In This Way, We Are Inseparable

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. 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. 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: it is our souls. At that moment, I wished I could have joined them as they laughed at that joke. If I could share something with them, share our similarity I would. It just takes something found deeper, something more profound than how we walk or what we do in our free time. It takes a connection of our souls.

This I believe: a human soul is what brings two people together. It is not the music they listen to or how they choose to spend their free time. It is not the way they dress or the people they hang out with. I believe what makes us the same, and I mean strips us to our core togetherness, is the contents of our soul.