"But she isn't even pretty!"(Kevin Hughes) Linda was furious. She knew how pretty she was. She knew what her figure did to ordinary men. She had seduced anyone she ever wanted. It gave her power. Young, old, it didn’t matter. Some of her performances to get what she wanted from a man, would have earned her an Oscar.

Yet, she couldn’t do anything with Sam. He was always polite. Always the perfect quiet gentleman. And always able to refuse any of her ploys, tricks, or traps.

She didn’t really care for Sam. Heck, she didn’t really care for anyone except…her self. Narcissus himself would have been stunned by her self interest. She was frustrated and angry. All her wiles had not broken down whatever special armor Sam was wearing.

He said he had a girl. And that was all he would say.

" What kind of a girl could compete with me? “

He would simply smile and walk away.

Today, though, she would see what kind of girl he thought was better than her. She was supposed to show up at the Big Shindig at the Party tonight. Apparently she had been studying abroad for the last six months. Six Months!
With six months to play with, Linda could make any normal man, and more than a few marriages, crumble under her beauty and allure. Yet, she hadn’t been able to get Sam’s attention. Six months! Linda wanted to see what kind of beauty could hold a man like that, rock solid to his commitment.

Tonight…she would know.

*****

Sam didn’t remember the car wreck. He did remember his Dad. It was his Dad who pulled both his Mother and himself from that burning pile of twisted metal. Even though Sam was only eight years old, he knew what his Dad did was Hero level stuff.

He would tell his Dad that many times, over the quiet dew covered tombstone. Wishing he had been able to say it that night.

His Mom woke up, her concussion knocked a lot of her memory out. Luckily, most of it came back. But not all. Sam thought that was a gift from God.

There was nothing wrong with Sam’s memory. He remembered it all. From the sound of breaking glass, the snapping sound of his bones breaking, and the smell of his Father’s burnt hands as he pulled him from the furious flames.

He saw his Mother slammed into a stretcher and air lifted out. He saw the tears on the Policeman’s face, as he pulled the sheet over his Dad’s head. He saw the Police Officer bend down to help the other Officer get up.

He heard the quiet awe in the First Policeman’s voice when he said:

“Now, that was a man. A real man.”

A moment later, and Sam was granted enough pain to pass out completely.

He didn’t go to the funeral. He didn’t go home when his Mother did either. It would be a year and half before he left the Hospital. Nineteen surgeries, five bone grafts, thirty two screws, nine metal plates.

He made the Nurses laugh when they treated him:

“We have to clean these wounds, it is going to hurt. If we don’t do it, you will get an infection.”

He would laugh and say:

“Infection? Don’t worry about infection. Just make sure I don’t rust!”

It always made them laugh.

Finally he got to go home. He was ten years old. School started in one week.
He didn’t want to go. He still had braces on both legs, his muscles barely able to keep him upright. He had crutches on both arms. Not the temporary ones that you slide under your armpits.

No, these crutches had sleeves, and bracelets for the upper arms. They were meant to help for a long time. He called them:

“My Armor.”

And so School rolled around. He stood at the bottom of a slew of steps. His Mother didn’t want to attract attention. (As the burns on her face and neck, combined with the tiny boy wrapped in metal skin - caused people to stop and stare- and then the questions started.)

He had hobbled from the Parking Lot to the front of the building, only to be confronted by a series of steps that would have made an Egyptian Pyramid whistle at.

He sighed. Then he heard a laugh next to him. Without turning he knew it was a girl. It was a high sweet sounding laugh without an ounce of artifice in it. He liked that laugh immediately.

So he said what was on his mind:

“Who did they hire? Some contractor with a crush on the Pyramids, and something against crutches?”

She laughed again. Then she took his arm with her hand…a gentle grip just over the last band covering his bicep, and just below his armpit.

“Lean on me, together we can find out if there is a Sphinx at the top.”

That is when he looked over at her for the first time. She was the most beautiful girl he ever saw. Her eyes had no pity in them. The first such eyes he had seen in almost two years. Even his Mother, who had her own hideous scars to deal with, looked at him with a sort of pity.

Not this girl. She just held his arm, looked him square in the eye, and said:

“Ready?”

He nodded. Gritted his teeth. Then put his crutch out on the first step. At the top she made him laugh…again.

“Are you done with those crutches? Because I am going to need them now.”

They roared with laughter. Other students- and a few teachers- turned to smile at the two young people laughing wildly.

Later, when he became a Stand Out Star in three sports, nobody remembered those early years. He did. She did. And that was all that mattered.

He had graduated from College. Skipped all the Professional Offers, and got his second degree in Bio Medical engineering. He wanted to build synthetic bones. Already at just 26 years of age, he had nine patents, and fourteen peer reviewed papers.

But he didn’t care. His girl, the same one that took him up the giant steps when he was only ten years old, she was coming back from her studies at the prestigious French Art Academy: Les Beaux, Arts de Paris. She was coming back with both a Doctorate and an advanced copy of her first book. A book she dedicated to him.

*****

Linda watched as Sam, the tall, tanned, perfectly proportioned “could have been a model” man - who she couldn’t even get a second look from - walked in the door of the party.

On his arm was a rather short, not fat, but not thin woman. She had mousy blond hair, not much up top, and a bit too wide in the hips. Her figure was not even up to “girl next door” standards. A standard far below Linda’s status as an; “LA Ten.”

She saw the way Sam looked at her and a bit of her felt jealous. The men who looked at Linda, looked at her the way Lions look at their prey. Meat. Just meat.

Sam looked at his girl like he was drawing power from her all the while bathing her in his own power. For a moment, Linda thought it was some form of witchcraft.

Linda wormed her way over to get introduced. It pissed her off that Sam had forgotten her name. The girl merely smiled at her without offering her hand. That was the last straw. Linda lost it in front of the whole Party.

“Sam, why in the hell did you pick her? I mean look at me, and look at her. Now tell me why you would choose her. She is not even pretty!”

Sam laughed out loud. So did the girl on his arm. Then Sam said:

“You are right. She isn’t pretty. She is beautiful!”

Everyone clapped.

---