As I Fell ✓

Chapter 13

Owen

It's been 2 weeks since the first day of school and I was already exhausted. I felt incredibly burnt out.

If this already happens during my junior year of high school, what more in college?

It's a Saturday today and since Athena and I saw each other yet again back at Delta's, I've since succumbed to her annoying friend request and finally accepted her just to stop her from texting me every now and then. At least I can put her on mute on social media unlike having my phone ringing in the middle of my silent room.

"Mum? I'm heading out to PT, alright? Be back in a bit." I told Mum as I took my set of house keys from the table before she held the handles of my wheelchair and stopped me.

This was unusual.

I turned over and Mum was glaring at me, her hand at her hip.

This does not look good.

"Are you sure you're going to therapy today?" she asked, raising a brow.

I felt instant fear run down my spine as literal daggers shot out of her eyes. I had to regain my composure before answering back to her.

"Yes, Mum. I do tell the truth after all. I'm gonna be late for PT if you won't stop questioning me." I blurted off as I avoided eye contact with my mother.

Mum, obviously annoyed at me, stepped in closer and knelt in front of me, her hands at my knees. She slowly put her face in front of me and smiled intoxicatingly sweetly as she put my head up with a hand.

"Robert Owen Daniel Watson, remember what you did when you went out on your own and 'did' PT?" She asked with those finger air gestures, emphasizing that I indeed, did not go to PT last time. I sucked in my cheeks and clicked my tongue.

How did she know?

Did the books I bought make it obvious?

"I paid Mr. Jones a visit, mother. He was getting old and maybe I could help him out–"

"By buying more books? Owen sweetheart, no wonder you have trouble saving up money. Honey, that is not an excuse to avoid physical therapy! As much as I wanted you to help out an old man, think of yourself, hmm?" Mum said as she rubbed my left knee smilingly.

As she kept rubbing it, I stared at her hand. I didn't feel anything rubbing my knee. I didn't feel anything down there anyway.

Well, it was better to watch her rub my knee rather than come to terms that my own mother did not trust me to determine how I live my life.

It's fine if I can't walk or stand or do anything that concerns those kinds of things. What I was not fine with was the fact that she thinks of it as a weakness rather than something that has become my normal.

"Mum, I know PT helps and you think I don't care about my own well-being but, I do. It's just that things are different for me, and books actually help me cope with stuff." I admitted, now thinking of my books.

My mother sighed.

"Owen, this is not about the books. Or your terribly low savings. Just– go to PT for real, alright? You're correct. Your legs don't work. I've known all these years. PT is there for your legs to maintain muscle and for you to continue to adapt. We both know how hard it is to deal with inaccessibility. Especially you." Mum said, starting to get optimistic. I sighed and cocked my head to the side.

Here she goes again, pretending to know what it's like. My mother knows a lot of objective things about disability, but she lacks first-hand experience. I have that.