Owen
I'm screwed.
For the first few hours of my first days of actually attending my classes, things were mediocre at best. They were fine but not entirely as much fun as Athena was probably having.
It was all going great with my professors being all understanding of my situation when it comes to coming and going into their classes up until now.
My heart couldn't stop racing as fast as a Formula One car and my sweat was cold against my forehead.
I am late as fuck.
My next class was supposed to be Chem lab but unfortunately, the great and ever so warm Sophie just had to call me urgently for some business that I think is absolute nonsense.
With all the other hours of the day that she could call me, she rang my phone up around a good 30 minutes before my previous class ended. My professor that time was okay with it and dismissed me but pushing all the way to the Center just to have a heated argument with Sophie about the shoes I wear was just complete bollocks.
"Why don't you wear orthopedic shoes?" Sophie asked as she flipped through catalogs of orthopedic stuff in the Center. She was leaning against the wall with her back resting against it as she faced me.
"They look weird. I don't like them." I said bluntly as I kept glancing at my watch to keep track of time.
Sophie stopped flipping through catalogs and shot me a deathly glare. She hook her head and looked at me disappointedly.
"Not liking them won't work for me, Watson. I just observed that you mostly wear Converses. Those shoes could cramp your feet and your blood circulation down there won't be any good." she explained.
I looked down on my feet that indeed were sporting my usual Converses and I turned back to Sophie.
"But I like my Converses. I never had a problem with them."
Sophie looked grumbled as she pinched her nose bridge for a quick second before looking at me intently.
"I do. Now, do you want swollen deoxygenated feet or not?"
"I don't but--"
"But what?"
I inhaled all the air I could before I shrugged and started to explain my side. Orthopedic shoes are the worst. There's no way Sophie's forcing me to choose some shoes from her catalogs.
The reason I still continue going to physical therapy was in order for my blood circulation to be fine all the way down and to avoid getting stiffness around the muscle area. I also do it to lessen those times when I actually have these random pains in my legs and spasm episodes.
They're the absolute worst.
So far, I have experienced none ever since my college move in and I was thankful Athena never got to see me that way. Yet.
Going to PT was enough and I don't need some random therapist to dictate my choice of footwear.
"I don't feel anything down there. I don't see why I should get expensive shoes that could pass as Crocs without holes." I mentioned nonchalantly as I slyly avoided eye contact with her.
I gave it a few moments before I turned my head towards her direction and Sophie looked annoyed this time. I was almost certain I had a slight smirk on my face as she did. I could feel that tiny smirk creep up and resurface, but only slightly since Sophie intimidates me.
Eventually, she inhaled and exhaled slowly to calm herself down before she looked at me with a bored expression.
"Comfort, Watson. They're better than sneakers. Just get them."
"I think you're not getting the memo that I don't feel my legs or something."
"WATSON."
After going over and over with the shoes, there were two sides of the coin I had in my pocket. One, I finally convinced my inability to actually have any sensation in my legs was good enough for Sophie to stop bribing me with the benefits of orthopedic shoes. Two, I was late for class.
I know Mrs. Miller from the ODS told me that I could enter class late if I had a good enough reason but I'm not so sure arguing with my physical therapist about my choice of shoes is alright with the professor.
Especially if he was the only professor who still hasn't responded to the ODS for my class accomodations.
The terror, as they call him.
The thought of him always sent a shiver down my spine.
I pushed as fast as I could going back to the Humanities building where Mrs. Miller said I could get in to. The route may be long but if I don't get there within 5 to 15 minutes, Dr. Anderson, the professor, would kick my arse.
I would rather risk being all tired and exhausted than be scolded for being incompetent with the schedule.
It didn't take me that long before I actually got in the Humanities building. Of course, I did get a little confused with the directions but thankfully, everyone were in their classes so there was no kind of rush between people going in and about rooms and lecture halls.
I got lost for a good minute though. I forgot the map Mrs. Miller gave me back at the dorm and my heartbeat was so loud I couldn't hear myself think. Or navigate where the actual fuck I was headed to.
Fuck Sophie.
Fuck those stupid shoes. I never shouldn't answered my phone.
As I reached the hall where I supposedly had class, I stopped right in front of the door before entering.
I didn't want the professor to make a fuss about the whole shoe thing that happened prior to my late arrival but I also didn't want to miss class.
I'd be sanctioned for skipping class when I'm just outside the fucking door.
With a sharp breath, I pushed the door slowly with one hand and the other was on one of the rims of my wheels. I peeked for a moment before opening it fully and before I knew it, people were looking right at me.
Just great.
"Fuck." I swore under my breath.
My eyes pivoted from face to face inside the class full of people whose eyes were mostly targetted toward my unfortunate lower half.
Instead of merely peaking out through a small slot from the door, I finally got inside and stayed where I was.
I didn't have the slightest clue to whatever the class was currently doing.
"Seems like Tiny Tim got tired of his lil 'ol crutchie and opted for a faster mode of transportation. You're late. Very late."
The voice was booming.
It was neither loud nor soft but still, it impacted me so much I didn't know where to look. I kept my head down and just shut my mouth. I didn't want to utter something wrong this time.
"I'm sorry." I muttered.
My head was still down and I didn't want to admit it but I think I actually felt myself trembling.
"That's not enough. See me after class, son. Take a seat in one of those lab stools, will you? Or do you need someone to assist you?" he asked.
I felt my face turn sour as I slowly looked up and saw Dr. Anderson's face just a few feet away from me. He was a middle-aged man with gray hairs at the sides and was obviously too smug and too proud. He had a smirk on his face as he motioned the high lab stools we were supposed to sit on.
I narrowed my eyes slightly and inhaled.
"No. I don't need any help." I spat.
Dr. Anderson's eyes lightened up for a bit and he went closer. The class was silent as they watched the scene unfold.
"I didn't notice a tinge of respect in your tone, young man. Rephrase, please." he said, his smile mocking me.
I felt my frown deepen as I bottled up any frustration and annoyance I had this time.
"No, sir. I don't require any help in getting up stools." I said as I slowly pushed myself towards an empty one.
"I'd like to see you try." he answered as he crossed his arms over his chest and kept a close eye on me as he walked back in front of his board where random notes and scribbles were on.
I slowly positioned myself nearby a stool and to be honest, I don't think I'm gonna make it.
It's too high for me to transfer.
Why the fuck did I ask for this?
I stared at the stool in silence and it was not long before Dr. Anderson cleared his throat and peered over to me.
"I require all my students up on those stools in order to conduct experiments on those special lab tables. I repeat, do you need help?" he asked.
His tone was not too nice, too. I grunted softly as I sharply turned my head to him.
"No, I-- ,I'm good." I muttered as I clenched my hands onto the legs of the empty stool nearby.
Dr. Anderson's brows shot up and a slight smirk escaped from the corner of his mouth. He was obviously in the mood to mock me and it shows.
"Very well, then. I'll wait. The class will too. If you're gonna take part in this class, though you are late, we're gonna have to continue the lecture once you've taken a seat."
Okay, he was mocking me.
It's like a tragedy's just waiting to happen. I don't want that.
I know my limits and it was physically impossible to transfer onto a stool higher than the wheelchair I am currently on. The floor also seems too slippery and waxy and there was a chance once I actually try to get onto the stool, I'd slip.
This professor would only make everything worse, too.
Aside from delaying the class all because of me and the humiliation of getting talked down because he thinks I need help, Dr. Anderson had this menacing look on his face and I couldn't understand why.
"You're wasting time, son. Do it. You said it yourself, you don't need help. Why should I, an esteemed professor, make unnecessary accomodations for a student who doesn't need it?"
I felt my blood boil a little and I didn't want it to show. Alright, I do need help but I want to exercise as much independence as I can and asking for help from others on a regular basis seems too much especially if I'm going to take this class for a year. Not listening to the ODS for my accomodations is a whole different story, perhaps.
"Keep staring at the stool. I find it fascinating watching you do it."
I won't ask for help. Not ever.
"We still have a long chat ahead of us after class, son. Do you want to lengthen it so you'll be late to your next class?"
Shut up.
"You know, Luke here is quite the athlete. He would gladly carry you up that stool. That is, if you want to."
I slowly turned a narrow eye towards Dr. Anderson and clenched my jaw.
He won.
That bloody bastard.
"Fine. I need help to get up that fuc- that stool." I muttered to myself.
A small smile grew on Dr. Anderson's face as he looked at me smugly.
"What did you say? I didn't quite hear it through your slurred manner of speaking. Or was it just that I didn't quite understand what you're saying? Try speaking more American, son. I'll understand you better."
Fucking donkey.
"I. need. help. I admit it." I enunciated slowly.
Dr. Anderson's smile widened as he chuckled and shoved both of his hands into his pockets.
"Finally, we can proceed with the lecture. Oh wait, Luke son, after you prop the latecomer onto his throne, would you ask if he would like someone else to take down notes for him? He might need someone's help." Dr. Anderson said as this big, muscly and obviously toned guy in an ironic Harvard shirt went up to me and slowly plopped me off my chair.
Luke, I believe, slowly helped me get balanced onto the lab stool and as we were both okay, he turned to me.
"So uh, you good?" he asked as he held a thumb up.
Tight lipped, I nodded.
"Of course. Uhm, would you mind getting my backpack off the handles of the chair?" I asked.
"Oh yeah, sure."
Luke swiftly took my backpack off my chair and handed it to me in a swig.
"Thanks." I said.
"No prob. Wait, before I forget, do you like, uh, need help with writing things? Maya could help." he suggested.
From the table opposite from where I was, Maya straightened up and waved a small hand at me. She had a huge smile on her face too.
I waved a hand at her and turned again to Luke.
"There's no need for that, thank you. I can write on my own, actually."
"Whatever you say, dude." Luke said as he went back to his table and sat in his place.
As soon as Dr. Anderson saw that I was sitting on a stool instead of my chair, he raised his head high and smirked at me. Teachers back at high school didn't do those. Even those from grade school didn't.
Thankfully, Maya from the other table kept the class a little bearable.
As Dr. Anderson droned on and on about the basics of Chemistry and the possible lab tests we were to do in his class, Maya kept looking at me. She was giving me reassuring looks and it made everything a little better.
Maybe Athena was right.
Maya does have my back.
I really should trust her more.
Class ended shortly after I had just sat on that fucking stool. Well, I was late and had made an unremarkable scene when I actually got there so that must've explained that. Of course, I waited again for Luke to bring me back to my chair and I had to talk yet again with Dr. Anderson.
Fuck.
"So, Owen isn't it?" he asked as soon as people went out of the room and it was only the two of us left.
"Yes sir." I answered sourly.
"Okay. First things first, why were you late? I know Fanny Miller from the ODS gave you a ten minute head start out of your classes but what was so hard in managing your time?"
"I had a call, sir. My physical therapist-"
"You could've opted not to answer it. It's within school hours. Was your phone on silent?"
"Yes sir but coincidentally, when I pulled it out, Sophie had left me a few missed calls."
"I know Sophie. Wonderful woman, indeed. Owen, you know she could leave you all the missed calls in the world and it wouldn't matter whether you answered or not because eventually, you're gonna see her for your appointments."
"But it would be disrespectful sir if I wouldn't answer. She called almost six times."
"And she could call you many more. Any discussion about your situation is completely in your hands and it is up to you to separate it from your situation here at school, more so in my class. You are here to study, am I correct?"
"Yes sir."
"That's right. You are here to learn and listen to your professors until you graduate. Before you skidaddle off to god knows where, you abide by my rules."
At this point, I was lost and confused.
What the hell was this donkey blabbering about?
"What rules? I have read the student handbook thoroughly, Dr. Anderson."
Dr. Anderson paused for dramatic effect before he shrugged lightly and clasped both of his hands together.
"From the bat, you made it obvious that you don't want to be helped."
"I believe I always do, sir." I muttered.
Dr. Anderson smiled weirdly and nodded.
"Yes, and to be honest, I was debating whether or not to comply to the accomodations dear Fanny told me about. When I asked whether you needed help or not was a test."
"A test?"
I involuntarily cocked my head to the side as I began fumbling with my gloves for a while.
This does not sound good.
Dr. Anderson chuckled a bit and sighed dramatically.
"To see how independent you are. It's just like some sort of clarification to what extend you can, you know, do things. To be honest, it doesn't make quite a list."
"What?"
Dr. Anderson sat by the edge of his desk and looked at me sternly.
"Since you stubbornly do not want any help, I don't see why I should comply to your accomodations."
The fuck?
"But sir, the way to the building's quite long and the chairs here? Why can't I just stay in my wheelchair? The tables are too high too. I don't think Luke would like helping me up stools every time we have class, as well."
Dr. Anderson shook his head and tilted it to the side.
"My turf, my rules, kid. This is university, not kindergarten. This could be a good time to practice accepting the fact that you can't do all the things you wanted to do. If I were you, I'd shift my course and go take something that would abide my wishes 24/7. You're dismissed. Think about it, son."
Dr. Anderson proceeded to turn around to his things and shove them inside his brown messenger bag. I, on the other hand, was silent.
I slowly pushed my chair away from his desk and went out of the room.
"Hey, what happened in there?"
As soon as I closed the classroom door behind me, I shot my head up and saw Maya's thin eyes looking down on me worriedly.
"You won't believe it. Let's go. I'll tell you all about it on the way."