Teaching Noah | √

022

TWENTY MINUTES.

I didn't  know what I was expecting, but it definitely wasn't to still be seated in the car after twenty minutes of driving.

"You know something that really pisses me off?" Noah spoke up. "Apart from racism. Screw racists."

Yes, screw racists and that whole concept of racism. Scratch that, racism wasn't a concept, it is our reality— sadly. It made zero sense that a person should be treated differently because of the color of their skin.

I looked at Noah, "Uh... overly critical people?"

"Yeah, that too," he chuckled. "But that's not what I'm looking for right now."

"What is it?"

"Slow drivers," he said, eyeing the car in front of us. "I don't know, it really grinds my gears. Just don't... drive slow?"

He went on a long rant about how slow drivers also made him feel less badass on the road. I wanted to explode in laughter, but I could see he was serious so I just listened to him.

"Okay, spill. Where are we going?" I turned to him when I saw he was done ranting.

"We're almost there. You'll see," he answered.

I rested back in the seat, "You know, I must really trust you to have agreed to this whole thing."

The corner of Noah's mouth quirked up in a smile, "Is that such a bad thing?"

"I don't know, you tell me."

"I think I'm actually pretty awesome."

I looked out the window and took in the scenery; cars on the road, buildings and small shops from coffee shops to flower shops.

Though I didn't know what Noah had up his sleeves, maybe this could be good for me like he said. It had been a while since I'd been out like this— more than thirty minutes away from home and in a car. I always stayed home, my life revolving around the house, Simon's office and grocery stores from time to time. 

I never wanted to be that person who used her disorder as an excuse for everything. I never wanted this disorder to limit the things I could do in my life, especially movements, but unconsciously, I allowed it. Growing up with Tourette's Syndrome meant being nervous around people. It meant estimating in your head, the number of people that could be at a place you wanted to go to, before you go there. It meant getting used to the fact that at least one person will look at you funny when you tic in public. It meant having to explain and deal with the stupid beliefs some people have about the syndrome— like people who ask why I don't swear when they discover my disorder.

Sometimes, I wanted to yell at them and tell them the movies have lied to them. Movies tell them that people with Tourette's Syndrome swear every now and then, but it's a lie. It is very uncommon and only affects about 10% of people with the disorder.

Finding out my tic patterns have improved was one of the greatest things ever. Maybe I needed to stop being scared of doing so many things out of the fear that had once consumed me when my tics were so bad, Maybe I could get back some time that I'd lost. But how?

"We're here," Noah's voice pulled me out of my reverie and immediately, I looked around, "Where are we?"

Noah looked at me with a smile on his face, and my eyes didn't leave his as I opened the door and got out of the car. I froze, and it felt like air had been knocked out of my lungs when I saw a Ferris wheel. A Ferris wheel could only mean one thing.

I turned to look at Noah, unable to say anything. He still had that smile on his face as he shrugged. Few minutes ago, I was asking myself how I could get back some time I'd lost; now I knew how.