My name is Joe Stout. I’m not talking this way to be funny.
There is nothing funny about being 14 in the first place; my body is fucking
with me in ways I haven’t even thought of before. But when your body has had you locked in
solitary confinement since the moment you were born, nothing surprises you.
The hardest thing about being in middle school and having
cerebral palsy is seeing the other kids my age. Most of them are nice to me
because I’m no threat, even though sometimes I want to punch them in the face
because they are so perfect and don’t even know it. The girls are the worst; I
know I will never be with one of them even though I wish I could be so bad.
They talk to me like they’re talking to a fucking puppy. Meanwhile I feel like
I am dying of thirst in the middle of an ocean.
My mom does her best. She knows I can never drive a car and
that soon my friends will. So the other day she took me to a go cart track so I
could drive safe . No one else was there. I was having fun until my hands slipped
off the steering wheel and the wheel turned by itself. The track owner had been
steering it for me the whole time. Jerk. I just sat there on the kart as it
rolled along until it was time to go. On the way home my mom said she was just
trying to help. I don’t know who cried more that day.
But you know, as hard as it is, I thought of something the
other day. I actually feel sorry for some of those really pretty girls and
handsome boys. For me, I know I am never going to make a football team, or be
the strongest guy. I know I may never get laid, or get married or have kids. So
for me, the burden of those hopes has never been there. As much as I hate some
things about my life, I am seldom disappointed. Smaller things make me happy;
quieter things, too. My cares are simpler in some ways. Some of the most
talented boys and girls think they are really something because they can make
their bodies move. But they aren’t anything compared to what they are inside. I
know that from experience. They might not ever find out until they get cancer,
or die.
I don’t know if this makes any sense. What do I know? Like I
always tell myself, “My name is Joe Stout. I’m just trying to figure stuff out.”
No comments:
Post a Comment