A Cinderella dream

By Josh Eiserike

Published: June 8, 2008

Outside the Willard InterContinental Hotel in Washington, D.C., it's unbearably humid, despite a recent downpour. Inside, Brittany Meyer and her mother Robyn Casey check into a room. A hotel pianist plays a variation on "The Godfather Theme." It's the kind of hotel where the men's bathroom has a waiting room, there are rows of plush, personal phone booths and portraits of revolutionary Americans like John Marshall and Henry Clay.

Brittany, 17, a brown-haired freshman at Battlefield High School, is here for The Cinderella Ball, a prom for students with disabilities. The ball, now in its third year, is sponsored by The House, a Woodbridge-based non-profit dedicated to providing after school activities and leadership oppor-tunities to at-risk youth.

Brittany is one of about 125 students with special needs at the Cinderella Ball May 29. 

***

Brittany was never supposed to walk or talk. At birth, she was diagnosed with a rare neurological disorder called Pelizaeus-Merzbacher. Casey says she was supposed to be a vegetable on life support.

"Her life expectancy was a year, they told me she would never live, 10 years would be it," Casey says.

But Casey, now 38, says as a young mom she was bold. She figured since Brittany was her kid, she would make it.

Brittany was holding her head up at 6, sitting at 8. Today her vocabulary consists of only a few words: "yes," "no," "hi," "grandma," "go," "mama" and "help." She's learning sign lan-guage.

Casey attributes Brittany's success to love and attention—"unless you believe in miracles."

"I never sheltered her," Casey says. "We did anything that any kid would do."

Brittany's been skiing (water and snow), she bowls and plays baseball. She also helps her mom play roulette in Atlantic City, and they go to concerts.

"I've always dreamed of her walking," Casey says. The most challenging thing is the people who stare, she says, but she tells her daughter people stare because she's so pretty.

"Kids are mean," Casey says. "I look at (the Battlefield students) and not one of them says 'hi.' It's like she's invisible."

***

The point of the Cinderella Ball is precisely the opposite. No one stares; the students can just be themselves.

Brittany heard about the ball three years ago when her friend Leslie Spitery, a 19-year-old at George C. Marshall High School in Falls Church, brought home a flier.

"I thought it sounded pretty good, even though it was just a crumpled piece of paper," Leslie's mother Sandy Spitery says. "I almost tossed it."

The first year it was just Leslie, who has cerebral palsy, and Brittany.

"When I got [Brittany] in the gown and stood her up, I think that was my moment when she was no longer my baby," Casey says.

Casey cried. Brittany's childhood was spent in and out of hospitals, in and out of hospital gowns, never playing dress up.

This year Brittany had a choice between The Cinderella Ball or watching her favorite baseball team, the Boston Red Sox, take on the Orioles at Camden Yards. She chose the ball.

It's Brittany's second prom of the season. She and her boyfriend Austin Treague went to the Battlefield prom a couple weeks ago. It was fun, Casey says, but the Cinderella Ball is more welcoming. 

***

Two weeks prior, Brittany went to The House to pick out a gown. Last year she immediately went for a yellow dress, this year it took more time to select a flowing pink one. The night before she went to Salon Solution in Centreville for a manicure (again, pink) and to get her eyebrows waxed. She didn't get to bed until 10:30 p.m.—three hours past her normal bedtime—because of excitement.

The day of the ball she was up at 6 a.m., telling her mom to go. They left the house at 9 to get Brittany's hair done. After stopping at the gas station and the grocery store for camera batteries, Brittany and her mom went home for lunch of cabbage and tomatoes, before braving the torrential downpour to drive downtown and check into the room. Staying at the hotel makes it much easier to get Brittany dressed and down to the ball. 

***

Brittany's room is decorated in yellow and gold, with a flat screen television and a bath-room, which can easily accommodate a wheelchair.

Casey helps her daughter to a chocolate drink and some chocolate pudding (Brittany loves choco-late). She had Brittany eat ahead of time because she'd be too excited to eat at the actual dinner.

"Stand up time," Casey says as she takes Brittany out of the wheelchair and throws her onto the bed, bombarding her with pillows. Brittany laughs and laughs.

Over the next hour Brittany's friends stop by, including Austin, her boyfriend. Austin, 18, is in Brittany's class at Battlefield. He has cerebral palsy.

He's wearing a sharp grey suit and mustard tie.

"How does she look, Austin?" Robyn asks, wheeling Brittany out of the bathroom in her dress, her hair finished.

"Good!" Austin says.

***

Brittany, her mother and her friends head down. Brittany and Austin take a picture with a girl dressed like Cinderella and walk through a Marine sword arch. They're late to the dinner, but it's OK. Austin wheels Brittany into the ballroom over a red carpet.

The Willard ballroom is smaller than The House, and not a lot of room to navigate around tables, so there's a lot of "excuse mes" for all the wheelchair students. Crystal chan-deliers hang from the ceiling; there are candles on every table. Brittany gets help eating help from her mother, but as predicted, Brittany's more interested in seeing her friends than salad, chicken or mashed potatoes.

After dinner Kyle Maynard, an ESPY-winning wrestler born without arms or legs, issues words of encouragement, then, with House executive director Todd McCormick, presents the No Excuses award to Corey Davis, who suffered a paralyzing stroke when he was young.

It's unclear how much of this Brittany actually understands. Casey says she thinks Brittany understands a lot more than she can communicate.

Then, Americal Idol Ruben Studdard takes the stage. The abrupt noise startles some of the stu-dents, but Brittany is all smiles, swaying in her chair to the beat. 

***

Brittany is tired as the ballroom is cleared onto the dance floor, but the evening's not over yet. Casey navigates the wheel chair into a darkened room with flashing strobes and pounding music. Now, it's time to dance.

Brittany, grinning, sways as she holds some of the other parents' hands while her mother gets a spot in line to meet Studdard and Maynard. Casey dances the cha-cha slide to entertain her daughter, then helps Austin along with the moves. Brittany doesn't pay much attention to Studdard or Maynard, but happily accepts their autographs. Casey runs Studdard's autograph and Maynard's book up to their room before rejoining her daughter on the dance floor.

She helps Brittany out of her chair, and with Austin's help, props her up and sways to the beat. Brittany hangs on Austin's shoulders, held up by her mom. The modern music gives way to standards like "Brown Eyed Girl," "Shout" and The Beatles' version of "Twist and Shout."

The House kids incorporate the special needs students with them on the dance floor. They know something the special needs kids don't. Before the Cinderella Ball, House president Helen McCormick let them in on a bit of trivia: Martin Luther King Jr. wrote the "I Have A Dream" speech inside this very hotel.

It's not a bit of a stretch to imagine a similar dream—envisioning a nation where all people are treated with equality, dignity and respect—for Casey and other parents, for Brittany and her friends, a dream that for a few hours on a humid day, is a reality.

Staff writer Josh Eiserike can be reached at 703-878-8072.