Not Fade Away: A Memoir of Senses Lost and Found by Rebecca Alexander, Sascha Alper Read Free Book Online Page A

alma mater, the Head-Royce School. They wanted me, in their one hundred twenty-fifth year, to be their distinguished alumna of the year. Which was very flattering but also somewhat surprising (and ironic), because when I was in the eighth grade, one of the high school deans at Head-Royce sat my parents down and explained to them that the school really couldn’t “meet the needs of [their] daughter’s disabilities” anymore. So I left, while Danny and Peter remained there until they had both graduated from high school.
    Now, even though I had only graduated from their middle school and not their high school, they considered me an excellent alum, and a distinguished one, complete with Ivy League degrees and an inspiring piece on the
Today
show. I accepted, and admittedly a part of me hoped that Head-Royce would acknowledge their unwillingness at the time to accommodate my needs so that I could continue there for high school. More important, I hoped that after having me come and speak, they’d be open to giving the next student who needed extra accommodations a chance, andthat person would someday be able to stand where I was and say, with all honesty, that this was the place that made it possible for them to be who they were today.
    • • • •
    Honestly, at the time, I felt mostly relieved to be moving to a new school, a school that was bigger and more diverse. For the first time, I was ahead in my schoolwork and finally got a chance to fully get a handle on my academics, buckle down, and get really good grades. I had never excelled at Head-Royce, which was a small, extremely academically driven private school. Somehow the combination of changing schools and finding out about my disabilities made me want to do well,
need
to do well, and for the first time in my life I started to push myself academically. It felt great to look down at the questions on a test and know that I was going to nail them, and I loved the satisfaction of getting something back with a big, fat red A on it.
    It felt especially great because I had already learned that there were a lot of tests that I was going to fail, and even though it wasn’t my fault, it upset me all the same. I knew by now that any test that took place in the doctor’s office wasn’t going to go well, and out on the soccer field, I wasn’t going to be a star anymore—not even close.
    There was something about hearing the words “On your marks . . . Get set . . .
Go!
” that created such a rush of energy and adrenaline in me that to this day, even hearing those words brings up feelings of nervous excitement. I remember racing other classmates on the playground of my elementary school when I was a little girl, feeling the rush of wind and hearing the other kids around us yelling and cheering us on as we ran. I used my armsto propel myself forward just like I saw the football players do on television, when they were running to score a touchdown. I ran as fast as I could, determined to be the first one to hit the wall with my hand, to be the winner. I wanted to be the fastest girl in my class just like Daniel was the fastest boy. Most important, I felt so alive, so free and empowered, even at seven or eight years old. I recognized my strength and ability and I loved nothing more than using it. There were a lot of things that I knew I did wrong—like lying—but I prided myself on my strength and coordination. I knew if I tried hard enough, I could win.
    When I started my new high school, one renowned for its strong sports teams—especially girls’ soccer—I wanted more than anything to be on the varsity team. I love to compete: I was always one of the kids picked first to be on a team, and when I came onto the field the girls on the other team would nudge each other and nod toward me, knowing that I needed to be guarded. I relished the butterflies and uncertainty at the beginning of a game, and I always played to win. I would race down the soccer field knowing