Interface

Chapter 2

When I next wake up, the only sound in the room is the beeping of the ECG. The air is still, the window closed, the TV off. I stare up at the ceiling, unable to see the stains on the ceiling without my glasses. Despite having just woken up, I'm tired. I'm tired and heavy. It's like I've been nailed to the bed—though I suppose that's no different than normal.

Fear shoots through me as the even movement of my chest falters, shuddering as my diaphragm struggles to stretch. My fingers start to go cold and tingly, and I close my eyes to try and focus on my breathing.

In... out... in... out...

You've done this thousands, millions of time before. You know how to do this.

Eventually, the shuddering eases back into a regular pattern. I sigh quietly to myself and relax, opening my eyes again to stare at the ceiling. I don't know what time it is right now—I can't see the clock—but Mrs. Thomas should be by soon start me on my morning routine.

What am I going to tell her?

The date suddenly comes to mind. May 19th. I'd been tracking the calendar for days now, without really meaning or wanting to. I wish I could forget—lose track of time and forget the significance of today, but it's impossible. Today is graduation. It's supposed to be one of the most significant days in a person's life. A transition from child to adult; the beginning of the rest of your life.

For so many years, I'd worked tirelessly to get to today. I'd studied long and hard. Had things gone as planned, I would have been overjoyed to don my cap and gown and cross that stage. Shake the principal's hand, some stranger reciting my name and where I planned to go to college. A few months later, after working all summer at a part time job, I'd arrive at Harvard on scholarship. My life would be just beginning, a series of personal glass ceilings that I'd be bound and determined to break.

But now, the ceiling isn't made of glass. It's made of cement. The school's offered me an honorary degree, and I've been invited to the ceremony and afterparty. But what good would going do me? I'd just be hitting my head up against that cement ceiling. Mrs. Thomas would bring me there in my wheelchair, all dolled up in my cap and gown. I'd be wheeled up to the stage, completely reliant on her. My entire senior class would watch as I'm offered my diploma, but unable to take it. Maybe the principal would give it to Mrs. Thomas, or stick it in the crock of my arm. Whatever the case, I'd be unable to take my future into my own hands. Everything I've done is for nothing.

I can already imagine all the piteous stares I'd attract. And the malicious ones—I knew a few people who were glad to see my downfall. And then, most painful of all, there would be a select few people who wouldn't even be able to look at me in the eye; old friends who've fallen out of contact with more-than-coincidental timing to the worsening of my symptoms. The more I think about it, the less appealing this little excursion seems. The piece of paper I'd be receiving wouldn't matter, and all I'd hear from others are uncaring condolences.

I'd much rather stay here. It's the same decision I'd made months ago, when I started losing the last of my mobility. I was given the chance to stay at home in a mechanized wheelchair, but I'd decided against it. Why? Looking back on it now, I'd give anything for even that small amount of freedom. But some part of me knew that I didn't want to be around my dad as the invalid daughter. I'm supposed to be Chase's big sister, and yet I'd need as much care as a newborn.

I guess that means it was pride that made my choice for me—

My thoughts are interrupted as the door opens, the familiar sight of Mrs. Thomas's smile greeting me. She goes through the motions, getting me ready to face the day all while maintaining her cheerful demeanor. I don't speak throughout the process. I'm too tired, and it takes a lot of effort on my part. She puts on my glasses, and I can see the hint of worry in her lined forehead.