She’d been paralyzed in an accident as a young child. I knew that detail, but knowing one fact about someone’s life doesn’t mean understanding their daily struggles.
“What happened to her chair?”
Alejandro leaned against the doorway and began explaining quickly, as though he needed to finish before I decided he was in trouble.
The wheels jammed. The seams were splitting. Rust covered sections of the frame.
“She can barely get between classrooms sometimes.”
I imagined the crowded hallways, students rushing in groups to reach their next classes before the bell.
“She missed lunch twice last week,” he said. “It took her too long to get across the building.”
“Did anybody know?”
“She keeps saying she’s fine.”
He rubbed his thumb along the doorframe.
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