Remembrance.

Not a lot changes around here, so when something does it’s big news.

I wake up to find noise coming from outside my door, which in itself is very strange. It’s always quiet, because someone or other is sleeping and mustn’t be disturbed.

I cautiously hoist myself out of the bed, knowing full well that I’m breaking the rules they laid down for me. I’m supposed to have help for the simplest little things, and that includes getting of bed and going to the bathroom. It’s stifling, and I hate it.

My eyes trained on the door, I make my way across the cold floor to the wheelchair in the corner. I only bother with it because if anyone saw me out of it, I’d be back here faster than anything.

After crawling up on the chair and strapping up the waist belt, I wheel myself out of room. There are several people near the end of the hall, all looking expectantly in the same direction. I wheel up to their little group and sit on the sidelines, knowing I won’t be able to see over their heads. I just wait.

Some of these people give me small, acknowledging smiles. I shyly return them, though I’m not sure if they can tell.

I’m adjusting better here. People are starting to recognize me, and sometimes they’ll even say hello. I’m not so scared of them anymore.

The door leading into the office opens up and all the heads around me snap to attention. I raise my eyes, too.

There’s a man there, being wheeled by one of the doctors. He’s in a wheelchair, like most of us, but he doesn’t seem to need it. His feet tap, but not in an anxious or nervous way. His fingers are doing the same thing, pressing into the armrests.

The man pushes him into one of the corners in the wide, open room, then leans in to tell him something. He then looks up to address us.

“This,” he introduces, with a wide smile, “is Shray. I trust that you’ll all give him a warm welcome!” He beams around at all of us for a second before leaning to in to tell Shray something else. Then he leaves to go back in his office.

Everyone around seems to be keen on getting to that warm welcome, but they all refrain from doing so. They rush into the room, busying themselves with different activities, but none of them go to greet him.

I feel a bit put out by this reaction for some reason, but at the same time reassured. Maybe everyone is ignored, at least for a while. Maybe if I’m here long enough, people will pay attention to me, too.

I stay where I am, one or two feet down the hallway, just observing like I usually do. Shray’s hair is long and black wildly tangled, sticking up in spike-like tresses around his head. The locks of hair are messy, like they aren’t there purposely. He has the start of a beard growing around his face, and he’s wearing dark sunglasses. His fingers constantly jump to the beard, itching, and the glasses, straightening and fiddling with them. His skin looks smooth and is a beautiful brown chocolate color. I look down at my own pale, stark-white arms, and something like jealousy runs through me.

Though he’s in a wheelchair, his body is well muscled and sturdy. He looks too big for the chair, his legs slanting up uncomfortably. This big, dark body is constantly in motion, twitching, fluttering, bouncing, tapping. His face stays calm and mask-like, and you can’t see his eyes behind the tinted glasses.

I stay there watching Shray until someone comes and fetches me for lunch. I keep watching him over my shoulder until we get too far down the hallways, and the woman rolling me seems to notice.

“Someone new is always exciting,” she says with a sweet smile. I bite my lip and move my head fractionally in agreement.

As a plate of noodles and red tomato sauce is set in front of me, I decide that Shray is the most interesting person I’ve ever seen.