I swear I wrote last week! I have it on my laptop, I know I do. I just don’t know here last tuesday went. I’m taking each day with a flow. Looking at where I left off the day before, and pushing forward. This means that I’m not holding onto old ideas of where I thought my story was going to go. Instead I’m listening for and looking for the path as I write. Its the first draft after all. I get to try to figure things out a thousand different ways, right?
“See, there! Who ever said there wasn’t room for two senior reps was wrong!” Mr. James said, his hands on his hips and a smile on his face. Amber chuckled and smiled her overly sweet smile. That person had actually been Amber last spring when the student election resulted in a tie for the position. Instead of having a run off, Mr. James awarded Amber and I co-representative positions. Despite the warning alarms blaring in my head, I tried my best to smile.
“Now, let’s get to business,” Mr James said. The group- eleven thanks to Amber, or me- settled in. “First order of business, Disability Representative proposal. Amber, take it away.” My heart stopped.
“Well,” she folded her hands across her desk and turned to give me a broad smile before continuing to address the rest of the group, “in keeping with Hellen Emory Lambert Logan’s dedication to diversity and education, I thought it would be appropriate for us to have a rep for our classmates who are differently abled.” She curled her fingers into air quotes when she said the words “differently abled.” Mr. James nodded, eating it up.
“Tell us more, Amber,” Mr. James said. I wanted to punch him in the face.
“Well, I was thinking about Libby, actually.” At once, all eyes were turned to me and I felt like a prisoner on trial. Or a caged bull. I held one hand in a tight fist and pressed it against my thigh. The pressure kept me from popping out of my seat and wrapping both hands around Amber’s throat. “Being visually impaired can’t be easy for her, but she keeps going. How many of us could possibly know what its like to be in her shoes?”
She looked around at the other student in council. The look on her face resembled that of the woman on late night television asking for donations to send to needy children in far away parts of the world. I could almost hear Amber say, “For the cost of a cup of coffee, you could change little Libby’s life.” My stomach turned.
Image: ‘Friendship / Amistad‘