I know my body
well enough. It is rather upsetting when I know I can't control it,
but inside I am more than anyone else could ever hope to be. We went
to see Dean Hansen of Maestro Prep to prove that to him once and for
all.
My lawyer sat
beside me in a floral print chair, like the kind you'd see in one of
those fancy old victorian mansions made of oak and chair cushions. My
chair was just the floor next to her. I couldn't look over the desk
of the Dean sitting in front of me, but it didn't seem to matter much
anyway. He knew I was here, and as was the usual with most people, he
probably didn't want to see my face anyway.
There was a gas
fireplace behind him, dimly running. I only knew that because I saw
it when my lawyer and I walked into the room, and the light from it
shone from under his desk.
My body forced my
face to hit the floor. The quick spasms like these only made life
more difficult. Why couldn't it respond properly when I needed it to
stay calm? My body hit the floor with its hands and made some sort of
whale-like noise. Stop! I wanted to scream, but the little control I
had was driving me insane. This was the only chance I had, and I felt
like I had already ruined it.
But then I
remembered that the Dean could not see me, and I calmed down as best
I could. My body followed suit, but only slightly.
My lawyer coughed
and then wiped sanitizer over her hands. She pulled out my paperwork
from her little black briefcase and handed it to the Dean. I could
hear him making low grumbles, as though he were intently looking them
over.
“We'd like to
enroll her.” My lawyer stated.
The Dean made a
deep, nearly inaudible chuckle, but quickly attempted to cover it
with a cough.
“Well then.”
he said. “Why should I enroll her? She can't even get up off the
floor, and we can't put her in a chair for fear that she'll fall off
of it. How in the world do you expect her to function in such a
high-paced school without causing disruption? How do you expect her
to gain any knowledge?”
I wanted to scream
out at him, but my vocal chords seemed stuck and my tongue wouldn't
move. This wasn't surprising to me, but my emotions were boiling
inside nonetheless and I still needed more than anything to get
control of my body and slap the Dean for his rude commentary. The
loss of control of my body didn't make me an idiot. It just made
things difficult. I could do it. I had to at least try. I could do it
myself if it weren't for my body. It's always my body.
“We intend to
hire someone, with our own money, to attend school with her. This
assistant will ensure she keeps control.”
My lawyer didn't
exactly know what went through my head, and it shows through how she
spoke about me. She had an idea, but she was not quite there yet. She
never was quite there with how to handle my body's random outbursts,
but she at least had seen me write. She knew I was intelligent, she
knew I had a sense of how the normal world worked, and yet she still
seemed to believe I just chose to act like this.
If I could speak
for myself, I probably would have a long time ago, but for now,
writing slowly was the only communication I had.
“I want to see
her work.” The Dean said. “If she could truly handle our
coursework, I want to see it.”
My lawyer sat
there nervously. She had gone into this like it were a new religion.
She trusted and believed I could do it, but hadn't developed the
faith quite yet to put it into practice. I imagine her head must have
been racing far more than mine was.
I attempted to
stand as well as I could, but my knees wouldn't bend at quite the
right angle. My body kept making squeals and grunts as I leaned
against the Dean's desk for support. My arm twisted as a result of my
body's direct disobedience, and I slipped a little, but somehow I was
able to support myself enough to grab a pen from the Dean's desk.
“Young lady, do
not touch my things.” the Dean said. I disregarded his words, and
gained control of my hand.
I pulled out a
blank piece of paper that my lawyer and I kept in my file for this
exact purpose. It hurt to try and gain control for long enough to
pull the paper out from behind a bunch of other papers without
messing them up, but I somehow managed to do little damage as I
pulled the paper under my fingers.
My tongue flapped
inside my mouth, causing little spit dribbles to sprinkle my paper. I
felt ashamed, but my body continued moving without me. My hands
trembled, one in the air and the other across my paper. As I leaned
over the paper, I felt a calm rush through my brain. I took my pen
and began to write.
The Dean seemed
unamused as my body scribbled across the page at first. This wasn't
uncommon. Trying to reel in my body to listen to me was a difficult
task, but I sweated through it. My pen tore into the top of the
paper, but I remained diligent.
I could feel my
legs and knees starting to shake. My lawyer held me up for a few
seconds before I found the control to write out a few words.
The first word. I.
Both a letter and a word, “I” was one of my favorites. I could
write it so easily and yet it stood for so much. Me, I, Myself. I.
That word encompasses everything that is a person yet, it's only one
letter long.
I can. “Can”
was the second word. Can is both a noun, and a verb. Although there
is not much of a connection between the noun of can and the verb of
can, I still wrote it across the paper. Slowly, but surely, it was
coming together.
“Do.” An
action.
“It”; a
pronoun that held so much more meaning to me than anything else.
I put down the
pen, and focused all my control into my eyes. I looked up and glared
into the eyes of the Dean for a full minute before the curious look
on his face turned to trust. I watched the intrigue turn to faith, as
though I had converted him to the same religion that my lawyer was
currently learning. He took the paper under my hands.
I can do it.
He shook my
trembling hand, and with the firmness in his grip, immediately I knew
I had changed my own life.
