When I was sixteen, my brother and I went with our church youth group to play Laser Tag. Although it was my first time playing, I knew I wouldn't be able to escape anyone in my wheelchair and that I would most likely lose, but the appeal of watching other players run around me as though it were an actual war zone while flashing lights on their body armor indicated fatal hits, filled me with excitement.
"I'm gonna play the first game alone so I can see what kind of course we are dealing with," my brother instructed.
I waited outside, getting my gear on and checking my gun. As soon as the first round was over my brother came toward me with a look of frustration.
"What's wrong?" I asked, feeling as though my fun were about to be ruined.
"There are a lot of platforms and I don't think I can get your wheelchair up them quick enough for us not to get shot," he said.
Of course it would be difficult.
"That's okay," I said, trying not to let my disappointment show. "Go ahead and play without me. I'll see if I can find something else to do," I gestured toward the arcade.
"Wait, I have an idea," my brother mused, "if you don't mind staying in one place."
He quickly pushed me inside ahead of a few people and found a spot.
"Hurry, get out of your chair and sit in the corner," he whispered.
I did as he directed. My brother was wearing his friend's black leather jacket. He took it off and gave it to me. I am really small, and the jacket covered me almost completely.
"Perfect," he grinned. "Okay, I lure, you shoot," He commanded.
"Got it." I said. "Behind you!"
I saw a kid come around the wall just in time. My brother turned and shot him fast as a blink. The light on his armor lit up.
"You're dead kid," my brother told him.
"Awwww," the kid said, following directions to exit the course.
My brother saluted me, then disappeared behind the wall. I stayed crouched in the corner behind my wheelchair. Fortunately, the course was dimly lit by ultra violet lights. My black wheelchair hid me well enough. Ever so often my brother would emerge and signal me to be ready. Almost immediately after, our victims would follow and I'd shoot them with an almost sniper like grace.
I began to think we might win this round, but no sooner had the thought emerged than did a group of three shooters.
"Someone is picking us off," one of them said, "I think they're hiding over here."
At the same time, one of them spotted me.
"Oh man, it's a chick in a wheelchair!" he laughed. They all laughed in disbelief as they readied their guns.
I sat frozen, preparing to be massacred. Suddenly, one of the kid's critical hit lights flashed and my brother burst into the area shooting like a madman. He took them all out.
"Our game is up, time to leave the course!" He shouted at me.
Quickly, I got back in my wheelchair and handed him the jacket. I prepared my gun. Two more shooters came in and I fired. I missed them. My brother shot one, but the other went around us. I was trying to turn my wheelchair around, but it was hard to hold the gun and turn with one hand. My brother dove behind me and I heard the beeping which indicated he had been shot.
"Why?!" I asked him, in disbelief. "You could have easily won this!"
"So that you could have fun sis," he said. "Now, let's have fun!"
He ran me through the lower level covering my back so that no one could snipe me. It was an epic battle. I must have killed seven enemies that night before I, too, was eliminated. As my brother and I exited the course, I felt proud, because my brother has always fought for me, but for a moment (even though it was a game) I was able to fight for him.
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