A Deadman's Tale

Drive in the park

"Go look for a nurse, Nate."

"You go look for a nurse, I am not getting up this seat." He didn't stick to orders very well.

"Are you fucking kidding me?! I am in a wheelchair" As soon as I said it the realisation hit Nathan. He realised that I was sick and felt bad about it. At least that's what it looked like.

"You know what let's get some fresh air in you." He said, then smiled awkwardly. When I say awkward I don't mean the typical awkwardness you get when you wave to a stranger who is waving to someone behind you, but a whole another level. Like all the mini stereotypical awkward situations came together and formed that smile.

"Sure, " I replied thinking that I could use some fresh air since I have been lying for two weeks straight at the hospital.

He pushed me in my wheelchair, and I could see his frowning face, and I am not going to lie, I was enjoying myself. I had missed this, even though it was 2 weeks it felt like a decade. I missed this constant bickering with my brother, I missed my father with his lottery quirks and even my mother with her pimple popping techniques and her untaintable lust for the craft. My brother opened the door of room 19. The child room and we entered the hallway. Right at that moment, I noticed the looks, piercing through me like shrapnel. They look at me. They gaze upon me, but they can not see me. Their opinions cloud their perception. These people see a young man driving his brother in a wheelchair. They might think of brotherly love or maybe see the poor sick man riding in the wheelchair. In this case, me. All of this might be right, but most people would imagine themselves dreading the situation while thanking god they are not in our places. This is wrong. It is sad when you realise that people can mostly feel based on comparing their lives to others and don't understand that each life and experience is unique on their own. Yes I might have a brain tumour, and I might be driven through this hospital corridors in the wheelchair pushed by my brother, but actually, I couldn't be happier. I really don't care about what these people think. I don't believe that it is for me to decide. I am just glad because I have the strength to enjoy this moment. After all, these hospitals are really where I grew up. So it is kind of my home. I would rather be at my real home of course, but this place has given me so many memories and opportunities for which I am truly grateful. After all, nothing really matters as long as we are together and gently gliding through the corridors and parks in a wheelchair outside the hospital made me an appreciative piece of shit. I could tell my brother was enjoying it too. We even lit up a joint for a little relaxation. We were really cautious and moderate since I didn't want to get coughing because it made me panic and my chest would hurt. We took light angel puffs and passed the joint every 3 hits. And it felt amazing. The scenery. The place, the joint and us. Everything was in perfect harmony. I then realised without this disease and that stupid piece of shit in my head I would have never been able to enjoy this moment. Maybe to recreate the situation but not the feeling. I felt loved and cared for. I felt my brother's excitement, and it excited me. My blood rushed vigorously through my veins. I could feel it rush into my heart. He was also kind of a douche and would let go of me for a short period when we were going downhill, I always thought that I would crash and started cursing, but he still always caught me so I wouldn't fuck myself up.

"Well, at least he was not an absolute douche, " I thought while observing the scenery. The thought made me happy to have him as a brother. That is until he tried to drop me again. This process went in a circulatory fashion.

We walked through the park around the hospital, and we were just exploring a bit. We would also spend the entire time talking, and I played Pokemon GO and collected Pokemon around the hospital while he drove me. We joked about how much of stoners we are and that we were not normal since we weren't and it was plain to see. I mean who in the hell goes driving around parks in a hospital wheelchair and smokes a joint after 7 stitches. The story of the stitches is personally a painful one for me. Even now I can feel that damn needle piercing my head.