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Emery hired aides and began navigating the maze of disability benefits on his own. He calls it "walking the tightrope of red tape," and considers it, along with dancing, one of his unofficial full-time jobs. Recently, he had to enlist the help of legal aide after his health insurance decided to stop covering a nutritional supplement several months ago. Since he stopped taking the supplement, he's lost 20 pounds, going from about 140 to 120. After hours spent on the phone and in consultation with legal aide, the insurance company has decided to cover his supplement once more, but that's not enough for Emery. He wants to make sure that this won't happen to someone else.

Emery is used to fighting battles for his less-able friends. He was the president of Oregonians for Independent Living until he decided to concentrate more on dancing. But he's still pushing limits for people with disabilities. He was the first disabled person in Oregon to buy a home under the federal Section 8 subsidy program, and he's helped other disabled friends buy their own homes and become more independent.

Emery feels passionately that disabled people should be allowed to work without having their benefits taken away or drastically reduced. He has been offered payment for his dance performances; he also has inventions he'd like to market that would make the lives of people with disabilities easier. But if he started making money, the government would no longer see him as disabled, and reduce his benefits. And with the cost of aides alone at more than $60,000 a year, that's a step Emery cannot afford.

The music changes, becoming more plaintive, less boisterous. Backstage, fluttering ballerinas are frozen in place near the curtains, watching the dance. Emery falls forward, landing on his stomach on the stage with the wheelchair upside down on his back like a turtle's shell. Alito flips the wheelchair off Emery and is in it in one fluid movement. Emery is on his knees, slowly moving away with his arms in the air. The crowd cheers. In the wheelchair, Alito approaches from behind, lifting Emery into his lap. Emery slithers off him and crawls away. Alito dances alone with the chair, spinning it in glittering circles in the air. Emery's hands are bent, outstretched, but Alito glides away, abandoning Emery and the wheelchair.

Emery is never alone; one of his four aides is always within calling distance. At 11 years, Julie Garton has been with him the longest. When she first began working with Emery, he would often say "whatever," when asked a question. He had become frustrated with his aides and accustomed to his opinions being ignored. Julie didn't accept this. She would tell him, "No, not whatever. You make a decision on what you want."

Now, Julie and Emery work together like an efficient team. She has traveled with Emery on his dance tours to Europe. She translates for him when others have trouble understanding the way he speaks, picking up stories when he pauses, interjecting bits he might have forgotten. She knows his thoughts and habits. She is his hands when it is time to dress or shower or eat a chocolate chip cookie. She is his support in the war against red tape. To Julie, Emery is her family, her brother.

Emery is close to his parents as well, spending time with his father almost every day. Sometimes they pick up supplies for Emery’s on-going home remodeling projects or do the grocery shopping; other times they just go to the park by the river, which is just around the corner from Emery’s house. Emery also frequently practices and performs with Alito, who is a close friend as well as a dance partner. And sometimes other friends drop by his house, though not as much as they used to, something Julie says is due to middle age and people being busy more than anything else.

Even though Emery is surrounded by people who care about him, he feels like something is missing. He needs someone who will share a piece of raspberry-topped chocolate cake at his favorite bakery with him. He needs someone to watch movies and sunsets with, someone who will read to him on a rainy day. Emery thought he had found that person when, last August, he got married to Lara, a 26-year-old woman he dated for two years after meeting over the Internet. She was young, but she was mature for her age, Emery says. She was intelligent and interesting, and when he was with her he didn’t have to hardly ever use his wheelchair, because she would help him walk. They moved well together, something that might be taken for granted by an able-bodied person, but all-important for Emery.

Julie and the other aides were concerned, but they were also happy for Emery.  Julie was excited for him.  She has worked with disabled people for many years, and says it’s difficult for people with disabilities such as Emery’s to have long-term romantic relationships. But this wasn't Emery's first long-term relationship–he's had both able-bodied and disabled girlfriends in the past, some more serious than others. Emery was deeply in love with Lara, and Julie knew it would be tough for him if things didn’t work out.

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