6 - Dispatch From a Wheelchair

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From down here, the world looks different - a new world of anti-wheel pavement cracks, curbs, stairs and swinging doors.  The world looks back at me differently too.  A few folks take no notice the approaching chair, especially when texting their way down a hallway.  This sometimes earns them an ankle ding or wheel creased toes.   “Oops, so sorry.  I’m new at this,” I say.  Hee hee.

Others go to the opposite extreme, assuming the inability to walk makes me totally helpless, both physically and mentally - so they must decide for me what I can or can’t do.  These are the ones who look over my head to ask Jean what I want for lunch.  “Tell him I want a martini, but will settle for a veggie burger,” to make the point.

But most people take the sight of a person rolling along as just another little anomaly - like hearing a foreign language or seeing red hair.  This is America 2011 - those who can’t walk aren’t locked away as an inconvenience or held back from getting into most public places.  The man-made world - parking, sidewalks, hotels, bathrooms - all have space for me, and my chair.   So, I do not have to sit home - we can head up for a favorite escape - Yosemite.

 We hit it perfect.  The fall leaves ablaze - orange, gold and red.  But the color I am drawn to is handicap blue.  It pops out when parking, when crossing the street, when looking for a toilet or boarding a bus.  It says that my fellow citizens choose to alter their world so that I, and a relatively small number of others, can join in.  Thank you.

There is even a wheelchair path to the base of Yosemite Falls (no bikes or skates).  I roll up to the rear of a group of 20-30 people all facing nature’s wide grandeur - and one man’s blight upon it.

As the group parts to let me roll to the front, I am confronted with a test of my anger management lessons - and I fail.  A young man is squatted down, large knife in hand, just finishing up a nice neat job of carving his initials into a log.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU THINKING!” I bellow.  “THIS IS A NATIONAL  FRIGGIN PARK, DAMN IT ALL - NOT SOME FREEWAY UNDERPASS!”

The crowd goes silent as the young man stands up.  My mouth continues on, “DID YOU BRING SOME SPRAY PAINT TO USE ON THE ROCKS TOO?”  With him, I now see, are 4 others, all standing and turning towards me. 

The young man shifts his knife in hand and looks to find the face of his challenger.  One of his buddies pushes toward my place in the crowd.  My thought turn to recruiting allies, “THIS PARK BELONGS TO ALL OF US, TO EVERYONE HERE!”  But the people around me stand aside and offer no support - just as they stood and offered no objection to a man defacing their park.

He is coming straight at me.  My fight-or-flight tries to kick in but running can’t happen so I cock my good leg thinking to slow him with a swift boot to the balls.  Maybe the rest of these fine citizens will then jump in to save me.   Ha!

The tree carver finds my face but can't meet my eyes.   He only sees the wheelchair.  He closes the knife and turns away. His buddy arrives, bending down over me, and meekly says his friend is sorry.

But I am still in attack mode.  My mouth unloads on the man as he walks away, “YOU SAT WATCHING HIM DO IT!  WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?”

The crowd is cowered, but in my chair I have become unassailable.  Then the crowd gets theirs, “YOU PEOPLE JUST STOOD AN LET HIM CARVE UP YOUR PARK!  YOU DON’T DESERVE THIS PARK!  TAKE SOME RESPONSIBILITY FOR WHAT IS YOURS! GROW SOME BALLS!”

 

After I roll away and return to sanity, I realize that they don’t really need balls.  Let’s face it, balls are small, fragile, and avoid conflict at all costs.  What they need are wheelchairs.

- Rabid Rod