow through the water without any help from useless legs.

  “While you’re on the boat, I need you to wear this life jacket.” Nick tosses me a dark blue life jacket. On the shoulder my name has been embroidered on the material with light blue thread. The jacket fits perfectly. “You’re welcome to come on board.”

  A narrow ramp barely wider than my wheelchair but with raised edges to guide the