Free Life Happens Next by Terry Trueman Page B

is here with us.
    I can’t make myself not look at him. I can’t do anything but wait to see what he’ll do next. A buzz pounds through my brain, fear, adrenaline, anger, and disgust at my helplessness. It’s weird, but I feel more scared now than the night I was alone with my dad and he held that pillow in his hands, deciding my fate, life or death.
    As my eyes shift away from Adam’s face, he quickly gathers himself together and pushes past us, slightly bumping his shoulder against my mom’s arm.
    â€œâ€™Scuse me,” he mumbles quickly to Mom.
    Mom has no idea who this kid even is. “No problem,” she says.
    â€œI like Happy Deal,” Debi says.
    â€œHappy Meal?” Mom asks.
    â€œYeth,” Debi repeats, “Happy Deal.”
    Mom smiles and says, “Okay,” and orders our food.
    I can’t turn to see if Adam’s here with his friend, can’t see if I’m in danger again.
    Mom wheels me over to a booth, pushing my wheelchair up snug against the table. Debi slides in. Adam is off to the side of me at his table. When I finally catch a glimpse of him, I see that he is alone. Our name is called from the counter and Mom goes back to pick up our order.
    Finally my head turns fully and I focus on Adam again. He stares straight into my eyes. I feel scared, try to search for what he is thinking, try to know whether I’m in danger.
    Something amazing happens. As our eyes meet, I see as clearly as anything I’ve ever seen his embarrassment and guilt. It’s in the way his shoulders slouch down and in his sad expression. In the way his eyes keep glancing away and his face blushes. It’s like I can hear his mind and feel what he wishes he could say to me: “I’m sorry for picking on you that day. I’m sorry for what we did. I’m sorry.” His eyes tell me everything I need to know—that I’m safe and that I have nothing more to fear from him.
    I’ve never realized this before, but people connect all the time, in a million different ways. Although Adam may never know it, he and I have just connected. He’s spoken to me without words, saying something that words couldn’t say any better.
    I can’t react. But if I could, I’d tell him I forgive him, that we all make mistakes and that it’s pretty cool of him to feel sorry—even if he can’t find the courage to speak the words out loud.
    I think back to that guy in the black pickup truck who road-raged at Mom and me. Maybe he got caught up in an emotion and didn’t take the time to think about our feelings. Maybe if he had seen my eyes or had a way to see all that Mom does for me, he would have stopped and felt some compassion. Maybe at some other time, in some other place, he’d be an okay guy like this kid Adam is right now. Maybe if he saw me in a pharmacy, heard me yelling “Ahhhhhhh” and glanced over, maybe his face, his eyes, and the way he looked would say, “It’s okay kid, yell all you want—you should see me drive!”
    Debi interrupts my thoughts. “I hun’ry,” she says, staring at her Happy Meal box.
    â€œThat’s good, Debi,” Mom says, unwrapping Debi’s hamburger. “Eat up.”
    â€œYeth,” Debi says. “Are you hun’ry too, boyfrien’?”
    â€œBoyfriend!” I scream inside, hoping no one has heard this and assumed that Debi and I are hooked up. It must be that when Debi can pry herself away from The Sound of the Music , she watches some kinda hip TV garbage— boyfriend!!
    Mom slips a French fry into my mouth. It’s salty and warm and delicious, and it instantly soothes my mental outburst. Mom rakes her fingers through my hair, and when I happen to gaze at her, the heavenly French fry juice dribbling down my chin, she smiles. “Why should Paul be the only one who gives you treats?”
    I chew involuntarily, more like mash stuff