She could see them looking at her from the corner of her eyes. Two children were casting occasional glances in her direction and whispering. She was quickly getting used to the stares she got when out in public. Instead of letting it unnerve her, as she was tempted to do, she did her best to ignore it. Sometimes even initiating a conversation about the wheelchair proved to be an ice-breaker that would ease the awkward moments. She generally tried to be much more forgiving with the looks she received from children, mostly due to her training as an educator. Her love and respect for the youth she used to teach had granted her that patience.

Today, as she sat in the public library, focused on the information on the public, internet-access computer, she knew she was conspicuous. She adjusted her reading glasses, and clicked on a website offering information about civil engineering.

Even as she tried to ignore the two kids, she still caught a few snippets of their conversation.

“You ask her,” one voice carried over.

“...but what if...” the other child's voice trailed off.

“Fine! We'll both go,” the first voice asserted.

Here it comes, George thought. She was expecting to answer questions about the chair and about how she got to be in it. For kids, she had a sanitized version of the story down pat. Kids, she decided, didn't really need to know all the horrible details. They didn't need to know that she had been shot. Explaining that her spinal cord had been damaged in 'an accident' was usually enough. Presently, the youngsters were at her side.

“Excuse me,” the younger-looking of the pair asked tentatively, “but are you Oracle?”

Baffled by this, George cocked an eyebrow. This wasn't what she was expecting. “I'm sorry...what?”

The second child groaned and rolled his eyes. “No, stupid!” He admonished. “What my friend means is: are you like Oracle?”

George shook her head, “I don't know what you mean, guys. Who, or what, is 'Oracle'?”

Their faces lit up eagerly.

“She's a comic book character,” number two said excitedly. “She used to be Batgirl, see. You know, Barbara Gordon? Then she got shot by the Joker. Since she couldn't use her legs anymore, she had to be in a wheelchair. Now she's an expert on computers and stuff, and that's how she helps the other superheroes catch the bad guys.”

“Yeah! When we saw you, we were like, 'she could be Oracle!' You look almost like her, too. She's got her hair cut a lot like yours, except Barbara Gordon's is red. She's a genius and she wears glasses like you, and has a wheelchair like you.”

George gave a wry smile. “Well, she definitely sounds really cool. But I'm not Oracle, and I only wear glasses for reading. I wish I were a genius-computer expert, though!”

“Can we show you?” child number one said, motioning to the computer. “We could show you some websites about Oracle.”

By now, George was finding herself intrigued.

“Sure, go ahead,” she found herself saying, backing up to allow them space to get at the terminal. “My name is obviously not 'Barbara', either, but you can call me George.”

“Isn't that a boy's name?” child number one glanced at her quizzically.

“I guess it is,” George replied, “but it's short for 'Georgina'.”

The child looked dubiously at George, then said, “Yeah, 'George' is definitely better. I'm Tyler, and my buddy's name is Josh.”

“Nice to meet you, Tyler and Josh.”

“Okay, there! That's a good site,” Josh said excitedly, after Tyler had 'Googled' search terms 'Oracle' and 'Barbara Gordon', and returned a number of hits.

With fascination, George scrolled through pages of several fan-made websites dedicated to the comic character.

“Cool, huh?” Tyler said, beaming excitedly.

“Yes, it is.” George said. She had to admit it really was cool.

She'd never imagined there could be a strong female comic book character – with a disability – that could have such an obvious appeal to kids like this. It was little unnerving to think that kids this young had been exposed to the violent nature of Oracle's origins, but George knew that modern comics and graphic novels were far from the benign entities they had been in the past.

“You could totally be like Oracle, you know,” Josh said. “She's trained lots. She knows how to fight. You look like you could be pretty tough.”

I'm more like her than you think, George thought. It bothered her more than she cared to admit the similarities she read between herself and the comic character. Barbara had been shot, just as she had, but she wasn't about to admit that to Josh and Tyler, sticking to her decision that kids just didn't need to know.

What was compelling, though, was the form of Filipino martial arts that the comics showed Barbara Gordon learning. George made a mental note to herself to look into Escrima. From what she could tell, it utilized wooden sticks for combat. The Barbara Gordon character seemed to have retractable batons instead of sticks hidden in her armchair rests for easy access.

“Thanks, guys. This was really neat,” George said, after clicking off another fan-made site.

“You're welcome,” Tyler replied.

“My mom's probably looking for us by now,” Josh said, glancing around the library furtively, “so we'd better go, Ty.”

“Okay,” Tyler said, stepping away from the terminal. “It was real nice meeting you, George.”

“Yeah,” Josh added, “nice meeting you.”

“Pleasure was all mine,” George replied honestly, and gave both boys a shake of the hand.

As they scurried off in search of Josh's mother, George took a little time to reflect on the exchange. Kids never ceased to amaze or surprise her. Far from the mis-behaved brats and juvenile delinquents the younger generation were made out to be, it was encounters such as these that reminded her how special children were. Josh and Tyler had provided her with an exciting avenue to explore.

Escrima. George closed down her internet window and signed onto the library's catalogue search page. She discovered the word was spelled with either a 'k' or a 'c', and that there were a couple titles about the fighting style available for check-out.

Hmm...Main floor, non-fiction section, she thought, and scribbled down the call number on one of the pieces of scrap paper available at the terminal. George wheeled herself away to the stacks in search of the book. When she had found it, she felt an unexpected thrill as she flipped through the pages.

This could be the answer I've been looking for,she thought, regarding her fears about being vulnerable in the chair. I could defend myself like this. It finally felt like she had some sort of direction, a sense of purpose. The feeling was wonderfully liberating.