Free Stuck in Neutral by Terry Trueman

first time in his life, I knew in my heart, that for the first time in his life he was without pain. I looked into his eyes and saw that he was gone. For the first time ever, I saw peace in his face. (Earl looks up and tears stream down both his cheeks. He is finished talking. His face, although tear streaked, looks calm and peaceful. He sits straight, with dignity and quiet pride.)
    DAD: Thank you for talking to us, Earl. That’s enough for today. (The camera clicks off and the screen goes blank.)
    We are suddenly back to Alice Ponds, who stands quietly for a moment, then speaks, her voice full of emotion. “We’ll be right back.”
    Our family room is utterly silent. I can hear Mom breathing. I see Paul and Cindy, speechless, staring vacantly at the TV as a lady on the screen talks about the bright whiteness of her wash. No one looks at me.
    I think about Earl and Colin, about Dad and me. What good is love if it isn’t about putting somebody else ahead of yourself? I don’t think Earl was playing God when he killed Colin. He believed that loving his son meant ending the kid’s suffering by any means necessary. Earl’s action and Dad’s decision to study it convince me more than ever that Dad is still working out what he should do with me. Dad knows that Earl loved his son, just like Dad loves me. I have this feeling, a gut feeling, so real that I can’t deny it, that right now Dad is trying to find a reason, any reason, not to kill me.
    But before Alice Ponds and her astonished audience and my dad and my sister and another commercial and all the rest can come back, the seizure I fought off a little while ago charges back into my head. There’s no stopping it this time as it begins its march up my spine, down my arms, and across my forehead. Crackle — crackle — crackle —that’s all the Alice Ponds I’m going to get today.

12
    Months break over us .
    Shawn is dead,
    only he eats, breathes, defecates,
    trapped inside some kind of being
    that no one will ever
    understand .
    T his seizure is a doozy. I hear Alice Ponds mumbling some questions to Cindy on the TV, but I find it impossible to stick around. Soon I am floating over the roof of our house, soaring up and down, eyeing the landscape, not really feeling anything—you can’t feel without your body—but experiencing everything in me and around me as pure joy.
    I love my mom, brother, sister, dad. Although I can’t connect with things through my senses, there is an energy inside me and around me; somehow all the things I think about and remember turn to joy. Pure joy: favorite movies, paintings I’ve seen and loved, music on compact discs, pinecones, chocolate pudding, the taste of smoked oysters (thank you, Paul!), the sound of motors, a bright-red 1966 Ford Mustang. I love the idea of books and the dusty smell of them on bookshelves, the scent of Comet in a stainless steel sink. I think of the way, on cool mornings in November, the sun pours in through the window, and covers my hands. I think about my baths every night with Mom dripping warm water from a big soft sponge down my back, the hairbrush passing through my hair after the tangles are all gone, all of it turning to joy. Life can be great, even for me. Even for me.
    I begin a slow, easy weave around the sky above our house and Mom’s little garden. I soar, glide. I know with a certainty beyond all doubt that I am a part of all of this and that I belong here. I don’t want to die! I want to live! I want to stay here and …
    I wake up in my body, tired. I never remember the actual moment of my shift back into myself from a seizure. One second my spirit is out surfing cumulus clouds or playing with the wind, and the next moment I’m back in my body again, awake, exhausted, “real.”
    This time as I arrive back in my body, I realize that I’m still in my wheelchair, in my usual spot, but the TV’s been