Me, My Housemate and The Boy in the Wheelchair, Part 2

I jumped off the bus and sped walked from the stop to my house. I had so much shit to do that day. I had a midterm that I procrastinated studying for on top of a huge paper that was only half done. I would be lucky to get 4 hours of sleep before my 8AM the next day. I doubted it though, what my luck actually got me was a pot-headed housemate that enjoyed listening to rock ballads in the middle of the night…

And then I saw her. She was at Beckwith Hall, the dormitory for the physically disabled. She was walking alongside a student that by the looks of it was forever bound in a electric wheelchair, his legs mangled. It took me a second to understand what she was doing.

My housemate, the one I wish just moved out already, who never came out of her room, the one who watched indie horror movies with the cat and rabbit that shared her room. My face got hot and I wanted to cry. Today, I finally found out what she did in her free time. She volunteered her time to be a friend to those who didn’t have many.

I watched them situate themselves to rest, she sat on the bench near the sidewalk and he maneuvered his wheelchair next to her on the grass. I couldn’t help but think how the boy in the wheelchair felt. Companionship, liked, not alone. Though, the deeper question was remembering the last time I felt alone and needed another soul to listen to me. It was a laugh that took me out of my thoughts, and I looked up. There they sat, together, two human beings, laughing at presumably a simple joke.

But was it really that simple? What was the real reason I judged her? Was it because of her pixie cut? Was it because she smoked pot? Perhaps it was the weird music she listened to and because she never came out of her room. Or did I judge her because I was afraid to see any similarity between us?

That day, as I watched what I deemed an outcast laugh with someone that society deemed an outcast, something sparked within me. I believe I realized it was something stronger that goes unnoticed that brings me, my housemate, and the boy in the wheelchair together: the contents of our the deepest place in our body, our souls. At that moment, I wished I could have joined them as they laughed at that joke. If wanted to be sitting with them, sharing a piece of me that did after all have connect with those I was afraid to be like.

This I believe: it is the deepest most profound essence of a humans, a soul, that is so alike that it is impossible to separate. It overlooks the music they listen to or the judgements made. It overlooks the blindness of the heart and barriers I put up in my mind. I believe if you reach into the depths of your heart, you will find how you connect.