Chapter Eight | Booster Seat

♫ Booster Seat by Spacey Jane

"Obviously, I want this meeting to be a safe space for us all." Hyde stands in the middle of the circle, his hands clasped together. "Some of you I've been seeing for a couple of years now, others I met just last week, but what I think is so beautiful, what you all have in common, is a desire to share this with somebody. I'm not going to sugarcoat it— you're all adults, I don't need to— you're a minority. You're disabled. And that alone means that your time at NYU and your life beyond it will be ten times as difficult as that of those outside this room. With a few exceptions, of course. But it's been decided and set that you'll face prejudices, discrimination and loneliness out there."

I don't think Hyde's realizing how his introduction speech comes across. On my left I see Emmy twitch, uncomfortable at the suggestion, and on my right both Isla and Philip have their lips in a straight line.

"But—" Hyde circles around and his eye falls on the four of us. "Are you alone? No. You're not alone. Not a single one of you is. If you have questions, ask them. If you need support, come to your peers. If you're struggling with anything within or outside of the frame of your disability, you have each other."

Coming into this meeting, I think the least I expected was to find someone like me. Difficulty walking, tension around the fingers and the mouth, a distinctive voice. But most of the people here seem to have less visible disabilities. In a way, that makes me uncomfortable. I've always felt so different, like the way my disability manifested itself makes me stick out like a sore thumb, and I thought that if there was any place that wouldn't be the case, it would be here.

Of course, there are two wheelchair users (Isla being one of them), but their movements and voices seem perfectly fine. Earlier, Isla used two fingers to unclasp a bracelet and slip it into her bag like it was nothing. Meanwhile, it took me twenty minutes to try and clasp a watch around my wrist this morning and when I finally gave in and asked Olivia to help, she did it within two seconds. Then there's Logan fetching my drink and me paying with cash at the register, making everyone wait because my fingers just wouldn't grab onto a penny in the folds of my wallet. Looking around, I think none of these people with their perfect fingers and their non-trembling hands would ever experience something like that, or know what that is or feels like.

"We're all different in our way of moving, talking, in our chronic pain, but I don't want you to get discouraged and feel like you're the only one with your specific troubles. The longer we're here, the more I think you'll find out that although your conditions look different, your experiences probably won't." Hyde takes a seat across from me. The rest of us remain quiet as he glances around the room. "Nova," he calls, and I startle in my seat. "Why don't you introduce yourself? Tell us your name, what you're doing here at NYU, and why you're here today."

All eyes turn to me. I awkwardly look at Isla, who gives me an encouraging smile and two inconspicuous thumbs up in her lap.

"I'm Nova Carter. This is my first year at NYU, so I'm still figuring it out." My lip pulls at the last word and I stop talking, resisting the urge to hide the spastic jerks around my mouth with my hand. "I'm here because I have cerebral palsy. It mostly manifests itself in my motor skills and mouth." I think about explaining more, but cross out the words. Every time I make an 'I' or an 'a' sound, my mouth pulls and it's embarrassing.

A short silence follows. "And, can you explain what cerebral palsy is? For those here who don't know?" Hyde asks when he realizes that was my entire introduction.

"The signals my brain sends to my muscles were damaged when I was born, due to a lack of oxygen. So, I have a lot of spasm in my body that controls the way I move and talk. And I have a lot of tension in my body."

Hyde nods his head. "Alright. Thank you for explaining, Nova, and for being here today. Isla?"

I release a breath as Isla begins to speak. When I'm talking in front of groups I tend to forget I have to breathe, too, and my entire body just freezes up until my bones feel as if they're immovable metal rods. Claire always said I should just focus on what I'm saying, but since it must look as if I get temporarily paralyzed from the neck down whenever I do, I'm not entirely certain that's the right approach.

At least it's over. I get that it's a talking group and there's a lot more speaking up for me to do, but the introductions are always the worst. I once read that people form an opinion of you within three seconds of meeting you, and my tensed body and odd voice don't really seem like they'll ever work in my favor if that's right.

"I am Isla Gallagher, I do film here at NYU. I am an ambulatory wheelchair user, so basically a part time wheelchair user. I use a wheelchair because I have arthritis and vestibular neuritis, which means that I have chronic dizziness and pain and stiffness in my joints. Usually it's an old-people thing, but here I am. Oh, and I'm here because of that. So." She nods her head awkwardly.

"Thank you for sharing, Isla. Quick question, has anybody else here heard of ambulatory wheelchair use? I know it's a pretty difficult word," says Hyde.

Most of us say no, but the other wheelchair user, a boy, raises his hand. Hyde nods at him.

"Hi, I'm Josh," he starts. "I'm majoring in psychology right now, but really I'm all over the place. Uh, I'm not an ambulatory wheelchair user. I got into an accident a few years ago, where I lost all leg function, so this thing is with me, always." He pats the wheel with his hand, smiling sheepishly. "But, I did have a question for... Isla? If that's okay?"

"Of course." Isla nods and smiles at him in the same encouraging way she smiled at me. I realize she does it to calm people, and it works.

I've always wanted to have a smile like that, but it feels like mine is just constantly crooked and wrong and it distracts from the intention behind it.

"I wanted to ask, how you decide when to use your wheelchair? And also, is it hard to navigate in New York? I know it has been for me for the longest time. I've been here for two years now and am just getting used to it." Josh glances at Hyde, but he stays out of it. Both look at Isla, expectantly.

"Well, with both of my disabilities... diseases... I never really know what to call it—" she pauses, shrugging. "But with both of them I experience frequent flare-ups of dizziness and pain. So, my usage really just depends on the day and how I'm feeling. But if I have to travel a long distance or spend a day outside I always take my chair with me.

"As for navigating New York, it's definitely a challenge. I don't have much trouble going down the streets and most of NYU's buildings have ramps, as I'm sure you know, but I do find myself having to adjust when taking public transit, for example. And since I'm only an ambulatory wheelchair user I'm not eligible to receive things like door-to-door services. So, I'm lucky in the sense that I can adjust if I have to, but New York is definitely lacking in the accessibility department and unfortunately I experience that on my worst days, pain-wise."

"Alright," Hyde says. "If no-one else has a question for Isla, we'll move onto Philip. Josh, don't worry about repeating this later, we'll just continue down the circle."

Philip waits until Hyde has turned to him and given him an encouraging nod, and then speaks. "I'm Philip. Philip Delacour. I'm in my second year here, I'm majoring in physics, and I'm doing a minor in astronomy. I'm here because I have fibromyalgia, which, simply put, is pain in my bones. It's paired with fatigue, memory issues... So, yeah."

Hyde nods and lets a moment pass, glancing around the group. "No questions for Philip? No? Alright, Moe? You're next."

I seem to be the only one with cerebral palsy in the group. I hear some names of disabilities I didn't know before, like EDS (Ethlers-Danlos Syndrome, a connective-tissue disorder) and postural tachycardia syndrome (an abnormal increase in heartrate after sitting, which sounded like it had terrible repercussions for the girl explaining it) and ankylosing spondylitis (a type of arthritis causing pain and stiffness in the spine). A lot of people in the group say they use mobility aids, like canes or leg braces. A few even admit they have a wheelchair at home for bad days, and then realize that it means that they, too, are ambulatory wheelchair users like Isla. They just never heard the term.

"I'm Emmy Lyons, I'm in my first year, and I have cerebral palsy."

The term causes me to perk up. For a split second, Emmy meets my eye.

"Nova did a pretty great job explaining it. The only thing I have to add is that I have..." she trails off, leaning forward and taking ahold of the bottom of her pants, pulling it up to reveal a black leg brace, rising from inside her shoe and clutching her shin. "Leg braces." She drops the pant leg and my eyes linger. "I got them in my junior year of high school and haven't taken them off since. It makes walking a lot easier for me. But yeah, I came here hoping to find some people to relate to."

It's noticeable that most of us are calmer, everyone realizing that nothing is out of the ordinary in this room. I feel more comfortable putting my hand flat on my leg instead of balling it into a fist to stop the trembling. Maybe it's not as constant for them as it is for me, but I think everyone knows what it's like to hurt or shake and not be able to do anything about it.

Hyde has a huge smile on his face, looking around the group. "I think you all have come to the right place," he says. "Who feels more at ease now, knowing that others experience some things that you experience as well?"

Everybody raises a hand.

"Let's break it down." Hyde puts his hands on his knees and then pushes himself off of his chair in such a swift motion that it tumbles backwards. The girl sat next to him is quick to reach out and catch it, and meets my eye with wide eyes. We both stifle a laugh as Hyde continues. "You may have felt like you were the only one growing up. But this world is wide. I hope that beyond this room, each of you will find your place like you have in here.

"Josh, Isla, Rashad, Zahara and Anita, you guys are wheelchair users, whether ambulatory or not, it might be nice to come together sometimes or direct your questions towards one another. Emmy and Nova both have cerebral palsy to similar extends, so I urge you, too, to not just limit contact to this room. Philip, your symptoms align with many others here. Use that to your advantage, right? Guys, my point is, we're a team, alright? You're not alone."

I meet Emmy by the snack table once Hyde has called in a short break before we move onto our struggles and fears. She's sliding four empty plastic cups into each other for strength. If her hands are anything like mine, it's to prevent involuntary squeezing.

Emmy looks up at me and smiles brightly. "Hey. So, um, that was crazy, right?" she asks, pouring a bit of lemonade into her cups. Benjamin seems to have consumed most of it, though.

I lean my back against the wall next to the snack table, pressing my hands between my lower back and the drywall. "Yeah. I've never met anyone with cerebral palsy, before."

The fact that Addenfield was a barely-existing town made up of three hundred people also meant that the chances of running into someone like me, or someone with a disability at all, were pretty much zero.

I'm training myself to be more vocal, knowing that being social often goes beyond exchanging simple sentences, so in the name of bonding, as Logan called it earlier, I add something to that sentence. "I've spent my entire life surrounded by able-bodied people, being the true exception, and genuinely believed that I was the only one in the whole wide world with something 'wrong' with me as a child." I try to bring it as a lighthearted joke, something easy to discuss. Emmy and I literally just met, I don't need to trauma-dump within five seconds of knowing her.

"Me, too. I was the only one in my hometown!" Emmy exclaims. When her cup's filled, she encloses two hands around it (necessarily, but she's still more composed than I am. I'm guessing she has a milder form of cerebral palsy, then) and leads us back to the circle, where we take our seats. "It's funny, because even before you hit puberty, you already experience all the terror of not wanting to be yourself, while everyone else is still playing with Barbie dolls or learning the correct terms for body parts," she continues. "I always wanted to be someone else growing up."

"So did I," I say. I don't know what to say next.

Emmy takes a sip from her drink and I glance around the room. Isla's by the door talking to Josh and Rashad, and Philip's on his phone two seats over. I notice the repetitive swipe-motions he's doing, up and down twice and to the right and to the left, over and over.

He's pretending to be occupied. But he just has no-one to talk to.

"Hey," I say, before thinking it through.

He looks up at me, startled, and immediately locks his phone. "Hi."

"Philip, right?" Emmy speaks up from next to me.

He nods at us both.

"What about you? Have you ever met someone with fibromyalgia before?" I ask him. A warmth spreads throughout my chest when I realize what I'm doing: talking to people, asking questions. Usually I'd be the one pretending to be occupied, but there's something going on with me today. This morning, my grumpy professors' class, the ache in my legs, it all feels far away because I have found something to be proud of myself for. I hate how mushy that sounds, but it's a nice thought and an even nicer feeling.

Philip shakes his head. "I mean, the symptoms, like fatigue and stuff, they're pretty common for people like us. But I've never met someone... like me, I guess."

Emmy and I both nod at that and I realize in that moment that he said people like us. My body tenses at the idea that I fall under the category of people like us, and that it's referring to my disability, something I've kind of spent my entire life feeling lonely in.

"We were just discussing that," says Emmy. "Nova's the first person with cerebral palsy I've met and vice versa."

"Your forms of it are pretty similar, too, right?" Philip asks. He seems hesitant afterward, as if it was rude to ask.

I offer him a smile to let him know it's a valid question, hoping it looks like Isla's, but it wobbles at the corners of my lips. "Yeah, they are. That's a whole other thing. Cerebral palsy is so broad, even if you meet someone who has it, chances are it looks entirely different for them than it does for you."

Philip nods slowly as I speak. "Fibromyalgia isn't like that, I don't think. But I've yet to meet anyone who has it," he tells us, shrugging.

A soft patter catches my attention. Outside, it has started to rain. It's not falling as heavily as it did when Milo and I went to Brooklyn, but it's enough to darken the world. It makes the room we're in feel so much warmer, the light still golden overhead.

Isla appears next to me again, taking her spot in between Philip and I. She follows my gaze. "I'm so glad Ben's picking me up."

"Does he have a car?" I ask.

She shakes her head deftly. "No, but he runs really fast and I always force him to push me." A fond smile grows on her face, and she turns back to us. Philip, Emmy, her and I are the only ones who've installed ourselves back in the circle. "Sorry, did I interrupt anything?"

"Not at all," says Emmy. She gestures to Philip. "We were all just talking about meeting other people with our conditions."

Philip looks relieved about being involved again as Isla turns to him. "Oh, right, you have fibromyalgia, my cousin has that, too."

"Really?" He asks.

"Yeah, so I know pretty much about it. Your story sounded super familiar and then I was like, oh, Karim has that, that's crazy."

There's always a certain feeling you get when you're told that you are, in fact, not the only person in the entire world who has a certain disability. When I met Claire for the first time, at a frail fifteen-years-old, she frequently mentioned her other patients and that she had several in surrounding towns and cities with cerebral palsy. It blew my mind. Up until that point, I'd never heard of another soul who had what I had, and hearing that they were real and they existed made me feel a million times less alone. Less singled out.

I know what Philip's feeling, then. If he's anything like me, he gets extremely lonely in his disability, especially since there's close to zero disabled representation in the media kids grow up with. Maybe, knowing that Isla casually has a cousin like him, makes him feel less odd. I hope it does. He seems like a nice guy.

"I can introduce you, sometime," says Isla with one of her famous smiles. "Can I have your Instagram? And yours, Emmy? Nova?"

We exchange usernames as Hyde ushers the others back into the circle, and later, surrounded by four new friends, I sit with my hands underneath my thighs and feel warmer inside than I thought I could in here.

When the meeting has ended, the sun has sunken significantly and the rain still falls. I follow Emmy, Philip and Isla to the lobby and we sit, waiting for Benjamin to pick Isla up again. Philip says he has nowhere to be and Emmy and I both agreed to wait out of the kindness of our hearts.

"Do you guys live on campus?" Emmy asks. She taps the toes of her feet against the edge of the coffee table and balances on the edge of her seat. Sometime earlier, she's pulled her blonde hair back into a ponytail. I wonder how she manages to get it so tight.

"My dorm's in Weinstein Hall," I tell them.

"Weinstein? Yikes," says Isla, scrunching up her nose, and the rest of us laugh.

"If you don't make that association, it's fine. It's a first-year residency building and very central, too, all my classes and the administration and stuff are super close. What about you?"

"I'm in Greenwich, which is a residency building for first-years and upperclass students," Philip says.

"I'm in Goddard," Emmy says.

We turn to Isla. "I live at home," she says. "With my parents and sister. It's close enough and just comfortable, considering..." She glances at her wheelchair, running her fingers over the wheels. I wouldn't say she seems disappointed in any way, to not be living in a dormitory, she just seems wistful.

"What's it like in a wheelchair? I'm just wondering, since you're not wheelchair-bound, do you prefer one over the other? Walking over..." Emmy trails off, not knowing for sure what to call it.

"Rolling?" Isla suggests, and laughs softly. "I don't know. I just kind of see it as a mobility aid, you know? And that's it. If I need it, I use it. The way the media portrays it is like, a wheelchair isn't a choice, and it's tragic, when five out of six wheelchair users are actually ambulatory. I don't prefer one over the other, but when it comes to the inaccessibility of the city and nasty remarks and— ugh— the constant infantilization, then yes, I'd love to just be walking all the time and not have to deal with all of that."

"And if that weren't the case? If wheelchairs were as normal as walking?" Philips asks.

"Then I'd never stand again, because it's easy and I like it. I don't want it to be sad. I want it to be like, I'm in my wheelchair today, and everyone would just be like oh, that's cool, instead of bombarding me with sad faces and apologies."

We all stare at the coffee table, and Emmy's foot tapping against the edge of it. "Have you guys ever sat in one?" Isla asks then, and the three of us shake our heads. "Philip, you first." Isla rises, wobbles on her feet for a second, and plops into the seat next to me as Philip cautiously lowers himself into her wheelchair.

"I don't know why, but I always imagined it to feel like trampoline springs. You know when you're sitting on the colored edge of the trampoline? Like that," Philip describes.

"That's oddly specific," says Emmy.

Philip blushes. "But this is comfortable," he continues. "I like it."

Isla smiles and then her smile drops, replaced by a bit of a more mortified expression. "Oh, I just remembered it probably has an imprint of my butt in it." She clasps her hands over her face, embarrassed. "I'm so sorry, I've been using it all day."

Emmy and I burst out laughing as Philip stands and looks, a grin on his face. "Yeah, that's a butt imprint," he says as Isla groans. It's the first time I've seen him genuinely amused. He has a few small laugh lines at the outer corners of his eyes, that turn to slits when he laughs.

"Nova, you go." Emmy bumps my arm with her elbow and I take Philip's place in the wheelchair.

At least Isla's butt imprint makes it more comfortable. Not that I think it really needed it— it's soft beneath me and supports my lower back just right. I have shoulder blades that stick out a lot for some reason, so not many seats are often comfortable to sit in, but Isla's wheelchair feels perfect.

"I want to be you," I tell her as she grins at me and pushes dark hair from her face. I switch with Emmy, who immediately goes 'oh, what the hell', and makes us all laugh again.

Isla takes her wheelchair back, writhing in it for a moment before settling. Her eyes follow something outside, and the expression on her face already tells me that it's Benjamin, coming to take her home. She turns to us. "It was genuinely really nice meeting all of you," she says. "I don't know about you guys, but I don't regret coming here at all. And, I'd like to hang out sometime, if you are up for it?"

All three of us agree with her and lean forward simultaneously to hug her goodbye, bumping heads on the way. We resort to a short and sort of awkward group hug, some arms lingering in the middle. This time, Isla allows Benjamin to push her and they disappear outside, Philip and Emmy following shortly after.

I have dinner alone in the dining hall, my phone in front of me. A row of blue text bubbles dominate the screen in my messages with Logan. I've asked him how the party's going and if there was any pigs blood, but he hasn't even read them.

I finish my dinner and head back to my dorm to turn in early, phone still in hand, and my entire body feeling the effects of the day. Surprisingly, Olivia's already in, painting her toenails on a small bed of old magazines on top of her duvet.

"Hey, there," she greets as I walk in. She's calmer than I'm used to, but if her day was as turbulent as mine, that comes as no surprise. There should be more recognition for how exhausting first impressions are.

"Hi." I shrug off my coat and hang it by the door, kicking off my shoes. "Ready for bed?" I notice that she's in her pajamas, her hair swirled up into a bun and her face bare. A soft melody comes from her alarm clock (that doubles as Bluetooth speaker, she told me proudly on our first night) and I recognize it as what she calls her 'drifting off to sleep playlist'.

"Ugh, so very ready." Olivia grimaces and screws her polish bottle shut, reaching over to place it in the drawer of her nightstand. "This day felt like a month. But I thought I'd wait up for you."

"Oh, thank you," I say, my face heating up at the thought that she cared enough. "You didn't have to."

"This is our first official day of classes in New York. Us girls gotta look out for each other. It's scary out there." She nods her head to the window. "Also, I like to chat before bed. Come sit."

I grin at her and change into my PJ's quickly, hopping onto my own bed and deciding to brush my teeth later, which I know will probably bite me in the butt as I'm way too tired to leave my bed once I'm properly settled in. At least I keep my makeup wipes by my bedside, so I can be slightly responsible by wiping off my mascara and eyebrow powder.

Olivia watches me from her bed across the room, fiddling with her phone as she waits for her nail polish to dry. "Um, okay," She starts, adjusting her position on her bed. "Can I ask you something weird?"

I've always thought that question sounds a bit scary. Very scary, actually. If people need to prepare you for the question you're about to get, chances are it's not a very happy question. Usually what follows is "why do you do *insert normal human thing* like that" or "would it be ableism if I *insert something blatantly ableist*". Or it's a question about myself that keeps me up at night, in either a bad or a good way (most times it's in a bad way).

I push those thoughts away. Even if Olivia continues to say something mean or inconsiderate, she wouldn't mean it that way. "Of course," I say. I ball up the dirty makeup wipe and throw it at our trash can, missing by a long shot. I try not to look embarrassed as I turn to Olivia.

She meets my eyes and then looks away. "Do you think you'd be more into stuff, like makeup, if you weren't...?"

It's not exactly something I haven't heard before. Once, a classmate in middle school looked at a drawing I was extremely proud of and said (to my face), "you'd probably be so talented if you weren't disabled". Olivia doesn't even want to use that word in fear of offending me.

"I think so," I answer. "When I was fourteen I actually had a phase where the only thing I'd watch was makeup tutorials on YouTube. But, I mean, I had to keep remembering that my hand trembled too much for things like eyeliner. I stopped because there were too many things I had to kind of cross off in my mind, just to be realistic about things."

"That sounds depressing," says Olivia. "I mean, I love makeup. I can't imagine."

"It is depressing." I laugh and upon seeing it, Olivia dares to crack a smile. 'Bonding purposes, more than one sentence', echoes in my head. I sit up in bed and Olivia, sensing there's a story coming, mirrors me. "Okay, for example, I once had a 'substitute therapist' because my usual one was on pregnancy leave, and in getting to know me she asked about my dreams and stuff and I told her I wanted to be a midwife. I've always loved babies and didn't suck at biology in school, so it was just the logical thing, you know?"

Olivia nods.

"But when my session had ended, this therapist calls in my parents and asks me to wait outside. So, in the car I asked them what she wanted to talk to them about, and they told me she suggested I couldn't be a midwife, and that the best thing for me was if they stopped encouraging me in it. I think, since I heard that, my whole attitude sort of shifted. I'd never been told I couldn't be or do something because of my disability, and it seemed like, ever since this trained professional had to tell my parents to basically stop supporting me in something they all knew I couldn't be or do, the whole world changed. Everything I thought I wanted to be sort of got ruined, because I could always think of a reason not to pursue it, and instead of being told to go after my dreams I got applauded for my realistic state of mind. I think, when you're like me, it just makes your world so much smaller. Sometimes to the point where it's suffocating."

Olivia's at a loss for words for a moment. She looks at her painted toes and wiggles them, and then looks back at me. "I never thought of it that way," she admits. "My high school had a special ed class, but to me— to someone like me they're just... the special ed kids. It's never even crossed my mind that they maybe had to be told something like that once. It seems unfair that 'normal' kids get told the sky's the limit, and others get told to be realistic and let go of their dreams at the same age."

I shrug, thinking of what Emmy said earlier today. While other kids are still playing with Barbies and learning the correct terms for body parts, we grew up wishing to be anyone else. While other kids get encouraged in whatever they want to be, we get told we can't.

"I mean, I get that it's not really something you think of when you're not disabled, or when you don't personally know someone who is."

"And it's also just that..." Olivia hesitates. "You always circle it back to yourself. Whenever I visited the special ed room, I selfishly took that moment to be grateful it was a room to visit and not to belong in." She seems embarrassed to admit it.

"That's completely normal," I assure her, smiling her way (still, it isn't like Isla's). "I just hate it when people force me in somewhat of an exemplary position. As if I'm an example of how it's not supposed to be, as if my disability is a bad choice I've made. I once explained my disability to two people who had asked about it, and one of them turned to the other when I was done talking and said, "It does humble you, right? To think about the fact that we're not like that". And their friend replied with, "Yeah, my issues seem relatively small in comparison". And they just had a whole conversation about how grateful they were right in front of me. Like, it's great to find something to be grateful for and it's great that you've come to that realization, but I don't exist to make you feel better about yourself. I'm not a self-love exercise. And I don't magically lose my ability to hear and understand what you're saying if you turn away from me."

When Olivia lies back and gazes up at the ceiling, so do I, a silence stretching between us as we both think over what I just said.

"I want to be more understanding," she says, finally. "I don't want to be one of those people."

"It's a start." I turn my head and look at her. "For what it's worth, I don't think you are one of those people. I think your effort to understand already makes you understanding."

You have two push notifications.