Different colored minds

The commulitive property of ignorance

JOE POV

I guess it's hard to look at the world like you're handicapped when you're not. It's the stupid things too. People forget to move out of the way far enough for my wheel chair to fit. Parts of the sidewalk that drop. Broken automatic doors. Normal doors. The space between desks. It's the Commulative property of ignorance. The little things that pass under their notice. They're inconsiderate because they've never had to considered what it's like to be in this situation.
"Joe," Steven slides in next to me, a stupid grin on his face.
"What's up?" I ask looking briefly down the hall.
"Jake's throwing a party this Friday, wanna come?" I look over at Steven.
"Not really," I don't want to deal with a crowd of drunk teens falling on me or around me. It's a recipe for more disaster than I want to deal with.
"You used to love parties," Steven looks sad. I shrug it off.
"Do you really wanna go?" I ask him finally.
"Yeah!" He says excitedly. "Come on, maybe just for a few hours. Everyone keeps asking about you and why you won't show up."

I know why I won't come to anything anymore. I don't want to see them when I'm like this. When I'm not the way I was. I think that's it. I don't want to see them look at me like I'm somehow different. Fragile—
because I'm not. I'm fine.

"Will you come?" Steven is still looking at me.
"I'll think about it," I concede. He punches the air.
"Alright!" He yells before he runs off to class.
I look through the distance towards his back as it recedes down the hall. I'm all alone again with my thoughts and my wheelchair.
I twist the wheels around and head down the hall. Class is dragging on, but it's better than being at home.
Originally when I started playing football my parents accepted it as a reasonable hobby. Then after it became clear I would be very successful continuing to do it, my parents got more invested. At this point in my life they've been fueling my dreams more than myself. They found all sorts of ways that football could make money for them. At least That's how it was before the accident—
My dad is still mad about my leg. And my mom is mad that my dad let me play in the first place. Dad won't stop talking about how if I just could have moved a little faster I would be okay. My mom is trying to persuade my dad to sue the school and has been on my back to apply for college scholarships for handicapped students. Somehow that hurts worse. But they're both too consumed in the dreams they have for me that they don't see how I'm doing. It feels like I'm a stranger in my own home. Like I'm living behind some curtain they can't see through.
"Joe?" I've zoned out in the middle of history class.
"Um, yes ma'am," I stutter.
"Will you read the excerpt from our history book to the class," looking down at my text book I give a sigh.
"Okay," I conclude and find the paragraph I'm supposed to read. I've always worked extra hard in my classes so that I could be on the team but now—what's the point? I'll end up going to some community college, get a sit down job, and work that job until I keel over. What is the point in it all?
"Ma'am," a voice Comes from the other side of the room. It's sweet and mellow but why is it familiar?
"I'm having a hard time reading the directions on the board, could you tell me what that last rule is again?" The teacher looks over at her and then back at the board.
"Well then, you should have been listening," I look over at the girl. I watch as her fist clenches on the desk. Oh that's where I've seen her.
The teacher is about to begin speaking again.
"isn't it the teacher who is responsible for writing the information in legible enough handwriting for the students to understand?"
Eyes flit towards her seat on the far side of the room. What is she doing?
"Miss Pamela I would appreciate it if you raised your hand before speaking again."
"I,"
"Sorry, now is not the time for questions. If you have any more there will be time at the end of class," her hand clenches again on her desk. Why is she fighting this so hard? Why can't she just ask someone next to her?
I shake my head. At least she'll have to give up now.
"with all do respect, these notes are not accessible for my disability and I know that I am not the only one struggling with these areas. If this does not change I will have a conversation with the principal at the first moment I can." A long pause follows this.
"Please stay after class, we can discuss it then," the teacher states curtly. my eyes widen as I look back towards Pamela.
"Alright." She nods enthusiastically. She looks almost happy? Why is she going so far? I'm almost interested enough to care, but soon decide it's not worth it. It'll be fine. Instead I head off to math ready for another waste of my time...

Which brings me to after school. It's time for detention as promised with the weird chick.
She's already in the office, her elbows leaning against the welcome desk as she jovially talks to the receptionist behind the desk.
I sigh as I roll my chair up next to her.
"Hi," she smiles at me. We're here for detention. And with a pang she reminds me of her—
Aliana was always happy to see me. It makes my stomach churn. Surely, it will never happen again. I won't let it. Not when I'm like this.
"Both of you, come with me," from the doorway I see the math teacher. She looks even smaller up close. Now that makes me smile.
"I am going to have you sit in mr. Gumphrey's classroom and write a reflection on your actions," the little woman is curt. Pamela clenches her fists. She must be two inches taller than the teacher at least. Her eyes say she has something to talk about with the teacher.
"And what should I write in the reflection?" The girl mutters. Oh no. Here we go again.
"That you were cheating, and that you will not cheat again," the teacher stops in her tracks and turns around in order to say it.
"Fine," Pamela spits. Her eyes are pits of fire.
I keep rolling towards mr. Gumphrey's classroom. Soon enough the other two are at my sides. What is wrong with this chick? Is this hill really worth dying on for her?

And so for the next two hours of our lives we're confined to the same room. Every time I look at her paper the paragraph is longer. By the time I'm done writing she hasn't even gotten half way through what she has to say. It's like watching an angry hornet fending for it's hive. I don't get it. Why does she care that much? Just tell the teacher they're right and move on. It's not like they'll ever acknowledge that the student is right. They don't really care about us.

A bell marking the end of detention goes off. I place my hands on the iron holds for my wheel chair.
I hear the girl rustling papers behind me to put in the bin. And then with a sigh she stomps by.
"Why'd you do it?" I ask before I can stop myself. It's that look in her face. The face of someone who has been had.
"Someone has to. Just cuz they don't think it will change because I said something won't change the vengeance in the lord," she smiles. "Not that I want vengeance or anything." But this last comment lingers uncomfortably in the air.
"I don't think the other kids think you're standing up for them," I continue. And then she breaks down laughing.
"I'm doing it for god silly. Not the humans, we're supposed to defend the oppressed, except I still can't decide if I'm allowed to defend myself," this last part sounds more like an afterthought.

She's weird—

And maybe that's why the sentence sends a thrill down my spine. She reminds me of Aliana—and I left her for good. I left her and everyone like her behind. They have to live their lives to the fullest and I can't now. I'm only a segment of a human now. The thought makes me chuckle. Maybe it would have been better to have just died in that stupid accident than be in this position.