Practically melted into my assigned seat, I sat in Mrs. Dorsey's Honors Biology class today. 7th period, the last class of the day, is a drain for anybody, but especially for a sophomore stuck in a room full of giggly, gossiping freshmen and whose friends finished their classes last period. I was worn out and despising the entire generation of "youngsters" as we referred to them that emerged in 1989 while I stared blankly at the pages of my textbook with the obligation of answering number three in the section review: "Compare sex-linked disorders with sex chromosome disorders." As my eyes, as glazed as a pair of Krispy Kreme doughnuts, perused the jumble of letters in front of me, the bold, blue heading "Muscular Dystrophy" suddenly emerged. I glanced around the room at all the hopeless children informing each other of what happened on the teen soap opera finale the night before and a fiery hatred pierced me. 'They're just reading this because it's assigned,' I maliciously thought to myself. 'It's a jumble of words that the ones with enough common sense to study will memorize then crank out like a robot onto their homework paper. They probably don't even think about the people that have this stuff. If they do, they'll throw them into the cliché that entitles people with disorders 'retarded freaks'.' I know for a fact that this was not true-one of my best friends has muscular dystrophy.
I don't know when I met Elizabeth. I guess it was just like your cousins-they're there from the beginning and you grow up with them, never having one distinct memory of the day you met them. Lizzy, as her friends began calling her around the time we were ten, lived in Charleston and I in Greenville. We didn't see each other during the school year, but when the first day of summer hit our families would pack it up and zip up to Cedar Mountain, North Carolina, only an hour's drive north for us. Lizzy's mom, Miss Ann as I was and have always been accustomed to calling her, and my mother both savored every summer up there just as Lizzy and I did-from the time we were out of the womb and forever after that as far as we're concerned. Their families had vacationed there for forever, and both families had summer mountain houses. My grandmother, Mamu, owned Chinquapin Hill when we were born, and the Andersons owned The Red Barn, just down the street from Elizabeth's grandmother, Gagea, so I stayed with Mamu and Elizabeth stayed with her family.
Our early years consisted of long afternoons in the hot, sticky summer sun, running around in our Umbro shorts and hand-me-down tee shirts embellished with vibrant daises and kittens, our hair up in pigtails and sandals on our little feet. I'd go over to her house and we'd run down the trail in her backyard through the woods to the creek. We'd leap in and splash in the water and improve the dam that her brother Thomas, older by three years, and his friends had attempted to build years before. We would also sling mud at the "face" on the log, which was a giant knot artistically shaped by nature into a shocking likeness of a human face. Plunging our hands into the icy water (never too cold for two little girls in the heat of summer with lots of fun to accomplish), we'd pull out tiny fistfuls of clay, then run up to the log slung out over the width of the creek and slap it onto the log, giggling at the expressions we could create. To complete the knot-man's complexion, we stuck berries, creek pebbles, leaves and twigs into the mud and then race over to the bank to Miss Ann, always sitting in her beach chair in a bright straw hat reading a book, and eagerly point out our artwork, which she'd smile at and commend.

My distinct memories from our early summer years are few, but I certainly treasured them. Like the first time I remember Miss Ann fussing at us (and those times have been quite few). Thomas had been in a mud fight down at the creek and had gotten mud in his eye and was running back to the house crying. The two of us giggled at her "tough older brother" whining for his mom; Miss Ann scolded us as she quickly ushered Thomas to the bathroom. I also remember Thomas and their cousin Wade sneaking up on us with squirt guns and soaking us, whether we were in swimsuits or clothes. (They kept this tradition up for many years, and even though they are both in their freshman year of college now, I bet they would continue this tradition and don't simply out of the fear of losing their "mature college student" status.)
The best way to cool off in the summer was to skip down the blacktop road to Stone's Lake. Back then it was still owned by my cousin, Gene Stone, a kind, elderly gentleman who opened his gate to all of the Cedar Mountain community. There was nothing like running up the road (barefoot, of course), feet scalded by the fiery path underneath, and see the dazzling summer sun dancing on the water's surface, beckoning us to come cool our tired feet in its clear, sparkling water. There was a giant metal slide, and an adult was always at the top, holding a milk jug full of water. They would pour water on the slide, and you'd have to jump right on and slide down. Lizzy and I always got scared when we began climbing the ladder-you weren't allowed to go back down, and it was really high, especially when you're little. But after much debate, we'd finally slide down, then realize how fun it was, and we'd go again and again, then swim and picnic by the water.
There were also the square dances, which we still enjoy today. All of our families went to them, and everyone in Cedar Mountain and beyond. There were two dances a year, and they were the most fun you could ever have. And the Fourth of July was always fantastic; we'd celebrate with the rest of the community at the Rogow's large house and extensive yard and sing 'Happy Birthday' to my cousin Beaty, also our age, whose birthday landed precisely on July 4th.
I don't remember exactly when it was that Lizzy started getting weaker. I knew she had muscular dystrophy, and I knew what it was: as the dictionary put it, "any of a group of progressive muscle disorders caused by a defect in one or more genes that control muscle function and characterized by gradual irreversible wasting of skeletal muscle." I knew the doctors said she wouldn't live past twenty. It never really hit me though, until a time when we were still in grammar school and she slowly but noticeably began weakening. One summer before we began packing for the mountains, my mom talked to me about Elizabeth's condition. "It's getting hard for her to run around outside now," she said. "Why don't you take some things that you can do inside, like some puzzles and games?" That summer, like every one after it, was fun, but different. We went to the creek occasionally, but not for very long. We usually just played inside, putting together puzzles, playing games and cards, and listening to Read- Along books on tape.
Around the time we were seven or eight, Lizzy got a simple wheelchair that she could either be pushed in or turn the wheels with her arms and push herself. It always amazed me, even that early on, how positive she was. Sometimes you see handicapped people that look miserable, and you can't blame them. But Lizzy was passionate about life and loved every minute she had, whether she was running around or pushing herself around in a wheelchair. She was fun to be around, and we always had a great time.
We still had the summers we lived for, and they were still a blast, just different. Mr. Stone died, and the lake went to his daughter who wouldn't allow anyone on the property, so we swam in the pool and lake at Connestee Falls instead. Elizabeth needed help swimming, but that never kept her out of the water. We played Sharks and Minnows, Star, Marco Polo, and other pool games, Lizzy swimming with Miss Ann's assistance. At the square dances, Thomas would push Lizzy out onto the floor and we'd dance with her, and Wade, Beaty and I would alternate the job as pusher. We'd all dance together and have the time of our lives.
The year I turned eight, Mamu bought a cousin's house down the road from Lizzy's called While-a-Way. Lizzy and I were totally enthusiastic about living just a few doors down from each other; this way, we could be together all the time. When I woke up in the morning, I'd run down to The Red Barn and stay there all day typically. Occasionally she and I would head back up to While-a-Way for lunch and a chat with Mamu or whoever else was up there: aunts, uncles, cousins, any connection to my family in general who happened to stop by. This tradition has continued for many summers until we were trustworthy enough to make our own peanut butter, turkey, or cucumber sandwiches (I still have my doubts about the trustworthy part).
Lizzy, Beaty and I loved doing crafts. After going through many art projects, Miss Ann suggested the three of us have an art show to display and sell our craftsmanship. Our first art show was held at The Red Barn, where we sold our drawings, paintings, Christmas ornaments, jewelry, and painted crafts. Everyone was ecstatic about our artwork, and that began years of art shows, and Lizzy, Beaty and I became known as "The Cedar Mountain Art Trio".
By that time, the Rogows had bought the property across the road from them and dug a lake in it. This was the new place for the Fourth of July parties, and parades around the lake soon became an Independence Day tradition. The community was invited to create their own floats and submit them in a contest for the best one. Lizzy, a bunch of my cousins, several of her cousins, and I loved the idea, and we all participated in our first float, named "Hawaiian Hula Honeys" by none other than the creative Miss Ann. We wore our swimsuits, grass skirts and leis, and rode in the back of Lizzy's uncle's pickup, which was decorated with flower chains and, as our patriotism and Southern pride (and living in Cedar Mountain) required, two large American and Confederate flags, proudly draped over the sides of our float.
About around the time we were ten, Elizabeth got an electric wheelchair. We thought she could zip around in that old chair-you should have seen everyone's faces when we saw Lizzy speeding up in her high-tech piece of equipment, grinning broadly and showing off her new chair. Since we were older and weren't very fond of putting together puzzles and playing Hi, Ho Cherry-O! anymore, Lizzy, Beaty and I took interest in Brevard, a charming little town about twenty minutes away. We'd been there before to ooh and ahh over the fantastic toys in O.P. Taylor's and to eat at Rocky's Soda Fountain, but we hadn't truly explored Brevard. Thus began our new summer adventure. After hanging around Elizabeth's and making some crafts for awhile, we'd head outside to the second most respected vehicle (my grandmother's green Ford truck from the 50's is number one) in all of Cedar Mountain: Miss Ann's red van, which still exists today. It was a Chrysler, a brilliant shade of red, and there was only one backseat. The car had been modified so Elizabeth could ride in it, chair and all. As soon as Miss Ann started the car, she'd push a button and the side door would open all by itself and a ramp would come out. Lizzy would drive up and back her chair into a big box on the floor that locked her in. Then Beaty and I would clamber in, and one of us would have the awesome privilege to push the toggle switch down that would retract the ramp and shut the door; six years later, we're not as awestruck, living in a high- tech society and having pushed that toggle switch countless times, but when you're ten and the Internet is just beginning to kick up, Beaty and I thought that was the coolest thing ever.
The art shows continued, and we were stepped up a few notches with a generous offer from Elizabeth's aunt to display our work in a showcase at her home with professional local artists such as Guy Stevens, Sarah Sneeden, and my aunt Sue Russell. This really got us out there, and we were known as the "Art Trio" and "Cedar Mountain Art Chicks" to many. We became a little more professional and added some diversity to our art by browsing Brevard thrift shops looking for items to paint. Soon we were painting wineglasses, bowls, birdhouses, picture frames and boxes, and making candles and professional-quality jewelry. We even sewed a little. The best part of it all was sharing the time with Elizabeth and seeing the joy in her face; with some assistance, she could participate in all of this, and our summers were devoted to prepping for the art show. We went from making about eight dollars to a few hundred, and we always felt like our hard work paid off.
As we grew into preteens, we'd have lots of sleepovers at Elizabeth's. Beaty and I would walk down to The Red Barn around five where we'd make cookies and eat them while watching one of our favorite movies at the time, like 'The Parent Trap' or 'You've Got Mail'. Then we'd stay up late talking about school, complaining about "all the homework" the teachers plagued us big, grown-up middle schoolers with, catching up on all the hot celebrity and mountain gossip (which was typically scarce-who wants to talk about the old folk's latest operations?), and life in general. We always had a great time; around midnight Miss Ann would sneak her head around the corner and kindly tell us to go to sleep. She always told us about sleepovers she and my mom would have when they were our age, saying our grandmothers would peek around the door and shake a finger at them for staying up late giggling like us.
The Fourth of July parties continued; one year we were Rebel chicks and we dressed up in our summer clothes, waved Confederate flags and threw out candy. Another year, we were cowboys. That year all of my first cousins (which is a lot of people!), Lizzy's first cousins, a few distant relatives and some friends all jumped in Elizabeth's uncle's trailer, and Lizzy's aunts ran behind the truck dressed up like Indians, complete with elaborate feather headdresses and tomahawks. Lizzy's cousin Sarah had just gotten engaged to Joel, a really nice guy from Massachusetts-he had the honor of walking behind the truck, tied to the tailgate, gagged with a sign around his neck that said 'Yankee'! Everyone got a kick out of that. I remember we'd run all around the pasture visiting people, Lizzy flooring it across the earthen trail, her back tires kicking up clouds of dust, reminiscent of old Western movies. All of the old ladies would gasp and worry about her flipping over, but in all of my life I have never seen Elizabeth fall out of, wreck or flip over her "hot rod" as she fondly calls her wheelchair. A couple of years ago, Lizzy, Beaty and I went into downtown Brevard and hit the thrift shops to find the ugliest, tackiest old dresses we could find. We unearthed a frilly pink formal from the 80's, an extremely large black dress with rusty rhinestones, and a white, off-the- shoulders gown made entirely of layers of white lace with a gigantic pink bow around it, plus lots of clunky jewelry. With several layers of disgusting makeup, pink hair dye, blacked-out teeth and plastic crowns encrusted with fake rhinestones, we were transformed from sweet little mountain girls into the "Cedar Mountain Tacky Beauty Queens". You should've seen everyone's faces when we showed up to the parade looking like something from a really bad horror film! The confusion and tension loosened when we made our way to our float (once again, the pickup with the trailer attached); I'm pretty sure the whole place breathed one big sigh of relief after considering the possibility that our tastes in clothing were completely skewed!
Now the year is 2003, and Elizabeth and I are sixteen, Beaty fifteen (we can't wait to celebrate her sweet sixteenth this summer). We are still inseparable, and have grown so close through the past few years that Beaty and I have been driving to Charleston every October for Elizabeth's birthday, which we usually celebrate by hitting the mall or roaming around downtown.
Ever since Thomas began playing football and basketball for Porter- Gaud, Elizabeth has been completely enamored with high school sports. Even now, while Thomas is playing basketball as a freshman at Sewanee, Elizabeth goes to all the Porter-Gaud games and knows more about high school teams than anyone I know-I talked to her on the phone during our football season and she knew more about where my school's team was in regionals than I did! And now that Thomas is playing for college, Lizzy keeps up with the college scores too, and is always the first one to ask when you are unsure of the final score of a game or Porter-Gaud's MVP and his the MVPs from one year, two years back.
We still have parties at the Rogows, but we don't participate in the parades anymore. We also took a break from the art show this past summer to savor our time off. Now we're having parties at my house, Lizzy's and Beaty's, going on easy hikes, swimming at Connestee, and walking up and down the street. A small row of shops has opened right at the entrance to our road, containing a garden and an ice cream shop, which we visit often. (Hey, at least we walk to get there!)
We still adore the square dances, which have been moved from Robin Hood Barn to a gym in Brevard. With this move, the dances have attracted tourists. Lizzy and I sat out a couple of dances this year to watch the tourists learn, a very amusing sight.
We've kept our love of music, which was shifted over the years-in 6th grade, we lived off of Lizzy's LFO CD and 'Summer Girls' was our theme song. We threw in some Backstreet Boys and Jennifer Lopez too. This summer, "our songs" consist of a mix of new pop, rock, some occasional rap if we're in the mood, good old '80's hair bands like Guns n' Roses, Kelly Osbourne and a lot of old school Michael Jackson. I've always admired Lizzy's taste in music; she's got one of the best CD collections I've ever seen, just oozing diversity from rap to Christian, local bands to Good Charlotte. Driving with her in the summer has opened me up to different music, and she broke through my tough, restricted, punk-rock-only exterior last year and reminded me that no girl raised in the mountains can resist Garth Brooks and a little country.
We still have our sleepovers when we make our own cookies, pop in 'Armageddon' (an all-time favorite) and cry together, a good chick flick and say "Aww!" together, or 'Pirates of the Caribbean' and drool over pirates together. We have also been hitching a ride to movies in Hendersonville with Linwood, Elizabeth's fun twenty-something-year-old cousin.
We still stay up late talking. We continue to chatter 'til dawn about hot celebrity gossip, mountain gossip (which has gotten a lot better than hip replacements with everyone graduating high school and the rest of us getting our licenses), movies, music, and planning out our futures, our new favorite activity. As of August, when we had our last sleepover of the summer of 2003, Beaty wanted to be an animal rescuer living on a farm with lots of animals by herself, Lizzy wanted to work with disabled kids while married in Charleston, and I wanted to be an author living in an Asheville loft. We also have our "fun futures" as we call them, in which Beaty and Ben Affleck are happily wed with lots of kids and animals, Lizzy and Josh Hartnett are together while Lizzy kicks back and spends all of Josh's cash, and I am living in a Scottish castle with Johnny Depp while playing lead guitar in an awesome band. When nobody's up at While-a-Way, we'll grab a cheesy Mary-Kate and Ashley movie, head up to Mamu's and make fun of it over a bowl of popcorn and, of course, homemade cookies. These moviefests are all too often followed by karaoke with the aid of a wooden spoon mic, which doubles as a sword when we spontaneously jump from making fun of Britney Spears to an epic battle in the kitchen. Aside from our appearances and a dash of wisdom, we haven't changed much from when we were little girls with our hair in pigtails.
We're all doing well, but Elizabeth is much, much weaker. Her muscles are slowly giving out, keeping her from doing simple things such as holding up her fan of cards during a game of Tripoli or pick up a glass of water, and requiring someone's assistance in things like sitting up and leaning back in her wheelchair. She's home-schooling now because school became too exhausting. Instead of using the By-Pap, a machine that helps her breathe, only at night like she used to, she has to be on it three times daily. The doctors have predicted that this will be her last summer; from seeing her at Christmas, I hate to agree that that might be a possibility.
Despite all of that-knowing from the time she was very little that she was going to have a rough life, not be able to drive and do other things regular kids do, suffer and have a premature death-every single time I see Lizzy, she is always happy. She is always soaking up everything around her, loving life, making conversation with everyone, smiling and laughing. I have never been able to fathom that! You would think you would be miserable if you were in that situation. Realization struck me today, and I understood what Lizzy has taught me-a lesson I have truly needed. If you are like Elizabeth, disabled, weak and knowing that you are going to die, life gives you two choices: you can wallow in your misery, thinking about what you're missing out on and crying for yourself until you're gone, or you can savor every moment that is given to you, treasure it and make the best of it.
It's Christmas. Lizzy and her family have come up to Cedar Mountain for the holidays and are over at While-a-Way with my family. I can see Elizabeth is in pain, more than she was just in November when I saw her after my soccer tournament in Summerville. I, too, am hurting: for her, for myself and the miserable times I am going through adjusting to a new school and missing my friends so much that it hurts every time I walk into school. My eyes roam around the room, self-pity engulfing me, silently screaming at God, asking why he has done this to both of us. Elizabeth's voice prompts me, and I turn my eyes and look at her and see her smiling at me-the same smile she bore when we threw mud at a log many years ago. "Hey Anna, did you see 'Return of the King' yet? Oh my God, I loved it, it was so incredible!" Right then, I saw straight through her body, misshapen from the muscular dystrophy, all the reason for her to be cheerless, and straight into her heart, overflowing with life and joy. It suddenly struck me-I can hate school and hate life and hate everything, or I can try to make it better. Look at what Lizzy's done-she's overcome muscular dystrophy! If she can do that, I can most definitely get a better outlook on life.
Through sixteen years, she's proven to be a great talker, listener, friend, sister, and teacher. I owe much of who am today to her inspiration. I wish I could tell you more about my summers with Elizabeth and her passion for life, but I couldn't fill a library with everything that we've gotten ourselves into or a dictionary with the adjectives describing her confident and sweet personality. Sure, muscular dystrophy is a progressive muscle disorder distinguished by steady permanent wasting of skeletal muscle that withholds the person who has it from certain activities. But it is also a chance to prove to people that your body can't hold you back from reaching out to others or hold you back from who you are. Lizzy proved that to me.