Personal Narrative: My Disability

A piercing, blood-curdling shriek rattled my eardrums. I sighed. I could feel a lump in my throat, overwhelming exhaustion pulled on my teary eyelids. All around me, children ran and forced smiles, whispering to one another as they tried not to notice the girl screaming in the corner. And across from me, a wailing ambulance, was Lauren. Earlier that day, when I first arrived at camp, I hopped out of my car with a grin. I had worked with people with special needs for much of my life, so I felt prepared to handle any disability thrown my way. It was something I had always loved and felt I had a knack for. This camp wasn’t different than other programs I had been involved with, I’d be paired with a camper with autism and would be their “buddy”
And that’s when I saw her. A dismantled peach in her right hand and a smudge-covered iPad in her left, she stood absentmindedly staring into the distance, quietly humming under her breath. I introduced myself to her and her dad, who replied with a bird-like squawk and a firm handshake, respectively. Once her father left I turned to Lauren, who was analyzing me with squinted eyes, and I made the biggest mistake I would make that week: I showed her our schedule. Seemingly harmless at the time, this simple action would be the catalyst for a full blown tropical storm. I pointed out the activities we would be going to: field games, swimming, and a handful of others. But there was only one activity that caught Lauren’s attention. She looked up at me with wide eyes, “Climb tower?!” I grinned, feeling encouraged, “Yes! We’re going to climb the tower!” She giggled, pointing at the tall structure in the distance. And then I said the most soul-crushing word that an impatient, excitable pre-teen girl could hear: “Tomorrow!”. It was as if I had told her the world would burst into flames at noon. A mixture of confusion and intense anger flooded her face. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she slowly opened her mouth, taking a deep breath. Then, the storm hit. Her ear-splitting shriek sent shock-waves through the area. As the other campers watched in horror, she thrashed around on the ground, her tears splashing me like ocean spray. I tried to calm her down, but to no avail. I checked my watch - it had been ten minutes since I had arrived at camp. I took a deep