Leggy Blonde: A Memoir by Aviva Drescher

wouldn’t get mystical or romantic about the tragedy. The accident was not “a blessing in disguise.” It was an accident, period. It didn’t change the essential me. I loved running around, dressing up, and feeling pretty, on one foot or two. The accident didn’t make me philosophical or morose. As a teenager, my biggest annoyance about having one foot was that I couldn’t wear high heels, miniskirts, or short shorts to get boys’ attention. Some might think that was shallow. I think it made me a normal, healthy girl in New York, which was all I wanted to be.
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    In seventh grade, I switched to the Fieldston School (the same middle/upper school that followed Ethical Culture). The campus was located in Riverdale, the Bronx. I started taking the bus therewith older kids. Greg, an eleventh-grader, was a football player with a tender side. There was something wounded and irresistible about him. He talked to me in the halls. The tiniest attention made me fall madly in love. I planned my life around bumping into him. I’d layer on the eyeliner in the bathroom and giggle with my friends about him. He seemed to enjoy my crush, but it went nowhere.
    My next serious crush hit in ninth grade. Mike was a year younger than me, but he looked like he was a grown man. He had dark hair everywhere—arms, legs, back, chest. I was fascinated by his pelts. My celebrity fantasy boyfriend back then was Sylvester Stallone (don’t laugh!). Mike was the closest I’d seen to that kind of animal masculinity.
    Joanna’s parents went away for the weekend once and I convinced her to throw a big football game party at her house. The whole team was coming over, including Mike. I tried on dozens of outfits, my hair tousled, with full makeup. He showed up with his friends. An hour later, Mike was in Joanna’s parents’ bedroom, making out with the hottest girl in the school. Not me. Her name was Justine. Her parents were best friends with my parents, and I always liked her. They lived in the San Remo, the building next door to ours (home to Dustin Hoffman, Demi Moore and Bruce Willis, Diane Keaton, Steve Martin, and Mary Tyler Moore). I had no reason to, but I felt betrayed. After that night, Justine was my sworn enemy.
    I was devastated . I vowed never to forgive Mike, ever . But a few months later, he asked me out. We went to Pig Heaven, a famous Chinese restaurant on Second Avenue. Just being near him and all his manliness set me atwitter. I reached for my Coke, and it went flying across the table, all over the spare ribs, and into (gasp) his lap. My face flamed bright red. I was mortified. Mike was cool about it, though. Imagine if he had made fun of me instead?
    You’d think jealous girls would have whispered behind my back,saying something along the lines of, “Why does he want her ? She only has one foot.” If they did, I wasn’t aware of it. In fact, in the high school jungle of survival of the fittest, my leg just wasn’t a factor. I wasn’t teased or bullied. My attitude was that I wouldn’t let my leg stop me from doing or being who I wanted to be. I sent a loud and clear “no biggie” message to my friends and classmates. They picked up on it, and believed it. If they wanted to backstab or gossip about me, they had other reasons to do it. But the leg didn’t come up.
    It could have gone the other way, though. Kids can be cruel. I give a lot of credit to the Fieldston community. The educators and parents were good people. In Manhattan private school circles, Fieldston was an earthy type of place that nurtured tolerance, acceptance, and diversity. They had a course on ethics that taught compassionate behavior. I certainly reaped the benefits of the high ethical standard there.
    For Mike’s part, he didn’t make me feel self-conscious about my leg—except for one time. Before we’d even kissed, Mike asked Joanna, “Does Aviva take off the fake leg when she sleeps? What about in the shower?” Joanna