Page 128 of How to Walk Away

singing

hand cycling

wheelchair kung fu

bungee jumping

pinball

Pop-A-Shot

racing

canoeing

zip-lining

ping pong

wheelchair obstacle course

horseback

“What is all that?” my mom asked when she came in, peering over my shoulder.

“Ideas for the summer camp,” I said.

She nodded. “I’ve been thinking about it, too.”

“You have?”

“If we built it,” she said, “maybe the camp sign could be a mosaic. That would give us something to do with all your broken dishes.”

That’s how Kit got me to try harder. The same way she got me to sing. By tricking me. By playing a tune I couldn’t resist. But I do have to give her credit—or maybe I have to give it to Ian’s mom. Because the nextthing I doodled on that paper was her famous quote:When you don’t know what to do for yourself, do something for somebody else.

***

KIT LEFT THATmorning, but it was okay. I didn’t have that same sense of panic I’d felt when she left the hospital.

Now I had a project.

Or maybe the project had me.

In the following weeks, I got consumed. I took over the dining table. I drew plans for buildings and consulted an architect. I made lists of ideas, resources, people to work with. I did real estate searches online—looking for land that was far enough out to be cheap but close enough to be accessible. I looked at other, nonprofit camps online to see how they did things and what they offered. I brainstormed names and investigated graphics. I made plans for a nature trail, a library, a ceramics studio, a yarn café, a bake shop, a butterfly garden. Everything would be wheelchair accessible—and everything would be architecturally beautiful. I had rolled my eyes so much at my mother decorating my hospital room—but after we’d taken it all down, I’d seen her point. The feeling of the room changed. Without her quilts and curtains and table lamps and splashes of color, it felt like the saddest place in the world.

I wanted this place to feel like sunshine. I wanted it to feel like hope. Warm, but cool. Bright, but shady. Alert, but calm. I wanted it to feel like magic.

“You could call it Hell on Wheels,” my mom suggested one night at dinner.

“‘Hell’ might give the wrong vibe.”

“What about Camp Magic?”

I gave a shrug. “Might sound like an academy for young magicians.”

“Not a bad idea,” she pointed out.

I pointed at her. “Yes. We should offer magic classes.” Then back to the name: “It needs to sound fun enough for kids, but serious enough for grown-ups.”

---