Chapter 1 Mornings were the worst!   Abby Schweitzer sunk deeper into her covers, hoping somehow her bed would magically envelop her deep within itself.  As she looked around, still groggy from the previous hours of uninterrupted sleep, her eyes slowly adjusted to the soft light of her night light and dim light of the moon peeking through the blinds of her window.  Even the sun believed it was too early to splash a little light into her room.  She let out an annoyed groan as she tried desperately to move deeper into her covers.  As if that would work!  It wasn’t a bad dream that woke Abby.  It wasn’t the natural pattern of sleep that made her more aware of noises around her.  It wasn’t even because she was a light sleeper.  She wasn’t!  She was awoken by the simplest of alarms: a slight knock at the door.  The knock wasn’t even that loud.  Only a slight tapping sound.  She heard the water running in the adjacent bathroom which meant one thing: time to get up. Abby struggled to lift her head to see her bedside clock and immediately wished she hadn’t. It was only five in the morning which meant it was Dad’s turn to help her get ready for school. Dad got her up most mornings, helped her with her homework, did her physical therapy. Where was Mom? Mom rarely got Abby up in the mornings. And, even when she did, Abby felt like she was some car being built on an assembly line. It was like getting Abby up was some chore she was forced to do. Abby was always afraid of saying the wrong thing or making Mom work longer than she wanted to. As much as she would have preferred Mom help get her ready in the morning, Dad, at least, made her feel that she mattered. The trade off, she had to get up at 5:00 in the morning while other kids her age were still asleep, and she had to work. And Abby was not a morning person. It was all Ms. Debra’s fault. Ms. Debra, Abby’s physical therapist, somehow had convinced Dad she could eventually be independent in the mornings.  Abby thought she was joking.  Most of her life, her cerebral palsy had confined her to a wheelchair.  She wasn’t technically paralyzed, but she might as well have been.  Her muscles were so weak that she couldn’t really support herself without a lot of help.  And, she couldn’t really get stronger because her muscles were so tight that even the simplest of tasks were extraordinarily difficult.  Yet, Ms. Debra convinced Dad that she could one day be fully independent. So, when Dad came into her room to get her up, she had to be ready to work. And it was torture. “Abby Elizabeth,” Dad cooed with his gentle voice that had greeted her each day for as long as she could remember, “Time to get up.” Abby tried to move, but the only thing she could do groan her protest.  It was too early, and her muscles, as weak as they were, weren’t fully awake enough to escape her morning routine.  All she could do was let out an exasperated groan of protest. “Oh, I know,” Dad said, rubbing her shoulder, “It’s early.  But we got to get you up, get your teeth brushed.  You don’t want someone to faint with the smell of your bad breath.” Dad jokes?  This early in the morning?  Abby never understood how Dad could be so chipper in the morning.  By the time he came to wake her up at five, he had already showered and had breakfast.  He was never groggy.  In fact, he was quite the opposite.  He was extremely put together.  His brown hair was combed and neatly placed where it should be.  The nose hairs Abby teased him about were plucked, and his teeth were brushed.  And the man didn’t even drink coffee! Abby didn’t even have time to protest before Dad threw her blankets off her.  Abby shivered as the spring morning air passed through the soft lining of her pajamas.  By the time she gathered herself, Dad had already turned on her bedside light and retrieved her robe.  He knew better than to pick out her outfits.  The man literally had no fashion sense at all. “Alright, kiddo,” Dad said, holding out his hands, “You ready?” It didn’t really matter if she was ready or not.  She was going to have to go through with her morning dose of physical torture.  Dad would “help” her as much as to be her support, but beyond that, she was on her own.  Her arms protested as she raised them to meet Dad’s outstretched arms.  Even her arms seemed to think it was too early.  Dad clasped her hands and spun her around until her feet hung off the edge of the bed.  Then came the hard part… sitting up. Dad slightly pulled as Abby tried to lift her upper body from her bed.  Through gritted teeth, Abby tightened her abdominal muscles and tried her best to sit up.  Dad always thought he was helping by giving her encouragement.  She just wanted to get it done. “You got it?” Dad asked as she sat up. “Yeah,” Abby lied through gritted teeth. It didn’t matter if she said she got it or not, Dad would wait until she “did” have it.  The truth was no matter how much she tried, she never fully “got it.”  Without any back support, sitting up was extremely uncomfortable for Abby.  Try to imagine holding a sit up midway through for an interminable length of time.  That is the kind of feeling Abby had when she was sitting up. The next part was incredibly uncomfortable. Dad would just stand and support her under her armpits while all eighty-five pounds of her dangled as she labored to remove her pajamas. Dad would occasionally praise something she did like she had climbed Mt. Everest. Abby looked with that look that told him to Stop. She removed a sock. Big deal! Call CNN! He didn’t need to celebrate every little thing most of her classmates had been doing since they were two. In all fairness, he was trying to be supportive, and understood that what Abby was doing was hard. But, Abby found it patronizing. The only thing Dad helped her with was putting her robe on. Then, came the hardest part of the morning. The walk to the bathroom. Step… Step… Step… Each step not only involved physically trying to pick up her feet that didn’t want to move, but also mentally trying to move her feet as well. Try to imagine walking in shoes made of cement with Jupitar’s gravity. It was kind of like that, only her mind had to work just as hard as her feet. It was the only time throughout the day Abby glanced back at the empty wheelchair beside her bed and longed to be in it. Her journey ended at the sink.  Dad stood her up and made sure her legs were locked before letting go of her.  It didn’t matter how many times she had previously done this, each time it was difficult.  It wasn't getting any easier.  She was all on her own now.  There was no point in telling Dad that it was too much for her underdeveloped muscles to handle.  Her legs couldn’t handle the weight of her upper body.  The only way to prevent her legs from buckling was to prop her body by leaning forward onto the sink, lifting her heels off the ground.  Then, came the worst part of the morning: brushing her teeth. Begrudgingly, Abby reached out a shaky hand and took her daily torture device.  It wasn’t as though she was opposed to brushing her teeth or maintaining personal hygiene.  She enjoyed being clean.  It was the work that went along with it that she didn’t like.  What was simple for most people was extremely difficult for her.  Not only did she have to hold the brush loosely, she also had to make short little motions.  If the first wasn’t hard enough, the second was near impossible.  Because her muscles were tight, anything that she grasped, she grasped tightly as if her life depended on it. This, in turn, caused her hands to tremor, making it very hard for her to steady what she was holding.  Try to imagine threading a needle during an earthquake. It was like that.  It wasn’t uncommon for the mirror, sink, and Abby to be covered in excess toothpaste by the time she finished, and her gums to be bleeding to boot. It was awful! Once she was finished Dad helped her straighten up again.  Abby looked at herself in the mirror.  Her long, dirty blond hair was a wreck, her teeth were slightly crowded- she probably would get a retainer soon- joy. Sixth grade rocks! Dad helped her out of her robe and pull-up.  Abby tried to ignore the humiliation of having to wear a pull up at her age.  It wasn’t like she needed it, or she wasn’t capable of knowing when or if she needed to use the bathroom.  It was all a matter of convenience for everyone except her.  As Abby grew it became increasingly more difficult carrying her up and down the stairs.  Dad threw out the idea of moving to a single-story house, but Mom didn’t like it.  Mom liked her big house with her pool in the backyard, so moving to a smaller one, though better for Abby, was out of the question.  Instead, Dad put on a first-floor addition for Abby’s bedroom while everyone else’s bedrooms remained on the second.  This made it very difficult to call out for someone to help her get to the bathroom in the middle of the night. Dad left her alone on the toilet for a few moments.  This was the first time she actually had any privacy.  Because of needing help, luxuries like privacy weren’t afforded to her. Dad did his best to give her as much independence and privacy he could. It was uncomfortable for the both them. Perhaps that was why Dad wanted to believe so much she could be independent one day. It was for both of them. The only reason Abby was willing to do all the physical therapy that morning was for her to get in the water. For Abby, the water helped loosen her muscles and gave her body a little taste of freedom.  In her wheelchair, each part of her body felt heavy like a block of lead, so difficult to move.  However, in the water, beneath the ripples and the water brushing up against her, she felt as though every part of her body was floating and loose.  Abby loved the freedom of the water.  Most girls thought about becoming a mermaid at least once in their lives.  Abby thought about it all the time. “Hey now,” her father said playfully as water splashed in his face.  “That wasn’t nice.” “I didn’t mean it,” Abby insisted.  Her arm had slipped from Dad’s shoulder into the water causing water to spray up at him. “Sure you did,” he teased. Abby gave him ‘the look.’  The ‘look’ that all daughters develop after years of putting up with their father’s little teases.  It’s the look of ‘you know you’re not really funny, Dad.’  But as much as she acted as though she thought he was totally lame, she honestly wouldn’t change him for anything.  He was her everything and, deep down, though she didn’t always show it, she couldn’t imagine him any other way.  In fact, it was his ‘lameness’ that made her love him even more.  Just as long as he didn’t act that way in public. “Do you want to lay down, or sit up?” he asked. “Lay down.” Her upper body was shivering with the coolness of the morning.  The warm water would feel nice against her prickly skin. “Alrighty.” Dad moved her body so that all but her face was submerged in the water.  “Now don’t drown,” he added jokingly. “It’s too early to go in after you.” Dad was joking, but at the same time was being serious.  Abby knew Dad genuinely wanted to give her more privacy.  A year ago, he even let her alone a few minutes in the bathtub.  That’s when things got scary.  Abby tried to adjust herself to get more comfortable when her body slipped and her whole head went under the water.  She tried to sit up, but she couldn’t.  Dad came in when he heard her splashing.  He held her up while she gasped for breath.  Now, Dad was paranoid about leaving her alone. Abby enjoyed herself for a few minutes before Dad helped her wash.  Like her earlier routine, all he really did was hold her while she washed her head and body. After washing Dad gently laid her down in the water to rinse.  As soon Abby began to rinse, Tabitha burst through the door. Tabitha was, in Abby’s opinion, perhaps the worst person in the world, and unfortunately Abby’s sister.  If Abby was a superhero, Tabitha would certainly be her arch nemesis.  Tabitha was cruel, vindictive, and went out of her way to make Abby feel like she wasn’t worth anything.  She never laid a finger on her, but she would call her names, belittle her, comment on how stupid she looked, and humiliate her in every way possible. Abby could only hope Tabitha would leave them and never come back after she graduated the following year. Tabitha never used to be like this.  In fact, quite the opposite.  When they were both younger, people would comment on how much of a “little mother” Tabitha was to Abby.  She’d play with Abby, attempt to help her with her physical therapy- Abby hated that- and make her feel like she mattered.  And then something happened.  Neither Abby, nor anyone else could explain it.  It was like someone flipped a switch and Tabitha became a monster overnight. Abby was actually terrified of Tabitha, and if Dad wasn’t in the bathroom with Abby, she wouldn’t have dared to protest Tabitha’s presence.  Part of her wanted Tabitha to run away, get kicked out, or be sent away somewhere where Abby never had to see her again.  That would make her feel safe.  Nevertheless, there was a part of her, albeit a small, infinitesimal part of her, that would love to have Tabitha admit that she was a horrible person and that she was going try to be the best sister she could be.  That would be better than anything in the world… Christmas, birthdays, slumber parties, beach combined. “Get out of here!” demanded Abby. Tabitha gave a slight look and huffed before turning back to apply more lipstick. “I don’t want you here!” Abby insisted. “Too bad,” Tabitha finally said, continuing to stare into the mirror. “You have your own bathroom!” “So?” “I don’t want you here!” shouted Abby. “And I don’t care,” Tabitha said in a mocking voice. “Girls,” Dad interjected. “Can you please tell her to go somewhere else?” asked Abby. “Can you please tell her that it’s not like I haven’t seen any of it before?” Tabitha said. “Girls,” Dad commanded.  “Really?  We’re going to do this now?  It’s six in the morning.  Do we really need to start something this early?” “She started it!” Abby said. “I don’t care who started it,” Dad said, “I’m finishing it.  Tabitha, you have your own bathroom, why don’t you use that one?” “Unbelievable,” Tabitha said.  “You’re taking her side?” “Why don’t you use the other bathroom?” Dad repeated. “Because I’m not going to go upstairs to do something I can do right here.” “You know that Abby is getting ready here.” Dad said, “You know she likes her privacy.” “Well she can get over it,” Tabitha said. “I’m not doing this,” Dad said.  “I’m not going to start this first thing in the morning.  It’s not going to kill you to walk up the stairs to your own bathroom.” “What’s the big deal,” Tabitha turned her attention to Abby, “You know we have the same parts, right?” she said slyly. “You know he doesn't, right? You do understand health class, don’t you?” “Daddy!” “Tabitha,” Dad said, “That is enough!  You don’t need to come in here and start something this early in the morning.  You know Abby likes as much privacy as she can have. Give her the same respect you want to be given.” “Whatever,” she said, “Little retard,” she added under her breath. “What was that?” Dad snapped. “Nothing! God!” “Lose the attitude please,” Dad said. “I-” she groaned before turning and leaving. “And change that top!” Dad called after her.  “You’re a student, not a stripper!” Tabitha turned and looked at him as though she was going to protest, but then thought better of it and went out into the living room.  Dad shook his head and turned to Abby.  “You’re not allowed to be a teenager,” Dad said.  “I’m still struggling with tween Abby.” Abby gave a half-hearted laugh.  She knew why Tabitha came into the bathroom.  It had nothing to do with make-up or invading her privacy.  It had everything to do with drawing attention to the fact Abby needed help and she did not.  For some reason Tabitha loved pointing that out.  Dad got Abby out of the tub and wrapped her tightly in a towel.  As he carried her back to her room, she imagined the tightness of the towel being a cocoon.  One day, Dad would unwrap her and she would emerge fully normal; and Tabitha wouldn’t have any reason to torment her.  She and Tabitha could be like real sisters. After picking out what she wanted to wear, Dad helped Abby dress and get her into her wheelchair so she could brush her hair.  Abby did the best she could, but Dad had to help her finish.  This was one time she was grateful for his encouragement.  He’d tell her that she was doing great and she was getting better.  She had been working on brushing her hair for years.  She was improving, but she still needed help. “Alrighty,” Dad said in his best fake French accent.  For some reason he thought all hair stylists were French.  “What do you want for today’s hair style?  Pony tail?  French braid?  Off the side?  You could go au natural- wait a minute,” he said losing his French accent, “I don’t think going au natural is in adherence to your school dress code.  I don’t think your teachers would approve you showing up naked.” “Eewww,” Abby screeched.  “That’s disgusting Dad!” He had used the same joke on her since she was eight.  It was funny then.  But after the twelve millionth time, it was just annoying. “What?” he said acting surprised.  “I’m just saying.” Abby rolled her eyes.  “It’s not all natural,” she said.  “It’s let your hair down.” “That’s what I said.” “No it isn’t.” “Yes it is.” Abby gave up playing the game and settled on a French braid.  Dad quickly did the braid in an impressive five minutes. Not bad for a guy, and Abby couldn’t have been happier with the result. “Finished,” Dad said triumphantly.  “Okay,” he patted her on the shoulder. “Make your bed and put your pajamas in a pile.” Abby rolled around her room finishing up her morning chores.  Dad left to finish getting himself ready.  She didn’t really need any help to pull the covers up and put the pillows on her bed.  For the second time this morning she was alone.  In that brief moment, she felt something she could only feel when Dad left her alone: normal.