It’s What Makes Us Special
(Post book 12)
George and Harold have a little trouble cooping with ADHD, especially after having it “””Cured””” by Genius Mr.Meaner
“Man… I can’t believe our parents liked the other version of us more than the real us…” Harold said quietly, as he sat in the treehouse with George.
“I know…Do you think we’d be better off with that ‘Kid-away 2000’, or whatever it was called?” George asked, unsure.
Harold only shrugged. Of course, he wanted to say, ‘no way! We’re amazing the way we are!’, but he the other half of him wasn’t so sure.
“Well, it’s not like we can go get some more of that gas, anyway. Mr. Meaner is in jail- again. And he’s dumb again, too.” George said, giving up on his idea.
“Do you think our parents will be mad that we’re back to normal?” Harold asked, scared of the answer.
George was silent for a moment.
They both knew their parents loved them. There was no doubt of that in their minds. And they both knew their parents had no idea they were under the influence of a hypno-gas, and not changed by themselves. So the only rational thought would be that their parents simply thought they were able to control themselves better, and maybe even learning to manage their ADHD. Their parents were proud of the other versions, which meant they loved them, and wanted them to be healthy and happy.
But, as is the problem with many mental illnesses, you didn’t always think rationally.
“What if we-What if we try really hard to study and focus?” Harold asked, wringing his hands.
“But remember last time we vowed that? Our future selves were mean as Mr. Krupp!” George reminded.
Harold nodded, still not completely convinced.
“And it’s not like we don’t ever try,” George added, “We try all the time!”
“But trying doesn’t mean anything if I’m dumb enough to fail the fourth grade!” Harold yelled.
“You aren’t dumb!” George shouted back.
“Yes I am!” Harold cried, suddenly curling into a ball on his bean-bag chair, head between his knees, “You know I am!”
“No, Harold!” George said back, scooting over to Harold, worried, “I know you’re not!”
“But you’re just saying that because if you really tried and studied, you’d be fine! You could’a been in the third grade when you were in kindergarten! But I… I can’t even finish the fourth grade when I’m in fourth grade…”
George took a moment. Technically, that much was true. George was ‘smart’ enough to skip a grade (or three), when he actually put his mind to it. Albeit, kindergarten wasn’t necessarily challenging. And, yes, Harold did fail the fourth grade (in the other timeline, but still).
“But you didn’t fail! Remember! Us from a day in the future came and took those surprise test things, and we both passed, and we’re both going to fifth grade!” George said quickly.
“I’m sure I’ll be just fine in fifth grade…” Harold mumbled, hardly loud enough for George to hear.
“I’m not too excited, either…” He nodded. Although he had the smarts to do it, George’s brain wasn’t any more willing than Harold’s.
They sat together, Harold slowly moving to rest his head on George’s shoulder, in complete silence. When boys like them were silent for longer than two seconds, things were truly troubling.
“Do you think we’ll ever outgrow having ADHD?” Harold finally asked, after their long silence.
“I don’t know,” George answered honestly, “Dad has that book on ADHD, maybe that’ll know.”
“I hope so…” Harold sighed, “I don’t wanna be dumb forever.”
“You aren’t.” George said, but his voice was just as dead as Harold’s. He tried to deny it, but he was just as beaten up inside as Harold was.
Harold leaned over, reaching to give George a big hug. George could hear him sniffle, and knew Harold was crying. But then again, George was pretty sure he was crying, too.
George hugged him back, and both tried to hug away their fears.
“You aren’t dumb, either,” Harold mumbled, finally separating.
“You weren’t dumb in the first place,” George reminded with a sad, quiet laugh, “Remember what Dad said? We’re just extra creative.”
“Extra something,” Harold sighed, though with far less sorrow in his voice as ealier.
“Without people like us, there probably wouldn’t be any good jokes in the world,” George said with a faux-pride, starting to feel a little more like himself.
“Hah, yeah,” Harold nodded, rubbing the last bit of tears from his eyes, “’Cause people like us daydream up all the best ones.”
“So what, we’re not perfect little robots,” George huffed, suddenly acting like the ‘other versions’ were just annoying jerks, “But I like us-us way better than them-us. We’re a ton more fun.”
“My little sister would probably miss the drawings I give her,” Harold said, trying to add to their little comfort speech.
“Yeah!” George nodded, “ADHD is what makes us special, not bad!”
“And not dumb!” Harold said, balling his fists to force himself to believe it.
“And not dumb!” George nodded, and leaned over to give Harold another, much happier hug.