"What a fucked up society we live in." my dad said as he flicked through a few more news channels. I lay watching him from the other side of the room, silent. He'd obviously said it as a joke, but I didn't want it to turn into anything more than that, so I kept quiet. I shuffled slightly so I could reach for my glass of lemonade, then settled back into a slump, continuing to observe my fathers inability to decide on one channel. He finally stopped at sports. I was slightly annoyed, when just as I thought he'd carry on being fickle in telveision show choices, he leaned back into the sofa and began watching.
"Now, Patrick, this is something I'd pay to watch." called dad.
"Father. You're watching football. On TV. On a television network which costs us." I replied, feeling content with my answer.
"Alright, alright. I meant pay to watch you play this."
"Well, first off, I bloody hope you'd pay to see me play it, considering it's a profession. And secondly, incase you hadn't noticed, dad. I'm in a wheelchair."
"Uggghh. Patrick, you're not getting the point. I mean, I'd pay for any possibility of you playing something like this. Just walking again. Anything." He said, almost mumbled. I guess not realising what he was trying to say bored him, which isn't surprising, considering the attention the span of his new wife. I guess after all they had something in common. But, yeah, I should probably explain what there is to explain about my condition, which isn't much. I was never really told the in depth details about what happened, so currently, all I know is this; I was in a car crash when I was 3, in 2000. My Mum died and my Dad were devastated- blah blah blah. There were some major bones left broken in my spinal & leg area, leaving me as the doctor's called it 'minorly parapalegic'. I might as well've been. I have pretty much no use of my legs anymore, so I'm in Chloe now. That's what I called my wheelchair, Chloe. And now I'm 16 years old, half paralyzed, spiraling into depression, completely anti-social and utterly isane. I'm Patrick. Nice to meet you.
"You sound like what I should be sounding like. A teenager." I said. And with that, dad unfastened his belt, allowing his trousers to drop significantly lower. He then proceeded to sulk out the room, moaning stereotypical teenage related drivel. I didn't question his motivation to do so, I just took it as an oppurtunity to hop (flop) into my wheelchair, wheel over to the remote, and finally finish watching the last couple of recorded episodes of How I Met Your Mother. After watching 2 episodes, I grew pretty tired and couldn't be bothered to endure the strenuous task of lowering myself into my chair and then calling for my father, who appeared to be a sixteen year old girl trapped inside a 44 year old mans body, to carry me up the stairs of this shitty, new, anti-wheelchair home that we recently moved into because of dad's new love interest. So I propped my head up on a few cushions and went to sleep.
I was awoken by dad shaking me awake. I could see Jenna (dad's new love interest) watching us from the doorway.
"We're going out now." said Jenna.
"I thought you were engaged." I replied.
"Patrick." dad said, gripping my thigh. I don't think he remembers I can't feel anything in my legs.
"Whatever. Sure, don't bother locking the door." I said to no one in particular, turning over and burying my head in the pillows. I heard the door close, and lock. They'd gone. This was nothing special. I wasn't exactly capable of throwing some kind of saturday night house party and 3 midday, so I tried to get some sleep again. I sort of got into that half awake-half dreaming state, leaving me confused, but it felt nice, so I stayed like that, dreaming of what it'd be like to... well... walk.
