"...And...I think that's all...Oh, wait, we also watched a documentary about microplastics."

Timmy was aware that the doctor was not actually interested in what he had done at school that week, but it was a mere excuse to hear him talk , so he gave her all kinds of detail, even what he had had for lunch and the shenanigans of his classmates.

She stared at him in silence and Timmy and his parents waited expectantly.

"...Mr. and Mrs. Burch, could you come out with me for a second?"

The two adults nodded, visibly confused.

"Thank you, Timmy. Stay here, please. It will only be a moment." With that said, the doctor walked out and closed the door.

Timmy stayed right where he was, his hands on his lap.

"Let me be frank, I have been working in this field for over thirty years and I have never seen anything like this before. I am astonished, I really am."

"Helen?"

"Well, I just don't know how this is possible. I know Timmy's condition, I've been supervising him since you moved to Colorado. I am aware that his is a complex case, since your condition is hereditary and there are some many disorders to add. As much treatment we gave him, he would have never been able to talk fluently or even move in such a way. And the bullet to his head should have worsened the situation."

"Helen?"

"No, absolutely! But it is still...shocking. I know Timmy has made a great effort to recover, but that...shouldn't have been enough. If I may, I would like to monitor his advances along with some other professionals. I want to know what exactly happened to the part of his brain which was affected, because...well...I think it is evident something happened there. Something I want to explain. That way, we will know for sure this is a change for good and it is not going to hurt Timmy…"

"Richard…"

Timmy sighed. He was impatiently waiting for the adults to come back in and tell him what was going on. He was the patient after all: it affected him directly. If there was something bad going on, he had to know.

But he had this feeling that it was nothing bad. For once in his life, the mental fog was gone. He could think complex thoughts. He had full control of his body, so he didn't shake anymore or had those involuntary moves. He could articulate the words which usually struggled to come out of his mouth. He had never felt like this in his life, and it was so great. It couldn't be such a bad thing.

There was just something he yet had to do, which he wanted to tell the doctor but didn't do, because his parents were present and he had made them a promise. He wanted to fully control his body.

He knew he could. He had this optimism from the results he had already achieved and felt lucid enough to try.

Last time he had tried to stand up was years before, when Cartman created that church and made him go to that stage to shout at him that the Lord was with him and would make him walk. He took a few steps, he did. Sure he ended up falling, but he didn't have back then what he had now. The power was inside of him. He felt it. Now, he could do it.

It was his chance, now that his parents and the doctor were outside. Timmy took deep breath and started rising. His legs barely had any muscle, since they had never been of any use and those angry taxi drivers once broke them; he hoped they were still connected to his brain. Someone once told him that he was born without that connection, but he knew it was there, just very weak, maybe. He trusted his feelings more than whatever someone, as many diplomas they had, could tell him.

He felt movement inside of his shoes.

With his hands on the arms of his wheelchair for support, he raised his behind.

Come on.

One foot touched the floor. Then the other.

He straightened his back. And with that, he was standing.

His body was trembling, feeling like if the floor was made of jelly.

He removed his hands from the wheelchair slowly.

He felt he was falling for a second, he wobbled.

The doctor and his parents came back in, silent, trying to smile so that it appeared like they had been talking about unimportant stuff.

They stopped their track. Mrs. Burch gasped and jumped a bit in her seat, extending her arms to her son in an impulsive reflex. But they still didn't say anything. They couldn't. All they could do was to observe the boy who stood there firmly, looking at them with a bright, proud smile, and let it convince them that a full study was in order.