Unicorns On Wheels [Petekey]

17. Thursday.

2016/02/25 Thursday

Thursday came faster than I thought it would, bring with it the day of re-reading The Boy in Striped Pajamas. Except that I didn't have The Boy in Striped Pajamas with me and I was struggling with my chemistry, so I decided that I'd spend the whole day doing that instead. I wondered what I'd do when I'd finished my end year finals.

Where would I go? What I do? I wondered whether I should go to university or whether that was only wasting my time. Should I get a job? Which job could I possibly get? And, even if I did study, what would I study? Which uni would I go to? Who would accept me?

And while all of this "what are you going to do with your life?" bothered me, all I could really focus on was whether Pete would do any of it with me. Whether he'd still be alive or maybe he'd be spending his last days in a hospital bed, jerking for all his life while I ran off (well, wheeled off, really) enjoying my life as a student, no longer tied by the commitment of Best Friends for Life.

It brought to my attention that I hadn't actually asked him – I hadn't asked him what he was doing or where he was applying and I was, now that I thought about it, afraid of the answer he might give me. Afraid that he'd be going to a different university that I was or that he wasn't applying at all, due to the fact that he'd rather flip burgers at McDonalds.

But, more than anything in the world, I was afraid that he'd tell me that he wasn't applying at all because he was sure he'd be dead by then. I was afraid because I knew that, if he said that, he might've been right. He might be dead by then and the thought is scary.

It's fucking terrifying when you consider the fact that your Best Friend for Life might not be your best friend for much longer, not because you'd forget him or you'd fight but because Life just ended sooner than you thought it might.

Andbutso, I didn't call Pete to ask him if I could have The Boy in Striped Pajamas back. And I didn't call to ask him what he thought he'd be doing this time next year. Mostly because I was completely terrified of what he'd say or what he'd do. Instead, I sat and tried my best to understand complicated and completely useless chemistry homework while trying not to think about what I'd be doing today a year from now.

I wish I could say that time went by faster than usual. But that would be lying because the day seemed to drag on and go on for weeks on end. The chemistry homework was boring, my wheelchair was uncomfortable and I got more and more curious as the minutes went by.

I decided then, at around 12 o'clock, that it wouldn't be against the rules if I invited Pete over. I knew that he was likely having a tutor lesson but I knew that Pete wouldn't have a problem ditching it the way he ditched group therapy with me. Whether it was because he was dying or not.

When Pete did arrive, though, he was in grey hammer pants and a hoodie that went down to his knees. I didn't question his life choices and he didn't question mine. Instead, we sat together and tried to figure out each other's homework which was a really moronic idea because Pete's homework was geography (which I'd never done before in my life) and mine was chemistry (which he'd never done in his).

Pete laughed a lot at just how little of the work he really understood while I stared at the geography terminology and tried to figure out what the fuck was going on. I thought it might've been easy, like measuring the distance between Russia and South Africa, the sort of stuff we did in freshman year. But it wasn't – it was drawing shit and trying to understand the bearing.

I wanted to cry, actually. Not because I was sad and not because I was angry, which I felt that I was. I wanted to cry because Pete's work made me feel stupid. And I didn't like feeling stupid. I felt useless enough already, with my Useless Logs of Fat™, and being stupid made me feel frustrated and insecure. While Pete tried to fill in my worksheet and giggled uncontrollably.