“So our presentation is called ‘Tired,’” I said.
Avery and I stood in front of Room 208 dressed as Dr. Icky-Icky and Dr. Poo-Poo. We both wore the oversize white lab coats Suzanne had gotten for us from her pharmacist friend at the hospital. There were name tags pinned to our lapels, name tags that Avery designed. We both wore large thick glasses (mine were from my second grade Harry Potter Halloween costume) and held clipboards that had the script for our presentation. I also had a metal yardstick.
“It’s called ‘Tired’ because of these,” Avery said.
I touched each of her tires with the yardstick.
Using the remote, she pressed Play.
The word TIRED appeared on the board. Then slowly, a wheelchair rolled across and bumped into the word, knocking it higher.
Avery’s a whiz. Editing, transitions, graphics, effects—she can do it all.
Avery put together the computer presentation.
I wrote the script.
Showtime:
(The words Nasty Nine appear on the board.)
Dr. Poo-Poo: The Nasty Nine? What’s the Nasty Nine, Dr. Icky-Icky?
Dr. Icky-Icky: I’m glad you asked, Dr. Poo-Poo. The Nasty Nine has to do with my tires. My tires are magnets.
Dr. Poo-Poo: Magnets?
Dr. Icky-Icky: Magnets. They attract everything. Everything sticks to them.
Dr. Poo-Poo: I know exactly what you mean.
Dr. Icky-Icky: Really, Dr. Poo-Poo? You know exactly what I mean? You know what it’s like to get mud stuck in your tires?
(Scrolling images of trucks driving through mud, Woodstock 1969, Spartan races, mud wrestling)
Dr. Poo-Poo: Stepping in mud is the worst. I have to pick it out of my sneakers with a popsicle stick. My mom bugs out when I track up the house.
Dr. Icky-Icky: You still live with your mom, Dr. Poo-Poo? Sad. Just plain sad. (Roll neck, wag finger) At least you can take off your shoes, Dr. Poo-Poo. I don’t exactly ride around with spare tires.
Dr. Poo-Poo: Stepping in gum is even worse. (Blow bubble, spit gum out) It takes forever to get it all out. Other things stick to it.
Dr. Icky-Icky: Did you not hear what I said, Dr. Poo-Poo? Were you not listening? (Roll neck, wag finger) You can take off your sneakers, Dr. Poo-Poo. You can put on another pair. I don’t push around with spare tires, and when I get gum in my tires, it also gets in my hair. (Flip hair)
Dr. Poo-Poo: When I got gum in my locks, my mom bugged out. She had to redo my hair.
Dr. Icky-Icky: Your mom still does your hair, Dr. Poo-Poo? Sad. Just plain sad.
Dr. Poo-Poo: You know what’s even worse than mud and gum?
Dr. Icky-Icky: Yes.
Dr. Poo-Poo: You do?
Dr. Icky-Icky: Of course I do, Dr. Poo-Poo.
Dr. Poo-Poo: Stepping in poop is the worst.
(Scrolling images of dogs pooping, horses pooping, pigeons pooping, elephants pooping)
Dr. Icky-Icky: Try wheeling through it. No matter how hard you try, you never get it all out. It smells terrible everywhere you go.
Dr. Poo-Poo: (Scratch head) I’m beginning to think wheeling through nasty things may be worse than stepping in them.
Dr. Icky-Icky: You think?
Dr. Poo-Poo: I do.
Dr. Icky-Icky: You still haven’t even heard the Nasty Nine.
Dr. Poo-Poo: I haven’t?
Dr. Icky-Icky: You haven’t. Except for poop. Poop makes the Nasty Nine.
Dr. Poo-Poo: What is the Nasty Nine?
Dr. Icky-Icky: The Nasty Nine are the nine grossest, most disgusting things that get in my tires. You want to hear what they are?
Dr. Poo-Poo: I do.
Dr. Icky-Icky: Step aside, Dr. Poo-Poo. Watch and try not to puke.
(Move to side. Play presentation)
You know how on SportsCenter they count down the top plays? Well, that’s what we did for our Nasty Nine.
“Nine!” I shouted.
Avery—Dr. Icky-Icky—read it. “The School Cafeteria: Or as I like to call it, the obstacle course. Do you have any idea what kids drop on the floor? Do you have any idea what I have to push through? Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, Tater Tots, applesauce, and worst of all, spilled milk. Whoever said ‘Don’t cry over spilled milk’ never had to wheel through it.”
“Eight!” everyone shouted with me.
“Winter: My least favorite season. Every trip outdoors is an adventure. Slush puddles are always deeper than you think. Always. Sand and salt always get stuck in your tread. Always. When you bring sand and salt indoors, it always scratches the floors. Always. The most important thing about winter—whatever you do, avoid yellow snow.”
“Seven!”
“Movie Theaters: Sticky soda is everywhere. Sticky popcorn butter is everywhere. Don’t believe me? The next time you go to the movies, put your palm on the floor. That’s what I’m parked in.”
“Six!”
“School Bathrooms: You think walking in the school bathroom is gross? Try rolling through it. Getting toilet paper stuck to my tires is the least of my worries. Just check out the color of the tiles by the toilets. There’s a reason I never go in there without my canister of disinfecting wipes.”
“Five!”
“Tar: On hot summer days when I’m in the city, I don’t cross the street. Why? Tar melts. That means the city street melts. That means the city street sticks to my tires. That means everything sticks to my tires. That means I’m a hot mess.”
“Four!”
“Poop and Crap: Poop and crap, poop and crap, poop and crap, poop and crap. It’s everywhere, and until you’re a wheeler, you have no clue how everywhere it is. People don’t pick up after their dogs. Bird droppings are all over. But nothing—absolutely nothing—compares to human baby poop. Trust me on this one, it’s worse than all other poop put together.”
“Three!”
“The Dead: We live among the dead. Sidewalks are cemeteries. Worms, especially on rainy days. Cockroaches, especially when it’s dark. Baby birds, especially in the spring. Yes, baby birds. Baby bird guts, baby bird heads. Chew on that.”
“Two!”
“Gas Stations: I never get out of the car at a gas station. Never. Why? One time, I pushed through oil and gasoline. That was all it took. One time. When I got back in the car, the car reeked. When I got home, the house reeked. For days. No, I never get out of the car at gas stations. Never.”
“One!”
“Glass: Why is glass number one? Not because of flat tires. Not because it gets stuck in the tread and scratches everything. But because when it gets stuck in the tread and I don’t know it’s there, I slice open my hand. Trust me, when there’s a deep cut across your palm, it’s impossible to push a wheelchair.”
The word TIRED appeared on the board again. Then our names faded. Just like that, we were done. We were finished with the project.
We did it.
As I started back to my desk, the most amazing thing of all happened: everyone in Room 208 stood and cheered.
“Way to go, Mason Irving!” Red raced up, hands raised.
We broke out our handshake: “High-five, high-five. Elbow, elbow,” we chanted. “Right, right. Left, left. Fist, fist, knuckles, blow it up. Turn, jump, bump…”
“Boo-yah!” the whole class shouted.
Red spun to Avery. “Way to go, Avery Goodman,” he said. He hugged her.
I held out my fist.
She gave me a pound. “Way to go, dude.”