Clever Girl

Chapter 3 : "I don't need friends."

There's a very big oak bookcase in our living room. It surrounds our television set, and is lined with science, mathematics, world history, astrology, art literature, and the greatest works of fiction ever written. I have read every single book here, some several times.

The room itself is actually my favourite place in the entire world, and sometimes I spend hours in here, alone, reading. Those hours turn into days, which transform into years. Years that I've soaked myself into, and because of this, I have all the pages of Encyclopedia Britannica memorized. I was able to recite the periodic table, as well as the history and characteristics of each element, by the time I was seven years old.

I guess not many seven year olds can do that, so it's something I've decided to keep hidden. If anyone were to find out, they might take me away. I'd be separated from my family, and who would be left to help them? Who would raise Matty?

"Veronica, how many times have you read that book now?" my dad asks as he rides into the room. After he lost sensation in most of his body, and after a full year of me working every single day after school, all of us saving up as much as we can, we purchased a Smart wheelchair. It allows my dad to move about on his own if he chooses. He can either blow into a thin straw in varying breaths that determine direction, or move his head in the direction he wants to roll. Most of the time I push him, to help him get places faster, but he doesn't like that. So even though it's Saturday and I'm home, I've let him roam about by himself.

Today I'm reading The Sixth Extinction by Elizabeth Kolbert. Fittingly, it's my sixth time reading it. "Six times, and counting."

"It's a great read, but don't you think you should read something new?"

"Like what? I've read everything in the house already."

"I'm sure there's a book out there that we don't have."

That would mean either going outside and heading for the town's library, or ordering books online. I can't waste money like, and I can't leave home for something so trivial. "It's not a big deal, dad. I'm about to start cleaning anyway."

"Your birthday's coming up. As my gift to you, how about a shopping spree for some new books?"

"Or you can save that money and make sure we have enough to pay your nurse next month." There are certain things I can't do, even if I wanted to, and most of those things are covered by a private nurse. It's expensive, but I balance the checkbooks and I know where all the money's going, so I know exactly what we can afford, and what we can do without.

"How about one of those Kindles then?"

"You know how I feel about those. They're the death of libraries, of hardcopies and first editions. And most importantly, of that amazing new book smell."

"You've always been very stubborn, Veronica. Just like your mother," he says with a warm smile.

"Like my mother? You're just as stubborn. You've raised a very stubborn family, dad."

"And you've got her wit too."

We remain in verbal silence for a while. He has driven his chair to our bookcase, and I hear it move every few minutes. As I read through the pages of my book, I wonder what it must be like to be him, to see the titles of each work, but not be able to reach out and take it. To watch as others go about their day, but never be a part of it. It's something I try to image sometimes - to be him, or to be my mom. To move in a different way, to think of different things, to cry for different reasons than the everyday person.

I have never considered our family to be underprivileged. I think we have more than millions around the world; we have this house, always enough food, and each other. I've always considered myself lucky to have them, but what about them? Do they consider themselves lucky? No, how can they? I don't know, and no matter how hard I try, I won't ever comprehend what they go through.