2 Wheels

English was one of the few subjects I could tolerate. The wheelchair already limited my tools of expression to a great degree, however language allowed me to express myself in other ways; the linguistic way. It helped me cope. When no one was there to understand my pain, the pen and pad were. So in a sense I was grateful to mankind for creating language as a tool of expression.

I arrived to English, late, despite storming out of registration. After the embarrassing start to the day I was determined to keep it 'lowkey'. We cripples stand out( or should I say sit out) more than your average joe. I was not interested in increasing my notoriousness at all. I strategically chose my seat. A place where no one would bother me. Where all the losers were united by a single objective; to attract the least amount of attention. Where you had the freedom to dream about better times and better days. The haven known as the window corner.

It was difficult manoeuvre on a wheelchair with all the narrow spaces, but I got there eventually. I was greeted unfortunately but a classmate.

"Hey, you're the wheelchair kid" a girl with freckles and a wide grin said. I did a sarcastic glance around and said "You talking to me" in a confused manner. She laughed. This was quite foreign to me. I never made a girl laugh outside my family. Usually when girls laughed...it was at me not with me.

"Your introduction was pretty funny. Can't believe you actually said 45 in the mind, that like straight out of a movie or something"

Damn. That was the only thing on my mind. Someone genuinely found me hilarious. Then the anxiety kicked in. Was she just being nice? I dismissed this thought immediately.

"Good thing I rehearsed huh?"

"I wish I rehearsed an introduction. I would be way better than the generic 'Hi I'm Madison', you know?"

"I don't think thats bad"

"Your a nice guy wheels"

"Wheels?"

"Oh sorry! I just like giving people nicknames"

"Hmmm...I see. Well, you're a nice girl freckles"

We both laughed. Perhaps I made my first friend. Is this how friendships begin? Well, I hoped to see more of Madison. Maybe English will stay as my favourite lesson.

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"How was school sweetie?" my mother asked

"Alright" I responded in a dull tone

"I see. Did you make any friends?"

"No"

The rest of the car ride was silent after that. There was not much to talk about. Any conversation would stem back to my disability. About how I need to stay safe and make sure not to over exert myself. After all I was 'different'.

The rest of my family had the same mentality towards me. They thought of me as hopeless. An egg that needed a hen to hatch. To them I was still in the process of hatching. I was delicate, weak, I needed protecting. It sickened me. I was sick of being looked down upon. Pity is for those who need it, I did not fall into to that bracket. It was if i was not seen as human. As if the wheelchair made me a victim, except there was nothing to be victimised but the perceptions people had of the disabled.

Everyday I was expected to go 'home' to these people. People who did not accept me fully. People who never attempted to understand me instead tried to change me to fit their moulds. Home is a four letter word. Home is a word I do not comprehend the meaning of. I go home to a broken home. My home is watchmen looking at my every fucking move. My home does not have sunshine and rainbows. My home has pills and wheelchairs. My home does not make me happy. It does the opposite. It leads me to sorrow and depression. I think of ways to escape but I can't. Do you know why? Because I am stuck in a wheelchair. The thing that ties me down is a wheelchair. I am defined by my wheelchair and nothing more. Everyday I have to accept this reality. Every fucking day.

I found some salvation today however. Today someone looked past the wheelchair. Today I met Madison.