I leaned against the railing of the boardwalk and watched the woman walk with crutches. The smoothness and gracefulness was something I had never witnessed before, I did not even know such beauty could be possible.

She appeared to be in the last half of her teen years; maybe early twenties, it was hard to tell. She was tall, had a nice shape, and had long curly blond hair that ended past her shoulders. The wind would occasionally catch the shimmering curls and toss them freely as she moved.

Below the hem of her short skirt was exposed the end of her thigh, something she appeared to not mind showing the world. It was the same color and shape as her other thigh; only a slight light line of a scar crisscrossed the rounded end of it with a few puckers and valleys of skin near the back.

The single right foot, encased in a sandal of narrow leather straps, had each toenail painted in bright red polish. I watched the foot move between the large black crutch tips of the forearm crutches, followed by the tips moving forward. The cycles of tips and toes fascinated me.

There was something different about the woman from what I had imagined an amputee to be like – no sorrow, no shame, nothing to hide, and lovely. Had I not been old enough to be her mother, I would have approached her. What would I have said to her? How would I begin a conversation?

Her first looks in my direction cast a spell over me and I knew she was reeling me in like a fisherman with a fish. Had she known I was watching? Had she know what I was thinking?

With each of my tentative steps, I realized how committed I had become, that I would have to say something to this angel, this goddess with one leg. My mouth lost all moisture, my tongue began to swell, and my knees weakened. Now, only twenty feet separated us and she was smiling at me. The whiteness of her teeth surrounded by the pale red of her lips called like the Sirens on the cliffs to the sailors. There was nothing I could do to resist. I was hers.

“Hello.” What a feeble way to begin. It was all I could do to keep from walking past her. My feet stopped directly in front of her, my queasy stomach demanded I continue to walk. My feet won.

“Nice day,” she replied. “Do you often come here? This is my first time. I hope it won’t be my last. I just moved here.” She spoke sweetly and quickly. I loved her voice and I didn’t want her to stop speaking.

“I love the waves so I come here a few times a week.” My mouth was regaining the moisture and I began to relax as the words flowed past my lips. “I’m Grace and I could not help but notice how wonderfully well you move on your crutches.”

“Thanks. Not many people seem willing to approach me. I’m glad you did. My name is Karla. It has only been three month since I first needed my crutches.”

I found that such a strange way to speak about the loss of leg, but her voice was as smooth and soft as her complexion. “Are you in school?”

“Heavens no, you flatter me. I’m thirty-two and have been out of college for years. I was thinking of finding a place for lunch. Would you like to join me?”

Lunch, like the rest of our lives together, was wonderful.