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.