I’m back. I needed some time to sort everything out, regroup, and, well, be something resembling a typical 27-year-old. And thanks to Dan Bowman for pointing out some of the facilities Greymatter has to take care of problems. I’d never felt the need to look for them. But now I know. And should those fail, Apache also has facilities as well. It’s good to be root.
As for Katelyn, I’ve learned to assume that no news is good news. Brad didn’t call me at all on Wednesday, and I saw him at a meeting Wednesday night and we talked, but he didn’t mention anything about her. That means no unexpected changes, which is never a bad thing.
A story. I think I’ll just wrap things up with a story. I went and saw Luke Tuesday night. Luke talked about how people sometimes treat him because of his MDA, which confines him to a wheelchair. It was so sad. Stupid. Pointless. It reminded me of something that happened a few years ago.
I was in college. I was in a fraternity. During my junior year, a young man visited us for dinner. This wasn’t uncommon; people who were interested in the house often visited for dinner. We’d show them around, answer their questions, and whatnot. What was unusual was that this young man had a condition–polio, if memory serves–that left his legs immobile, so he walked with crutches. He moved along just fine. As I recall, he even went upstairs to get the grand tour. There was some concern that if he did move in, he’d always have to live on the second floor, as opposed to the third, to minimize the amount of climbing he’d have to do. But that wasn’t a really big deal.
He left, and someone called a meeting. So there we were, the actives, sitting in the dining room. We talked about him a little, then one guy stood up and spoke.
“You do know that if he does move in here, one of you guys has to room with him.”
“What’s wrong with that, Frank?” I asked.
“Well, I’m not gonna room with him. There’s something wrong with him. Would you want to room with him?”
I pointed at one of the guys sitting at the table with Frank. “Look at Gotsch,” I said. “He’s handicapped in a way, right? His hand’s in a cast, and he can’t do everything you and I can do. And you know what? It’s his own fault his hand’s in a cast, due to his own stupidity punching a wall. Does anyone think any less of him? That guy–” and I motioned outside–“didn’t do anything to cause his handicap. I don’t think any less of him. He can room with me.”
I paused and looked at Frank.
“Assuming he’d be willing to live around someone like you.”
I guess he wasn’t willing, because he never came back. And a big part of me was glad. Not that I didn’t want a roommate–I didn’t want someone to have to go through that garbage.
A couple months later, I moved out too.