You & I - 27. Chapter 27

To Isaac,

Sorry, I have not spoken to you in a couple of days, and I swear it's not that you have caused me to be this way. It's just I was shocked a little, that's all. I'm not saying it's weird for you to be in the wheelchair. Actually, I guess it's cool… well, that's not exactly what I mean, when I phrase it like that. I repeat I am not saying your accident was cool. Ugh… I'm useless at expressing myself, aren't I? What I am trying to say is, well… I don't know what I am attempting to announce. What I want you to remember is that you and I are cool.

I know the questions I asked during your revelation might have bordered on intrusive. So, I apologize for asking in the first place. Secondly, who am I to judge, regardless if you are in a wheelchair. For a second, I'll be open about the subject. Though, for a moment, I was cynical about your condition. I went home that evening and reflected about it all night, and I just kept rerunning the day in my head. How I sat down at the table and how I was not prepared to hear that you are paralyzed from the waist down.

Right, that's not so good, about not being able to operate Moby Dick. Em… So… no hard feelings, right? And no that is not an innuendo. It's just one guy saying to another, I'm sorry that your dick doesn't work… or you know, just I feel bad.

Over the last couple of days, I have had some time to reflect, and well now that you have mentioned it in your letter, it makes me want to meet you even more now. Isaac, you seem like a fighter to me, and that is pretty awesome. I'm not sure how we'd play Lacrosse with a wheelchair, though I can certainly push you around if you want to play football. I'll get you to the end zone to score a touchdown.

Have you ever scored a goal when you were like really young with your dad or anything? Plus, I understand what you are on about, with swimming. Except, I get really tired when I just use my arms all the time and not my feet.

I'd be down to team up for sporting activities, that is if you wish to collaborate with me. I'd love to team up with you, of course. Yeah, now that I have begun to look over some of your older notes, I've come to notice a series of events, where you did pass on the required information. Only, as I have told you in the past, I'm not the brightest tool in the shed… I mean the sharpest tool in the shed.

Though I get-by. It's not that I don't want to talk to you, I totally do, and I am passed that phase right now. I'm good as new, and I'm sorry I stopped speaking to you for the last 2 days.

You said you are pretty independent, so why would I need to watch you like a babysitter. Even if we did get together, and I'd have to help you like up some stairs, I don't think that would be too large a task as to kill the fun.

I don't know how you can recall that amount of detail, and still be not sad about the situation. I mean, what you wrote has deeply affected me after I read about the car accident. I presume that is what they say about your life flashing before your eyes when something like this does happen. I know God might not be there all the time, though he does listen. Even if it doesn't always work, it's nice to have something to pray to, to ask advice.

Sometimes, there is not a lot of folks you can talk to about things, and well he was the first person I told about my sexuality. I prayed to be cured, although he never answered, I began to resent the way I am, and just continued on with my everyday life as if the problem wasn't there. Except, when I prayed, it was nice to have something to focus on rather than having nobody to believe in.

Sometimes life sucks, I get that. People do terrible things to each other. Though there is always hope at the end of the tunnel, in the form of light. When you reach those rays, I guess things are clearer for a person who has led and lived a terrible ordeal.

Now, with you wanting to fix yourself, well I guess the two of us would like to correct a lot of things. Sadly, that sort of wand does not exist, but only in books and movies. Sure, things have changed, though that doesn't mean, I like talking to you any less.

I suppose, being scared is a valuable asset when we are uncertain. The anxious sensation clopping around in our chest and stomach gives us the power to keep going, and in a way, it has made me realize that it is okay to be uncomfortable. I don't think I am as brave as you thought, Isaac. I cry and get upset over what people might think of me rather than appreciating that the only persons' opinion that should have some weight is mine and mine alone.

The only time I have ever been genuinely petrified was when I was about eleven, and I still had problems wetting the bed. I used to get up in the middle of the night, put my laundry in the washing machine, then the dryer and put it back on my bed before my mom would get up the next morning.

I asked her one day out of the blue, to show me how to work the machines because I was "just curious" as to how, and she did teach me. I lost many hours of sleep, I even looked like Frankenstein's monster. I was petrified of anyone ever finding out. I got things under control about a year later, though, it's still really embarrassing to know that I pee'd all over myself and could never wake up in the time to go to the bathroom. My mom doesn't know, well if she does, she has kept it quiet.

Therefore, I am concluding that my mother never found out about my 3AM adventures to the garage. Though she did ask my dad one morning during breakfast if he was doing extra laundry, that the detergent was running out more often without an explained reason. So, I started buying my own detergent with my pocket money, and hid the washing power in my bedroom, under my bed with all my childhood toys. You can imagine how embarrassing this is for a twelve-year-old.

You can picture my alarm when I came home one afternoon, and mom had pulled out all the stuff from beneath the bed to donate unwanted crap. Except, she questioned me about the detergent. I still don't know to this day how I managed to persuade her it was for a side project I picked up in school. For the next couple of months, I had to be super stoked about mixing detergent to make stretchy slime.

I also had to hide my secret a little better, so I put the stuff behind the actual washing machine. So, every evening it happened, I'd crawl up on my belly and try and yank out the box from behind the machine. Those were some sad and confusing times. The worst part is, if anyone caught wind of Max wetting himself, at almost thirteen, that would kill my rep.

Still, my bygones come nowhere close to your near-death experience. I know life can be pretty shitty sometimes, and yes it not fair that bad things always appear to happen to only good people. It is inevitable that a bad omen is to fall upon genuine folks, and they have done nothing to deserve it. Again, sorry about your mom and your legs.

Yeah, I get you, sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I think I may have hit on you… I only noticed it when I recall the note I sent. I feel better for having told you. It's satisfying you know; I feel good for having done it. So in the future, I won't have to feel like I am dying trying to hold it in.

If you ever need a wingman, even though I am probably crap with girls… well and boys, I'd still like to have the role all the same if you need someone to help you out to steal a girl's heart. Thanks for not getting mad or anything, when I said I liked you. Thanks for everything.

Now I'm not asking you out on a date here if that's what you think I am going to do. However, I'd like you to come and watch me play, rather than just showing up. After the game, we can grab some food and hang for a little bit. The play starts at 7PM on Friday, which is the normal time.

Last but not least, it is cool about wanting to click the refresh button and starting all over with our friendship. I have been more honest with you, and you know more things about me than my other best friend who I went to Pre-K with.

Therefore, hey, I'm Max Wilson, I'm 14-years-old, I'm in 9th Grade, and not only am I gay, but I am a major thrillseeker, who happens to play piano, sings like a skinned cat, and I served a stretch up in bedwetting state for two years, starting when I was eleven.

Good, I'll see you on Friday then, I won't leave you hanging again, I promise.

Later,

Max