2016/02/03 Wednesday
Okay, I know that I said that I wouldn't go and see Pete on Wednesday and that I'd be seeing him on Friday during the next group therapy but when Gerard asked me how Group Therapy went I told him that I preferred Group Therapy over the one on one sessions with Dr Nestor. He didn't seem very surprised and even though he didn't outwardly say it, I knew she'd told him.
I don't know what this means as for what'll be happening tomorrow. Whether I'll be seeing her or not or whether I'll feel forgiving. Because as of the moment I feel quite like taking a chance and wheeling away from Gerard in the snow. Even if he'll catch me quite quickly because somehow I think I'd rather die trying to escape than attend therapy.
He asked me what I liked about Group Therapy and I told him that it wasn't so bad if I didn't have to do much except listen to the bleeding hearts of other people. Gerard laughed then and I think he could hear the distaste in my voice. My general hatred of humanity was generally confused with making a joke.
But the difference was pretty clear: my jokes were meant to amuse people but my hatred of people were meant to give them a big fuck you.
Though Mr Bowie had promised to see me on Monday, not to mention give me a history test, he hadn't come to tutor me since last week Thursday due to the fact that he'd come down with typhoid fever which was a pretty shitty disease. Literally a shitty disease.
So I'd spent the day listening to all of Gerard's old Joan Jett CDs and reading Slice of Cherry, only occasionally putting it down in favour of The Boy in Striped Pajamas. But Gerard spent the day trying to convince me to go out with Pete, Hayley and Ryan as if socializing with them might solve the world's problems. Or, even better, my problems (alternatively known as the Useless Logs of Fat™).
Except that I knew that it wouldn't and he knew it wouldn't. But when Pete texted me this morning at half past 8, I had a hard time finding reasons that I could simply say no. I knew, Jesus Christ, I knew that if somebody else had asked me... somebody like Frank or Gerard or even Ryan or Hayley, I would probably say no without giving a reason.
But something about Pete made me think that I wouldn't be able to say no without giving a million reasons why not. And even if I could produce all the reasons I was thinking of (ones like: I don't want to, I have to finish my book or I have homework to finish) didn't seem good enough reasons to say to Pete and all the while I tried to ignore the text, I felt more and more guilty.
Ignoring Pete made me feel the way that ignoring The Boy in Striped Pajamas made me feel: sort of like, for some reason, I was breaking a commitment that I'd made. And while I'd broken many commitments before, I'd never felt this guilty about one before. Almost like I'd crush Pete's entire life by saying that I couldn't go.
So I made the necessary arrangements with Frank and Gerard while making them think that I was doing this as a favour for them and I think that I might've fooled Gerard but Frank gave me a knowing smile and ruffled my hair like being in a wheelchair gave him the right to touch my head. And for a moment, they both seemed really pleased by the idea that I'd go out with friends.
But the moment was fleeting because soon they were explaining to me that, while it would be great if I go, neither of them could get me there at 2 (which was the time the hang-out started) and neither of them could pick me up until 7 (which was an hour after the hang-out ended) and I tried so hard not to grin because I realized that this was a good enough reason not to go.
But when I texted Pete and I explained the current situation he sent me a text that said I have 2 work @ the mall from 12. I could pick u up and u could stay with me until 2. And while I tried to reason that Pete was a 17 year old boy and probably a shitty driver but I realized that I couldn't just tell Pete right to his face that he was probably a shitty driver.
In fact, all I could tell him was that my brother doesn't want me to drive with you but that would be lying and I just knew that lying about it would make me feel worse. I also reasoned with myself that Pete was the type of guy who would come to my house anyway.
And when I asked Gerard whether Pete could drop me, he said yes. Pete shook hands with Gerard and fist bumped Frank when he got to house, before taking a Polaroid picture of them and handing it to Gerard. Frank seemed glad to see him again, leaning in to Gerard's side and saying this is the kid I told you about.
And that, ladies and gentlemen and everybody in between, is why I ended up sitting in Pete's car and holding on to the sides of my seat for dear life because I was so terrified of Pete being a shitty driver. And compared to Gerard he was a shitty driver. But compared to Frank, he seemed pretty average.
The conversation in the car generally started at how's your day so far and don't you go to school before generally dying out after establishing that we'd both had a fine day and that we were both tutored at home. And when it did finally die out, Pete turned up the radio and we both pretended to be interested in the stupid pop song on the radio.
At the first stop street on the way to the mall, Pete started singing along to the chorus and turned to me after a little, singing to me with a dumb loopy smile on his face. I realized in that moment that he truly was an idiot but I still couldn't stop a grin from slipping on to my face. After a while, I wanted to sing along too but I decided against it. Right now, I can't even remember what song it was.
But I'll never ever forget that the next song that came on was I Can't Feel My Face and I laughed at Pete when he sang along and semi-closed his eyes. And while I was nervous about him doing that while driving, I don't think I really would've minded getting into an accident as badly as he would have. Seeing as he still had his legs to loose and what really did I?
Pete seemed to catch on to my general annoyance because he turned the music up loud enough for the people around us to hear it. I felt my face flush because I hated it when people did that - especially with shitty songs like I Can't Feel My Face. And at one point I decided that it would be good idea to just turn it off.
I turned the music down as low as it would go but Pete still sang at the top of his lungs I can't feel my face when I'm with you and I shouted back, at the top of my lungs, It's a stroke! You're having a stroke! And Pete laughed so hard that we forgot to turn the music back up. The silence only lasted a couple more seconds though because, before I could stop myself I was laughing at a thought I had.
Pete frowned at me. But he giggled too when I said I can't feel my legs when I'm with you. It was a nervous giggle that wondered whether it really was okay to be laughing at that sort of thing. And the rest of the ride was filled with Pete singing shitty pop songs at the top of his lungs while taking occasional Polaroid pictures of me while being yelled at to keep your eyes on the fucking road, Pete.
It was, overall, a really good ride even if it was a little nerve wrecking. Because I generally forgot that I had Useless Rolls of Fat™ instead of legs. Until I saw him turn to me for more than a couple of seconds. Because every time that he did that, all I could see was my dad, turning back to look at me at the exact moment a truck driver decided to ride over a red robot.
And I wondered, for a fleeting moment, whether this was making some kind of progress. Or whether I was going back in the cycle of grieving. But then I decided that I didn't care. Because the cycle of grieving was stupid. And people who wondered about whether they were making progress were stupid.
When we got to the mall I found out that I wasn't the only one who forgot about the Useless Logs of Fat™ because when Pete got out of the car, he walked off a couple of paces before he turned back and apologized to me a million times while trying to get my stupid chair out of his car. I only laughed and told him it was okay.
I understood why he thought I might've been insulted: he'd forgotten a huge part of my entire life. He'd forgotten my most defining trait. But I did feel sort of complimented because the fact that he forgot meant that no, my wheelchair was not my most defining trait. And that, if he spent enough time singing stupid pop songs to me, he could forget that I wasn't normal.
Pete was strong. Well, I assume he was, because he went right in and carried me out of my seat in the car the way Frank did. Except for the part where he was shaking from the moment he touched me. And it didn't seem like a nervousness shake either, the kind of shake that old people had. But, as I accidently slipped my fingers into Pete's hair, I knew that it wasn't a wig and that he was, indeed, a 17 year old shitty driver, not an old man in disguise.
He went pretty far until he turned around with me and he fell over, letting my body topple over his and while I couldn't feel my legs, I did see the blood on my ankle and chose to ignore it. I was laughing before Pete even registered that we were lying on the parking lot gravel. He laughed too, though. And apologized a million times over.
I also found out that Pete worked at my favourite place in the entire world: he worked behind the counter at Mug & Bean where the entire restaurant reeked of coffee and the cookies were the size of my head. He gave me a cookie and said that it was on the house but I know that he probably paid for it for me and just wanted to make up for dropping me on the gravel.
I swear, I could stab him and he'd probably apologize for bleeding all over my knife. Because while my wheelchair seemed to be my defining trait, Pete Wentz could do nothing but apologize and that was probably his defining trait as well. That or the Polaroid camera and the Polaroid photographs of us sitting on the gravel in the parking lot that were now, my new bookmark in Slice of Cherry.
I sat at the counter, keeping Pete occupied until the odd occasion when a customer came to buy something. At one point a woman came in, with brown hair that looked too shiny to be natural and when she saw us laughing, she gave me a sneer. This your new boyfriend, Pete? She asked. And I wondered whether she was using that tone because I was in a wheelchair.
Fuck off, will you, Ashlee? Pete said. And she didn't even buy something before she left. We used to date, you know. But when I came out as bi she said it was unnatural and left me. Pete had said without hesitation and I was happy that he'd felt so comfortable with me as to tell me such things like that he liked men. Or maybe he only felt safe because Gerard was gay.
Seems like a bitch. I said. And Pete nodded in agreement. You said it, Mikeyway. And I relished in the way he said my name.
Regardless, I can't wait to see him on Friday.
Mikey