Just Me

Chapter Five

At age one, he was living with Janet. A single mom. His actual father left when he realized Janet was pregnant and wasn't having an abortion.

At age five, Janet was in some sort of depression, getting drunk, having different men over each night, and having sex every night. The only thing Janet did for him was feed him. He didn't even have a proper working wheelchair.

At age seven, he was sent away from Janet's home to his uncle, who happened to be messed up too. His uncle sexually abused him and physically abused him and verbally abused him. Any kind of abuse his uncle could do, his uncle did, because he couldn't do anything about it. He couldn't run away, or scream at the top of his lungs for help. All he could do was get thrown on a bed, and get raped. All he could do was wait to die.

He went through this until he was about twelve.

At age twelve, he was saved from this hell by my father, who happened to be part of a child protection agency.

At age twelve, he met me. We became best friends. I was ten at the time, almost eleven. We were about one year apart. We were just alike. That's why we were best friends. He was the only person in the world who completely understood me, and I was the only person in the world who completely understood him.

I had the biggest crush on him. I literally dreamed of marrying him and holding his hand and wheeling up to a movie theater. I wanted to be his girlfriend so bad.

He was my first kiss(es). I remember the first kiss perfectly. We were at our weekly play date (which was forced by the agency and my parents, but we didn't care at all) . My mom took us to the park, and she wheeled us under a tree while she went to talk to a friend. We were talking with our own hand language that we made up. He said he liked me, and I said I like him too. And he leaned over and kissed me. It was the most amazing thing to me in the world.

He was thirteen at the time, I was twelve.

At age thirteen, we started to go to school together. He was smarter than me. This is wear our second kiss was.

At age fourteen he went to the school dance, inviting me. I went, and we had the most amazing time in our corner, talking. This was our third kiss. More then just a peck, but a whole ten seconds. He was an inspiration to me. He was so brave and didn't care that other people stared at him and laughed at him.

At age fifteen, he had been taking physical therapy for four years. He was able to hold my hand, lean in close to me, hold my head, and...yes...make out with me. This was our fourth, and final kiss.

At age fifteen, he died in a car accident.