Wishes

Being crippled is difficult. I have been discriminated and laughed at throughout all of my life. With a stroke of luck, when I finished high school, I was accepted into one of best colleges I could find, and that is where my – our, story begins.

I was very shy, and with good reason, when I was accepted into that college – St. Briar's. I excelled in my work and received very good grades, but I was depressed even as the school term began. My father had left me a long time ago, when I was less than ten years old, and that left me and my mother, who was an alcoholic. During those first few months of college, I nearly felt suicidal, and had considered dying more than a few times.

Every day, at the end of classes, I would run away from the oppressive college, away from it so I could work in peace – in relative peace. I began to think of the place as a prison, and doubted my ability to get good grades. My marks quickly fell, as did my hopes of getting a good job when I finished college.

Then, one fateful – and quite lucky, I thought – day, when classes had ended, I was running out the class, off to work as the first one out of the school. Unexpectedly, I crashed straight into someone, a black-eyed girl (Heather was her name) who was moderately pretty. I gasped in horror and we were both speechless. Her books had been strewn all over the floor, along with a bunch of papers and folders. I had never been in such close contact with a girl before, and my hand had fallen right over her breast – almost as if I were caressing it!

My face felt hot as I blushed as red as an oven, and then it felt even warmer, and I felt blood in my mouth. A bit of black had started to swirl around my thoughts, a choking bit of unconsciousness. I realized she had slapped me then, and she had already left, gathering up her papers and books faster than I thought humanly possible. "Perverted bastard!" I heard as she ran away.

We avoided each other – or rather, we never got a chance to see each other – for the next week. Then, on a weekend, I was working and saw her. A blush came over both of our faces, and I hastily uttered an apology, and she blushed even harder and accepted it. From then on, we became friends, and that incident was behind us. We became close friends, and close enough so that one day she told me of a little book that she had, a compilation of wishes that she had. It was a hundred in all, with the smallest wishes first and her largest wishes last. She never noticed my disability (I was blind in one eye – a severe disease had stripped my eyesight from my left eye when I was young) or didn't seem to notice it, anyway, and she requested that I make a wish book of my own.

I started writing my wishes that very day, and I was surprised at how much I learned about myself. As I got closer to my friend, she told me about her family situation. Her mother was in the hospital because she had been severely injured by a car accident, and her father had been killed in the same accident. She hoped to become a nurse or even a doctor so she could earn the money to help save her mother, and I was surprised at what this seemingly poor but ambitious girl had in store for her future. I was invigorated by her ambitions, and I realized my grades were starting to go up. My social life was improving, too, and I was no longer the first one out the door when classes ended.

A year later, we were as close as we could get, aside from being girlfriend and boyfriend. We had never discussed the matter, but knew we each liked each other – not to what extent, however, so we never asked each other out. However, our bond couldn't have been stronger, and it was common knowledge in the college that we liked each other. One day, however, that bond was nearly severed.

I was walking out of school when a guy pushed me to the dirt, unexpectedly. "What the hell is wrong with you?" I demanded, and he laughed and pushed me down again.

"You like her," he accused of me, and I growled. I didn't want our relationship to be common knowledge in the school, and I didn't know what made me say the next sentence that came out of my mouth.

"I don't like her!" I screamed, pushing him away, and I scrambled to my feet, getting my schoolbooks. I looked up, and the black eyes of Heather stared straight into mine, rimmed with moisture. Damn. Wrong thing to say, wrong place to say it. She ran off, like she had done when I had first met her, sobs shaking her shoulders.