The Others: Being in a Wheelchair and Playing Soccer
“Did you hear about Amanda?” Andrew asked as he chewed another bite of his peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
“Why did you make me get the chocolate milk?” Patrick asked with the carton in his hand. “You know I wanted orange juice.”
“No, I didn’t,” I said.
“You didn’t know I wanted orange juice?” Andrew asked.
“No I didn’t hear about Amanda,” I said, wincing a little at the glob of jelly on Andrew’s left cheek.
“Wyatt pulled her hair,” Andrew said.
“What?!” Patrick exclaimed, smiling ear to ear with joy from the latest gossip.
“I know,” Andrew said, obviously proud to have the intel. “And then … he kicked her in the knee.”
“Ohhh maaann,” Patrick laughed. “Did she tell Mrs. Jones?”
“Amanda doesn’t tattle,” Andrew said.
“Well, I’m totally telling on him,” Patrick said.
“What? What are you doing?” I huffed.
Patrick leaned back and looked pointedly confused. “… you don’t want me to tell?”
“You’re drinking the milk,” I said. “What are you doing?”
“You’re the one that made me get this, remember?”
“I know, but if you drink it, we can’t trade.”
“I don’t understand what’s happening right now,” Andrew said. “Why didn’t you just get the chocolate milk?”
“Because then I’d have to lie.”
After a pause, Patrick frowned at me. “You’re doing that thing again.”
“What thing?”
“That thing where you think we know what you’re talking about except you never told us so none of us do.”
I shrugged and rolled my eyes as overdramatically as possible. There’s nothing worse than having to explain yourself because that’s the part where people take the really good idea you had and judge you for it.
“My parents only let me get milk on Fridays because milk makes you fat,” I said. “So if you get milk and I get juice and we trade, then when my parents ask what I got for lunch, I can say I got juice. Or if they ask you or the lunch lady, the answer is juice. It’s more honest this way.”
Patrick gave me a confused look. “Um, I don’t think …”
“We should play soccer,” I said.
Andrew and Patrick glanced at each other awkwardly and Andrew turned back to me. “I don’t really know if this is okay to say out loud, but you do know you’re in a wheelchair right?”
“And then he ran over my leg,” Wyatt pouted, holding his leg pitifully.
“Well, that’s not true,” I said.
“Yes it is! Yes it is!” Wyatt shouted.
“Calm down now Wyatt,” Mrs. Jones, our third grade teacher, said as she folded her hands. “Did you run over Wyatt, Brian?”
I felt myself smile just a little bit. “Okay, well that part’s actually true.”
“See?! See?!” Wyatt yelled.
“But only because he wanted me to.”
“No I didn’t! No I didn’t!”
“Why are you saying things twice?” I asked.
“Wyatt, please,” Mrs. Jones said. “Why do you say that Brian?”
I leaned back in my seat and grinned. “If you saw a guy in a wheelchair driving as fast as he could and you had the idea that you wanted to run up and stick your leg between the wheels, what would you think? Ohhhh noooo! Why is this happening to me? Yeah, right.”
“He was hogging the soccer ball,” Wyatt explained.
“The ball?” Mrs. Jones asked.
“We were playing soccer,” Wyatt said. “He put it between his wheels and he just drove into the goal. It’s not fair. I was just trying to get the ball.”
“Look,” I began, “it’s not my fault that I have a genetic predisposition that makes me better at soccer than you.”
Mrs. Jones snorted a laugh and then tried to hide it with her hand.
“And, I mean, I tried to stop, but it’s hard to stop something that weighs three hundred pounds really fast. Do you know how much three hundred pounds is? … because I actually don’t. This is only third grade. But my dad acts like it’s a lot.”
“No, you ran over me because of Amanda,” Wyatt said.
“What about Amanda?” Mrs. Jones asked.
I tilted my head to Wyatt and smiled. Checkmate.
“Um,” Wyatt said reluctantly.
“I didn’t want to tattle,” I said, “buuuut Wyatt pulled Amanda’s hair.”
“You pulled Amanda’s hair?” Mrs. Jones asked, arching her eyebrows.
“Um …”
“And then he kicked her,” I mumbled.
“We’re going to the principal’s office young man,” Mrs. Jones said, grabbing Wyatt by the arm and pulling him toward the door.
“But what about Brian?” Wyatt cried.
Mrs. Jones looked at me. “Maybe you don’t play soccer for a few days.”
“Oh, I won’t,” I said. “I don’t even like soccer. It’s boring. Too easy.”
“Good,” she said.
“Basketball,” I said. “Basketball is the game I play now.”
Mrs. Jones sighed, shook her head, and dragged Wyatt away.
“That was so cool!” Andrew shouted, waving his arms. “We won 17 to 2!”
“Did Mrs. Jones really take Wyatt to the principal’s office and you didn’t even get in trouble?” Patrick asked.
“No,” I said.
“He didn’t go to the principal’s office?” Patrick asked.
“No, we didn’t win 17 to 2. We won 18 to 2,” I said. “Wyatt definitely went to the principal.”
“We won because no one could get the ball out from under your wheelchair. You literally just drove right into the goal,” Patrick said.
“So awesome,” Andrew said.
“Hey Brian,” a voice said behind me and I felt a tap on the shoulder. I paused and turned around.
“Oh, hey Amanda,” I said, trying to not be obvious about my excitement.
And failing miserably.
Andrew gave me a big grin and I gave him back a look that said “begone.” But if didn’t work.
“I heard about Wyatt,” she said, blushing. “And I just wanted to say … I just wanted to say … well …”
Then she leaned in and kissed me on the cheek and ran away.
“Oooohhhhhh!” Andrew exclaimed, holding his hands over his mouth. “You have a girlfriend now!”
I shrugged, disappointed.
“What’s wrong?” Patrick said.
“She kissed me on the cheek,” I said. “Girlfriends don’t kiss you on the cheek. The whole plan with Wyatt didn’t work.”
“Plan?” Patrick asked. “What plan?”
“The plan to make Amanda my girlfriend.”
“You’re doing that thing again,” Patrick said.
“What thing?”
“That thing where you think people know what you’re talking about except you never told us so none of us do.”
I opened my mouth to explain, but then I closed it. There’s nothing worse than having to explain yourself because that’s the part where people take the really good idea you had and judge you for it.
“How do you guys feel about basketball?”
