DIS/ABLE/D ♂♂ Larry

One.

(Edited, 4/12/2016)

"Louis, are you almost ready?" Jessica, my mother, called out. I looked in my mirror, glancing at my broken, worn out reflection with nowhere near the joy that I used to. In the mirror I sees metal, and bolts, and a sack of bones sitting in a sling of fabric. What I don't see, is myself, I lost him 2 years ago. I haven't seen Louis in 2 years today, and I knows I won't anytime soon. In my eyes, Louis died 2 years ago, in a fatal football accident, and my mother is holding on to my lifeless dull corpse.

I went over to my bedside table and pulled out the article from the day of my accident, it read,, 'On March 25th 2014 there was an accident in a university soccer match in Toronto, Ontario at 5:50 pm EST. Louis Trevor, 19, the star of the team was air lifted off of the field and rushed to Toronto General Hospital where they performed over 6 surgeries to Mr. Trevor's spinal cord to try and save his legs. After the 7th surgery, they diagnosed Louis Trevor with Paraplegia. (impairment in motor or sensory function of the lower extremities.)'. I never got over the fact that my dream was ripped out of my hands by one of my teammates when he decided to tackle me when I wasn't expecting it, and twisted my spine. I was angry at him for a long time, holding onto the fact that it was his fault, but, eventually I let it go, because he never meant for anything to happen, he was just being playful as usual. But, I just wish that it didn't come with such consequences.

I looked at the clothes I am wearing, Skinny jeans, covered in a black blanket, a baggy sweater that I got at a thrift store that read "TEXAS" for the Texas long horns, and slippers covering my feet. My hair's a mess, there are dark purple bags under my squinting eyes, and my lips are chapped, but I couldn't bring myself to care anymore. I stroked my sweater, feeling the stitches in it that held on the big letters. The sleeves of my sweater were worn out, ripped and thin, threads hanging off of them. This sweater is my favorite, and as old as it gets, I don't Think I could ever replace it.

As I was taking in my appearance, my mother walked through the door, "Louis? I said, are you almost ready?" I gave his mother a pain filled glance, and slowly nodded my head. My mother didn't question the pain behind my eyes as usual, but it was probably because that look has been present for 2 years. My mother walked out of the doorway, waiting for me to come out, but, I couldn't bring myself to move. My mother pulled me back and out of my room, as she said "Come on babe, we have to get going."

We made our way down the hallway, she pushed me out of the house and into the cold spring air. I breathed in the scent of new flowers, and dew from the grass below my feet- I mean wheels. She stops to lock the door, and then pushed me to the car, loading me into the back and securing my wheelchair. I looked around the car, absentmindedly picking at the leather on the armrest of my wheelchair. She walked around the car and paused before opening the driver's side door, I assumed that she was preparing herself for my presence, as I am sometimes hard to live with.

.

I watched her, wondering why she is still putting up with me after these past 2 years. I had shown absolutely no appreciation to her for all she has done for me, and still could not build up the courage, almost as if it would leave me looking more vulnerable than I already am. I really do owe her all of the thanks in the world, and I will be eternally grateful for her, and I really hope that she knows that. He has been silent and dull for the past 2 years, and has not cracked more than 100 smiles. Mainly smiling only when he sees a good movie, sees a baby, or, in pictures. Nothing else has really given joy to the disabled boy.

My mother parked the car in the handicapped space, got out of the car, unloaded me from the van, and pushed me through the automatic doors, made for people like me. I hate when people say that we are disabled, because really, The world disables us. We are not disabled ourselves, we have wheelchairs so we are able, but the world around us makes things unreachable, inaccessible, and unnecessarily difficult for us to do. That's why we are labeled as disabled, because the world around us isn't trying hard enough to make it any less true.

You would think that to go through all of this work of loading me and unloading, we would be going somewhere important, but, we are taking a pointless trip to the mall to get me some new shoes, clothes, and to eat some lunch. To others, this may not seem pointless, but to me, I didn't need new clothes and shoes, who am I trying to impress? My cat? My mother?

We strolled around the mall, my mother asking every now and then, "do you want to go in there?" which I would replied with either a "sure." or a, "If you want." or rarely a, "Yeah." I looked around the stores, my favorite being the candle store Yankee Candle, because I loved all of the scents. They reminded me of different times of my life, for example the summer showers candle reminded me of the soccer field at my old university, freshly cut, still covered in dew from the night before's humidity. Also, pink sands, which reminds me of my peaceful times when I was a child, running around with friends, eating lunch on the back porch, feeling like we were so cool. I would pick one up and smell it, give it a second, and then either put it back, or place it on my lap with the others. This is the only store that I would actually engage in by wheeling myself up and down the aisles at my own pace.

We sat in the food court, trying to figure out what to have for lunch. "Louis" my mother said, "what would you like for lunch sweetheart?" I looked up from where I was intensely admiring my fingernails, "Oh, um, whatever you are getting is fine." I said simply, looking back down where he was previously picking my nails, before I was interrupted. "You sure?" My mother pryed, "You can have anything you want." I didn't want to bother her with running around to different stores so i settled with whatever she would decide. "Yeah, i'm not that hungry, thanks." I said not looking up from my lap. My mum sighed and said, "alright, I will be right back okay?" I only nodded in respnse and she was gone to get our meals.

As I waited for my mother I saw teenagers walking around laughing with their friends and sipping on their coffee or their slushies. I missed my friends, I remember doing similar things with them in malls and at the university campus. Our post game rituals of going out into the back of the school and drinking a six pack each, it was stupid, but it was theirs, and that is why they loved it. The few friends that I had stuck around for the first few months after the accident, bringing him flowers and 'get well soon!' cards, but, soon they realized that I won't be getting well soon, or rather, ever. They didn't ditch me, they just slowly started getting on with their lives and who was I to get in front of that?

Mum got back with our meals, and soon enough we are heading out of the mall back to the van with some candles, scratch that, a lot of candles, a shirt, some sweatpants, and a pair of blue fuzzy slippers. My mum loaded the bags and I into the car and we started on our way home.

I sat in the van looking out the window, seeing children play on the parks, people riding bicycles, walking, strolling, jogging, standing. all things I would never be able to do again. I hope that all of these people know how lucky they are, and cherish their ability to walk before it is too late, but as Louis knows all too well, you don't know how much you love something until it's gone. I feel like it is my fault that I am in this position even though I wouldn't wish this on anyone. I felt responsible for everyone that had experienced grief over me in the last 2 years, and will experience it forever more.

That thought alone made me wish something that I wish I never thought of, but often did. I wish that 2 years ago today, I really did die in that accident. But no, the law is that I could never be that lucky.