May Mason is a teen who has trouble communicating due to her speech impediment. She forms a connection with a new stranger in the hospital she is in, and she finds herself more free than before. Trouble arises when she does not know how to navigate...
Every day looked and felt the same, but not Thursdays. Thursdays felt great. Fixing a portrait of a quote I made on my wall made me feel well, less sick. Amber, the nurse I was appointed to, was a peach; you'll figure that out on your own, I promise.
"Let Me Take Care of You, mh..." She read the quote carefully. "I have a feeling I'm supposed to say that, but nice one." She nodded as she helped me out of bed and onto my wheelchair.
"Amber, I can walk," I typed on my iPad.
She leaned and whispered in my ear, "Let me feel needed, will you?" I laughed and nodded slightly, agreeing with her.
She took me out of my room and onto an empty hallway. It suddenly felt lonely—lonelier than my room. The wind made the open windows creak, making it feel all the more abandoned.
Amber and I did the same routine every Thursday. She waited for me as I sipped on the water fountain, the cool water rushing through my throat, igniting a taste of freedom I didn't have. I am stuck here for the long run.
You see, due to my speech impediment and my constant drooling, I am not very normal. How is it that an 18-year-old can't say something as easy as "water" without sounding silly? That was me. The iPad made it easier for me to talk to people, and I preferred it to what I was going to say.
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"She never learned her vowels," "All she did in school was do a number one and two," and others heavily joked about me being in a couple. "All she did with that mouth was learn to kiss boys with cooties." I eventually learned to ignore all these comments, but that heavily impacted my parents' way of looking at my condition and the world, so the only way to relieve themselves of this "situation" was to make it someone else's problem.
Amber took another turn, and there was a waiting room we had to walk by. My short bob and heavily dyed brown hair made its way to my eye, and I had to push it back. I turned and noticed a couple of people waiting to see their family. The day-to-day visitors were either slightly middle-aged or extremely young, but this time around, a guy around my age or older just sat there and read a magazine. I had no time to speculate; in a heartbeat, I was outside.
Amber helped me out of my wheelchair and helped me walk to my favorite spot, the swings. Being here for three years, everyone—I mean everyone—knew where May Mason spent her outside days—the swings.
"I'll be around, May." Amber kissed my forehead and walked away. I breathed in relief and smiled to see outside from outside and not from my room.
