Love at First High

As I sat on the veranda, steaming mug of coffee in hand, I drifted back to the beginning of my life. No, not the early years, when I was a child, not even my first day of high school. This was after all of that. The day my existence began to take meaning. I sipped the java, still piping hot. The steam rose, wisping curls into the early morning sky, I looked wistfully out over the edge of the lengthy mahogany railing and let my eyes gaze over the bustling cityscape below. My laptop sat perched above the glass tabletop in front of my battery powered wheelchair, a blank word document open and ready, waiting for me to fill the page with countless words depicting the elaborate scenery of my life thus far.

Repeating what I said earlier, my life did not begin at birth, but rather at a chance meeting with a very whimsical lady. Back then, she was just a drugged up, dirt infested girl of eighteen. I was freshly turned nineteen the week before kismet plunked this delightful package into my lap. Now, before I get too far ahead of myself, let me begin...