silent but grateful
I remember when I was sick for a long time. I didn’t really leave my room for two months. It was my last semester of high school. The guys on my track team said I’d get better if I just pushed through it so they made me run with them but that made things really bad. I slept for 22 hours a day for a week. I don’t remember much of that week except every now and then I’d wake up gasping for air. I’m sort of surprised I didn’t go to a hospital or something. My brothers girlfriend brought me a coffee flavored popsicle once I was awake for more than 2 hours a day and that was pretty nice. But anyway, when I got really sick that’s when I started reading a lot. I stayed in bed for seven weeks to regain my strength after that awful week of waking only to wonder if I’d wake again. But afterwards, I finished reading a book every other day. I read all the books you’re supposed to read when you’re in high school. I think my favorite was Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird. It was sort of good that I got sick I guess—because my high school didn’t make you read any of the books that you’re supposed to read. I guess if I hadn’t gotten sick I would have spent more time with my friends. Maybe I would have gotten to know some really great girl. Instead I got to know Scout and the interior of my room. I spent a silent but grateful two months on the second floor of a sleepy town in a forgotten corner of Kentucky.
