I don't know why I’m even writing this, to be honest. It’s just… it’s stuck in my head, and it makes me feel like such a fucking asshole, you know? Like, objectively, I know it’s not rational, but every morning it’s the same goddamn thing. And I keep doing it, which is the really messed-up part. It’s about Dave. Old Man Henderson’s son, Dave. He lives in that small, single-story place next to the old mill, the one with the ramp leading up to the front door. We’ve been neighbors forever, not like close friends or anything, but you know, rural small town, everyone knows everyone's business, always waving hello when you pass by. So, Dave, he’s been in a wheelchair since that logging accident like, fifteen years ago? Maybe more. He was about my age actually, back then. A couple of years younger than me, I think. Strong as an ox, though. Remember him helping my dad with some fence mending once, just a solid dude. Anyway, since the accident, he’s just… been Dave in the chair. He’s always out on his porch, rain or shine, usually with a book or just watching the birds. It’s his spot. And his living room window faces the road, right? Like, you can see straight into it from the street if the blinds are open, which they always are. He likes the light, I guess. And me, I’m trying to get into this whole running thing. My girlfriend, Sarah, keeps saying I need to "find an outlet" for my "stress." Which, fine, whatever. It’s better than sitting around getting fat and staring at my phone, I guess. So, every morning, before the sun’s even really up, I’m out there. I do a loop. It’s about three miles, takes me twenty-five minutes if I push it. And a good chunk of that loop, the last mile or so, takes me right past Dave’s house. His window is usually the first one that’s properly lit up in the whole damn neighborhood, you can see the glow from a block away. The thing is, I’m usually feeling pretty good by that point. My lungs are burning, my legs ache, but there’s this rush, you know? Like, I’m accomplishing something. I’m moving. I’m strong. And then I hit Dave’s place. And I see him, right there in his living room. Sometimes he’s just drinking coffee, sometimes he’s watching TV, but he’s always there, in the exact same spot, in his wheelchair, looking out the window. And I’m running past, fucking *sprinting* past, feeling all this vibrant energy, and I catch his eye sometimes. We do the nod. The small town neighbor nod. But every single time, without fail, this wave of… what is it? Guilt? Shame? Just washes over me. Like I'm being a complete inconsiderate prick by just *being* able to run. By moving my legs. By feeling my heart pound from exertion. And there he is, just… there. Not moving. Not able to move. And it makes me so goddamn angry at myself. What am I supposed to do? Stop running? Go a different route? There aren’t many other options out here, it’s all dirt roads and uneven pavement and I already picked the one with the fewest potholes, so… It’s just… I feel like I'm taunting him, inadvertently. And I know it’s not on purpose, I know he probably doesn’t even think twice about it, but *I* do. Every single morning. The same fucking thought. *Look at me, Dave, I can run.* And it's not like I'm proud of it, not in that moment anyway. It feels wrong. Like a punch to the gut. Like I’m rubbing his face in something he can’t have. And then I get mad that I feel guilty, because why the fuck should I feel guilty for being able to move my own damn body? Is that normal? Does everyone get these weird, twisted feelings about completely mundane interactions? And then I finish my run, and I’m back home, and Sarah asks me how it was, and I just grunt something about "fine" and go take a shower. But that image, that feeling, it stays with me all day. This visceral flash of being a perfectly healthy, able-bodied guy, practically preening past a man who lost the use of his legs in an instant. Like I'm enjoying my physical freedom *at* him. It’s not even just about Dave, it's about the sheer unfairness of it all, and my unconscious role in making that unfairness so goddamn visible, to myself mostly. I don’t know. I just wanted to say it out loud, I guess. Or type it, whatever.