The Last Leaves Falling (14 page)

He does?

I suppose that it makes sense. He’ll need to know when the time comes. But I do not like that she’s talking to strangers about me.

“It’s
fine
, Mama. You don’t need to.”

And she’s gone, pushed away her chair, filling the teapot with fresh water. And I know I should feel bad that I have set her jaw like that and made her run away, but I don’t. Why should
she
control everything? It’s me who’s dying. Me.

•  •  •  •

I hope that MonkEC has seen my apology, that she isn’t too upset with me, because all I want to do right now is talk to her.

You there?

I wait a moment. Nothing. But I can see that she’s online, so I try again.

Hi MonkEC?

Nothing. Perhaps she has decided she doesn’t want to be friends?

I wouldn’t blame her, really. I can’t do anything right.

SORA! HIIIII :)

Sorry, I was in the bathroom.

How are you?

Fine, thanks.

Actually, not really.

D-: What’s wrong?

I know I shouldn’t speak badly of her, but ARRGH! Sometimes I just wish my mother would trust me a little. :(

Aww. I know how you feel. I mean, my mother is all about homework and grades, all the time. And she’s going on and on and ON about what universities have the best law and engineering programs and I don’t even LIKE that stuff.

I think that’s just what they’re like. Parents.

Your mother doesn’t want you to become an artist?

It doesn’t pay, apparently. I tried to tell her how much Miyazaki’s films gross every year, but she just sighs and says, “That’s one man, dear. One in a million.”

But if it’s what you want to do . . . ?

It IS. But she’s right I guess. I mean, I want to have a roof over my head, as well.

I just wish she’d take me even a little bit seriously. She won’t even
look
at my drawings.

That’s awful. I would.

Hahahaha

No, I’m serious. Could I see?

I don’t know . . .

Please?

Maybe someday? I just . . . I want my MAMA to take an interest, but everything I’ve scanned is old, and rubbish. I’d be so embarrassed.

I’m sure it’s NOT rubbish.

*Blush* it really is.

Okay, if you’re not comfortable. Just . . . think about it? Please? I’d like to see. I could be your personal admirer . . .

If it helps, I can’t draw at all. Not for all the chocolate in the world.

(-: EVERYONE can draw a little.

Not everyone. Even my stick-men are wonky.

Hahahahaha. Okay, I’ll think about it.

Thanks :)

So, what’s
your
mother done today?

Oh. I’d forgotten all about our argument. How does MonkEC
do
that?

Oh, it’s nothing really. The same. Overbearing stuff. I think you must be right—it’s what they do.

Yeah. Oh well. One day, we can do it to our own children. :D

Hah, one day!

22

Days later, there is still not much of a response to my forum thread. Perhaps it is simply too uncomfortable to talk about, even here?

But I can’t just let it go.

Hey!

Hiiiii :)

How are things?

*sigh* my research is not going so well.

Why?

Have you seen it?

Nobody is saying what they really think.

It’s a difficult question. Maybe nobody really knows what to say or how to say it?

But I NEED to know. How do I get answers? Any ideas?

Maybe . . .

Maybe what you need is not words.

Sorry?

What if what you need is . . . not words?

I don’t understand.

Wait here . . .

What is she doing?

How can you ask a question without words?

Finally, she returns, pastes a web address into the conversation.

Post this. With the caption “What’s the first thought in your head?”

It’s a photograph. Of a kid in a wheelchair, with a blanket on his knees.

You’re a genius!

Hahaha. So kind of you to say so!

And so I start another thread, “What do you see?” I paste the photograph into the description box, and write beneath it, “What’s the first thought in your head? Please be absolutely honest. Thank you.”

What do you think?

Perfect. I bet you’ll have a hundred answers before you go to bed!

Thanks

Thirty seconds later, I see that MonkEC has left the first response.

MonkECMonkEDo:
I’d like to think I wouldn’t treat them any different, and my first thought would be “that blanket looks cozy.”

Just for a second, I think about turning on my dusty webcam and letting her see.

Look. This is me.
But what if she’s lying, or wrong?

So I wait, and I sit here watching a discussion unfold.

LikesEmWithSparkle:
That picture makes me sad. Not awful pity sad, just sad that the person has to go through life with difficulty.

WindUpBird:
Yeah. It must be TOUGH.

0100110101100101:
Honestly? My first thought is: Has that kid ever raced that thing? Because, those WHEELS! :D

Ace101:
How much do you think the boy understands? Is he like us, and it’s just a physical thing? Or is his brain affected too?

LikesEmWithSparkle:
O_o oh I hope not, wouldn’t that be awful?

NoFaceBoy:
Is it poor form to say “lucky”? I bet that kid doesn’t have to study all day, or sit through terrible exams. I bet he gets to sit around all day doing all the things we’re not.

I almost answer that. I want to shake him by the shoulders and tell him that I would give anything to have his place inside a classroom, to know that I could go anywhere I wanted,
be
anything I wanted. Be
something
. But I remember that he wrote to me that day, and I cannot shame him. Besides, somebody else has already replied:

LikesEmWithSparkle:
I don’t think that’s lucky at all. What does he DO all day if he doesn’t study? And we get an education so we can get jobs. Good jobs. And have a career and a good life and everything. And that poor boy . . . :(

I should feel grateful for this girl, stepping in like that. But I imagine her voice, dripping with compassion, and it grates. What does she know? Why
poor
boy? He could be a famous author or scientist. A genius. How does she know?

But I wanted to hear this. I still do.

So I swallow my anger and read back over people’s answers, with as much detachment as I can muster.

Until this:

IamSxy:
People like that should fucking die. I mean, what’s the point?

What?!

0100110101100101:
What?!

LikesEmWithSparkle:
Have some heart, you have no idea about him.

IamSxy:
No. True, but look, what can he fucking do? He is a vegetable.

0100110101100101:
Shut up!

IamSxy:
What? Why are you jumping to his defense? YOU don’t know him either.

IamSxy:
And SERIOUSLY, he should just end it. He’s taking up our space, breathing our
air
.

0100110101100101:
GO AWAY, PLEASE.

WindUpBird:
No!

LikesEmWithSparkle:
That’s HORRIBLE!

LikesEmWithSparkle:
You can’t SAY that stuff. It’s AWFUL.

NoFaceBoy :
Sparkle’s right. You have no idea.

WindUpBird:
Yeah. Those things are dangerous. NOBODY should be forced into something like that. Never.

IamSxy:
Hah! There’s too many people draining our resources. They should all do us a favor.

I can’t watch anymore. Shaking with shock and hurt and anger, I minimize the window and turn my chair away.

Does he really think that?

How can
anybody
think like that?

I’m finished. I can’t be part of this.

Except . . . MonkEC. I’d lose our friendship. I can’t do that. I won’t do that, not for him.

I turn back to the screen.

IamSxy has been removed from this conversation.>

0100110101100101:
Good riddance!

LikesEmWithSparkle:
Yesss! Can we talk about something else, please? Come to General Chat?

I make myself look back over the answers, pick out the good ones and read them twice, commit them to memory. It helps, a little.

And when I get to NoFaceBoy’s comment about school, I feel almost guilty; he doesn’t
know
, how can he? And I wanted honest answers.

I click on send private message and I write:

Hi NoFaceBoy.

I just wanted to properly thank you for writing to me the other day. I needed that.

How are you? I hope you’re well. You sound a bit fed up.

I’m going to add you as a contact—I hope we can be friends.

SamuraiMan.

P.S. One day we’ll all look back on school as a distant memory.

It is only a minute before I get a message:
NoFaceBoy has
added you to their friend list.

23

HI SAMURAIMAN