I Survived (Steve)

It was time for group therapy and the reporters (Seriously, who let those guys in?) took flashing pictures of me for about the tenth time today. The nurses managed to shoo them out after a while. Everyone looked better, honestly. Andras, however, was trying to keep himself in his seat. He looked like he defeated ten creepers in one hit. After running around the room for about ten laps, he sat down eagerly and then quietly took a pill. This would be my last session. Now, it was just me, Andras, and two other new people. Andras and I had become great friends in this time. He spoke for me when I couldn't and I did the same for him. Speaking of speaking, I got my device and I'm excited to try it.

Now that I had my device, I had to learn how to use it. Unfortunately, I have to use this annoying "level system" in which I had to regurgitate stuff in order to move up a level to earn more buttons. One gets sick of only asking for water and completing nonsense tasks just to prove one's self worthy of basic communication. Forget about using complex musical terms. Some of them aren't even in the packs! How am I supposed to teach my students how to paradiddle like this?

Ugh...
 
We exchanged hugs and farewells. Even those who did not know me bombarded me with embraces. A bittersweet feeling drifted around me, bitter in that I was leaving, and sweet in that I got most of my old self back and I can finally communicate properly! The anti-anxiety medication seemed to be working, but it feels like there are weights on my legs. I missed my band's last concert and didn't even realize that my birthday had passed.

Oh, well. At least I wasn't dead, thanks to the person who saved me. I wonder what they have inside that others don't. Andras came to me and said something I will never forget.
          "Thank you." He paused and bowed. "Your Majesty." Whoa there, Andras! I looked down at myself wondering how I could even resemble a king. I mean, jeans and a T shirt don't exactly scream "regal".  The Minecraftian monarchy has long been dissolved and we basically had no government except for the police and the schools. Considering our history with the Eight Minecraftian Wars and the countless little skirmishes that broke out, reinstating the monarchy was a bad idea. Even so, I could never be any sort of political figure. The power would get to my head and I'd destroy Minecraft like all the other previous kings have.

I guess I made the news again. Unflattering photos of me were plastered all over the television screen. Seriously, I did not consent to that! No one would consent to that! Speaking of consent, I said "No" to doing this stupid "communication levels" system and they still made me do it. They told me to "state an adequate reason" for refusing their system. As if being pitied and told I wasn't worthy of what I see as a basic sapient species (I changed from 'human' because it reinforces that other species who have similar capacities to humans should not be treated as such.) wasn't a valid enough reason!

What would Caitlin think of the new me? Surely she loves my true self as much as she loved my heroic persona. There is no better feeling than when she leans on me and falls asleep. Oddly enough, I feel safer like that. It could be the effect of just weight and warmth, but a heated, weighted blanket would not have nearly the same effect. I missed the way she curled up next to me. That was a reminder that it should be me. It should be me helping her up steps that lacked handrails, calling 911 when she stopped breathing, and telling reporters that use flash photography to stop. Many people could do a better job, but it should be me. I don't know why, but I know it should be me.

Caitlin came in through the door. The increased spread in her gait told me she was tired from walking the long distance to the hospital. I took in the familiar flush on her End stone skin, the way she pulled her black waist-length hair into an utterly baffling side braid, and her eyes. She had eyes that, at the same, conveyed complete innocence, yet held knowledge of all the world's hardships. We embraced right then and there in the hallway and left.

The scent of the outside air and the heat of the sun welcomed me with open arms. I swear orchestral swells were going in my head at that moment. I've played some of those. I felt Caitlin's hand squeeze mine. She smiled up at me reassuringly. The utter joy she had just in seeing me was enough to make me think: Why did I even try to die in the first place?

She told me about how Alice found me in my office unconscious and slumped over my desk (How did I not fall off?). So it was Alice. I thought it was Caitlin, but no. It was Alice. Had I attempted the day before, I probably would have been dead. I wondered how other seventh graders would have reacted in similar situations. They would probably scream or panic. Alice, however, is clearly more developed in character than even some of the teachers. She did what she had to do. I worried, however, about the effect this would have on her. Alice has a steel trap for a brain with regard to specific events of her life. Add her tendency towards analysis of these events and those events will come back to haunt her for the rest of her life.

What baffles me is that Alice's mother uses her chronic pain as an excuse to justify emotionally abusing Alice. Alice confessed this to me on a particularly bad day. She worried that I would back her mother up. I saw no reason to. My father developed chronic pain and, even when it was unbearable, he still made some effort to display some iota of compassion. It bothered me that I could never ease it, but his life was a reminder to me to be kind to others, even in my worst moments.

Caitlin needed to sit down. Though I was not tired myself, I sat with her. The labored breathing that followed worried me. Her hands were shaking, definitely too much to use an inhaler properly. Overall, she looked racked with anxiety. She shifted and looked up at me as if to ask me for a hug. Gladly, I obliged. She got to a point where she could use it properly. After that, she got up and we continued. Even if I could never get the old Steve back, I could find pieces of him and use them when it is convenient.

Alex ran up and greeted me. Despite her endless energy, she had a calming effect on others that I couldn't really place. I missed that. She had three others by her side. Alice I knew because she was in band. A boy on forearm crutches wearing shorts, a rather nondescript T shirt, and a cat backpack approached me with a dopey smile. He looked familiar, like I've seen him before. He re-introduced himself as Nathan Takeda. Now, I recognized him! I subbed for his band. The director has a reputation for driving her students into depression with her quixotic standards. Nathan, however, seems to be immune to those effects.

A dark-skinned girl who couldn't have been more than eight greeted me. I could see the fire in her eyes. Carmen Proctor, she was. Judging by the case, which looked comically large at her side, she played clarinet.
          "Are you coming to the recital? Come on!" The rest of us tried to keep up with her. I started missing my old self less and less.