Chapter 18 Luca
LUCA
She’s here.
Isla is staring at me as if she’s seeing a ghost. Her pert little mouth is open, those bright green eyes wide with surprise and holding no small amount of confusion. Cautiously, I step into the elevator, letting the doors close behind me.
“Hello Isla.”
I want to curse my mother for putting me in this position, but I know I can’t blame her. She might be the reason I’m here to share my story for the very first time publicly, but she’s not the reason Isla is in the dark.
That’s my fault.
She doesn’t say anything in return, just continues staring at me in silence.
The ride to the main floor is thankfully quick, and yet, at the same time, I wish it were longer so I could explain why I’m here when she has no clue I have the same condition as her son.
Every spare second I had over the last forty-eight hours was spent thinking about what to say to her.
And everything I came up with sounded wrong.
The door opens with a chime, and I gesture for her to step off the elevator first. She does, casting a furtive glance back at me.
“We’ll talk, Isla. I promise, I’ll explain,” I whisper roughly, pleading with my eyes for her to give me a chance to do so. “Please, just find me after my speech.”
Her eyes somehow widen farther. “Speech?”
I wince. But before I can say or do anything else, one of the event organizers walks up to me.
“Mr. Calloway, I’m so happy to meet you, thanks again for agreeing to step in at the last minute and speak to our attendees. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you where we’re setting up for your keynote.”
I give the man a curt smile and nod. “Please, call me Luca. And I’m honoured to be here.”
I look back at Isla as I follow after him, barely listening as he goes on about something to do with a brunch that’s planned for all the conference speakers tomorrow.
Her arms are wrapped around her midsection, her shocked gaze tracking me from across the room.
Fuck. This is quite likely the worst possible way for her to discover my secret.
I’m led into the auditorium where I’ll present, forcing myself to focus on the introductions to the rest of the foundation members who coordinated the conference.
In no time at all, I find myself standing to the side of a stage, listening to the MC talk about how honoured they are to have me here as a speaker.
It’s funny. How can they be honoured when, until a few days ago, no one knew who I was to the ABS world?
The attention I used to receive when people found out about my missing limb was rarely positive. It might be pity disguised as empathy, it might be disgust, it might be ridicule. But growing up, it was never good.
Which is why I started hiding it. It was no one else’s business what my leg looked like.
That’s what I told myself. And when GaitSync was ready for the public, I made it clear I wanted to remain anonymous as the designer.
I’m proud of what I’ve done but drawing attention to that meant drawing attention to me.
And I worked too hard to hide this part of myself.
It’s only recently that I’ve started questioning why I still do that.
And part of the reason I’ve begun to question it is here in the audience.
Still, there’s a big difference between opening up to the people in my life and sharing my story on a much bigger scale like this.
Mom owes me big time for this.
The MC turns to gesture at me and I hear the swell of applause that is my cue to step out onto the stage.
Here we go.
I take a deep breath. And with one final glance down at my printed notes, I begin.
“Good afternoon, everyone. My name is Luca Calloway, and I was born with amniotic band syndrome, resulting in the absence of my left lower leg.” I tug up the bottom of my pant leg, revealing my carbon fiber prosthesis.
The crowd starts murmuring, and I wait for them to die down before I continue.
“When I was first asked to be a keynote speaker here today, my initial reaction was ‘Who, me?’ What could I possibly say or offer to all of you that would be of value? I’m just a computer geek who was sick and tired of having to go to so many damn appointments to get my leg fixed.
” I pause and smile for the first time. “Okay, that’s a lie, my first reaction was ‘Hell no, I hate public speaking.’ But when your mom asks you to do something, you don’t say no. Even at forty-two.”
That earns me a chuckle from the audience.
I click a button that starts the slideshow I prepared. Photos of me from when I was a baby through childhood and adolescence, scroll through on the screen behind me.
“Now, you were told the speaker today was the designer of GaitSync. Which some of you might have heard of or might even have in your prosthesis. If you haven’t, let me summarize.
It’s a computer chip that performs automatic gait analysis.
In simple terms, it helps prosthetic limbs adapt to how you walk, making them more responsive, more intuitive, and ultimately, better.
And yes, I designed it. I was nineteen when I told my dad it was total crap that they hadn’t figured out a way to automatically analyze gait patterns and adjust prosthetic legs.
I mean, I know prosthetists are our unsung heroes.
” The room erupts in a handful of cheers as I expected it would.
“In fact, mine is somewhere here today. Hey Doc.” I grin and lift my hand to wave at the audience, not really sure where Tom is in the crowd, but knowing he’s out there somewhere.
“But who are the real experts in what people with lower limb differences need? The people with the lower limb differences. That’s when my father told me something I never forgot. ”
I pause and press a button that stops the slideshow on a photo of me and Dad.
“He said nothing ever changes unless someone is brave enough to ask the first question. So I took my question to university where I studied engineering and robotics. My goal was not to fix something that was broken but to build something better. Why couldn’t my leg learn how to help me, instead of me learning how to use my leg?
It was years of long nights, failed experiments, and endless cups of coffee.
But after six years, GaitSync was ready. ”
I start the slideshow again, and the photos continue to scroll by, this time with promotional images for GaitSync and ForeMotion, the prosthetic company that bought it, but also candid photos of people who are now using prosthetic limbs that use my technology.
Those are the ones I’m most proud of. I grin at the photos, then sober when I look back at the crowd. This is the hard part.
“I’ve kept this part of my life private for years.
And the reason I’ve done so is something I’m sure a lot of you are familiar with.
I grew up like many of you, figuring things out as I went, navigating a world that wasn’t always built for bodies like mine.
I had to work extra hard to be seen as more than just the kid with the missing leg.
When I was young, being different wasn’t something I was proud of.
It was something that was used to ridicule me.
To put me down and make me feel like I was somehow less than everyone else.
Hiding my leg, hiding that part of me, became automatic.
And it stayed that way for too long. But someone I met recently has made me want to be brave and not hide my achievements.
Meeting him reminded me of one important thing I think we all need to remember.
The world will try to define you by what it thinks you lack.
It’s your job to remind it what you have.
And what I have, what we all have, is resilience.
Creativity. Determination” My gaze finds Isla in the crowd and my heart stutters.
Her hand is covering her mouth, and I can’t tell her reaction or emotions to my speech at all.
This leaves me with only one option—to continue.
“This kid, he’s smarter and stronger than I was at his age, and he doesn’t hide his limb difference or let it hold him back.
He’s a huge part of why I said yes to speaking today, to sharing my story for the first time publicly.
But he’s not the hero of this story. Neither am I.
At least, not by myself. We all are the heroes.
Every one of us in this room and worldwide.
Because we, the people living with ABS and the people who love and care for us, are the ones who need to be brave enough to ask the first question.
Every single one of you sitting out there already has what it takes.
What the world needs more of. Grit, compassion, ingenuity, and the courage to dream differently.
So I want to leave you with this. Don't let anyone, not even yourself, tell you that your story is one of limitation. It’s a story of transformation.
Your challenges don’t define you. What you do with them does.
Thank you for letting me speak to you today, I hope you have a fantastic conference this weekend. ”
When the audience erupts in applause, all I feel is relief that my speech is over, and a heavy sense of nerves over what I need to do next.
Find Isla.
“Thank you, I’m glad you enjoyed it.” I shake yet another hand, give yet another smile. Fucking hell, I’ve only been at the reception for nearly an hour, and I’ve met more people than I can count. But I can’t locate the one woman I need to find.
I know I should be grateful my speech apparently touched a lot of attendees, and I’ll even go so far as to admit I feel a weight off my shoulders having my secret out in the open.
It’s gratifying, having people come up to me and sharing how GaitSync changed their lives.
It feels good to see my work in action and hear from others I’ve helped.
Yet, I’m starting to feel impatient.
I need to find Isla. I need to explain myself. I don’t know what she’s thinking, learning I have ABS like that. Even though we were never really together, I feel shitty for keeping it from her, especially after I met Charlie.
“Luca, great speech. That was absolutely inspiring. Can I ask you a question about GaitSync?”
I stop searching the room for Isla and turn on my professional smile. “Sure. What’s your question?” I take a sip from my drink as the woman in front of me launches into a complicated question about the programming component of GaitSync.
When I finally spot Isla chatting with a few other attendees, I cut her off with an apology. “I’m so sorry, I have to go and take care of something. But if you find Tom Shivari, he knows as much about GaitSync as I do and can answer your question, I’m sure.”
I move away, weaving through the crowd, hoping no one else stops me. And then, finally, I’m behind her. My hand reaches out to cup her elbow, and she whirls around, looking up at me with bright eyes and a cautious smile.
“Luca.”
I don’t even register the other people around us. The entire room fades away, and all I can see, feel, smell, and hear is her.
“Can we talk? Please?” My voice is low, urgent even. I don’t know what I’ll do if she’s upset at me for keeping this from her.
“I think we should. But not here.” She gestures to the room, full of noise and people. “You seem to be quite popular after that speech.”
I rub the back of my neck. “Yeah. I’m so sorry you found out like that. I should have—”
“Luca, stop.” Isla’s hand squeezes my arm. I let it fall, and when she takes my hand in hers, I can’t stop the tidal wave of relief that crashes over me. “You don’t owe me an apology. I’m your employee, you had no reason to tell me your story.”
I’m already shaking my head before she even finishes. “You’re a hell of a lot more than my employee. And when I met Charlie, I could’ve said something.” Someone calls my name, and I let out an annoyed growl. “Fuck. Can we go somewhere?”
Isla tugs her lower lip between her teeth, her gaze darting around the room. “We could…I guess we could go to a hotel room. Mine or yours, I mean. It’s probably the only place we’ll have privacy, the entire hotel is fully booked with conference people.”
Being in a hotel room alone with Isla might be the worst idea ever if I’m to have any hope in hell of maintaining my boundaries.
But right now, those boundaries are the last thing on my mind.