I still can’t figure out why my brother doesn’t hate me.
If I were in his position, I would be so angry that I would want to hate him for the rest of my life.
I couldn’t believe that he was sitting in that wheelchair and he still wants to talk to me. It’s my fault that he is in that wheelchair. He has been there since he was thirteen and I was sixteen. It all started out when mom and dad gave me a car for my sixteenth birthday present. They told me I had to pay for my insurance and be responsible. I worked hard to make sure I took care of that car. I also worked hard to show it off. I loved to dance in my seat while I was driving. The music was loud and the air conditioning was blasting. I often played with the radio, searching for music that I liked. When my girlfriend got in the car, I would lower the thermostat so it was even cooler. I wanted the air conditioning as low as I could get it so she would have to cuddle up to me. It got to the point that I didn’t even need to look at the HVAC unit to change the thermostat. I had my brother with me one afternoon. He said it was too cold in the car. I was used to turning the thermostat down and not off. I had to look at the HVAC controls to see what I was doing. By the time my brother yelled, it was too late. I had swerved off the road, and right into a tree.