The Chair

By PABLO DIABLO

right of first publication 2018

As I woke this aurora, I was hoping matter in my life had changed. I turned my head, wiping the moxie from my eyes. I begin to stretch. I pull myself up in my bed. I look to my left and there it is, my wheelchair.

My prison.

My life.

It sits there mocking me, knowing that I will never break loose its hold on me. I hate this chair with all my being. I can sense my soul growing darker with each day's passing.

My head rages on. Why did life-time have to be so cruel ? Why can't I find the happiness that others seem to have ? Why do I make to be stuck in this permanent snake pit ?

"Why does God hate me ?"I say out loud.

As I struggle to affect my branch from the fondness of my bed, I swing them in unison over the border. Using my cane, I pull on the wheelchair's arm to bestow my turnkey closer to me.

I hate everything about it. The shining mocking chrome of its frame. The blue of the seat and arm rest period. The blackness of the natural rubber tires. The squeak of my organic structure being plunked down into my cage, my jail.

I think to myself how people either treat me as person to be ignored or individual who can just ‘ figure it out for myself ’. However, the ones that give me the horrified feeling when I do open my mouth and must ask for help really set my mind to raging.

After all, I didn't ask for the body to betray me and be so fragile. If I had a time machine, I never would have allowed myself to be in that place when the accident occurred.

I hate my prison.

I hate my life.

I work my way through my apartment. I bang my hand on that astute turn into the kitchen. I still curse that the counter acme are too high for me. I hate that I must use that grabber device to hit anything.

Today is more of what I dread. Another physical therapy naming.

Maybe I will see D'andre. He seems to be the lone one who is nice to me, truly nice not that fake Nice that the receptionist shows you.

D'andre, D'andre please be there today.

As I make myself coffee, I dial the physical therapy place to match if D'Andre is there. He is scheduled to get just a few minutes before my appointment.

I call the ‘ dial a ride'service to schedule them to come in get me about 10am.

After my coffee, I head to the bath to do my morning ritual. I hate trying to fight the shower to get my chair either into the shower or to get my body to move from the chair onto the step-bench that rests inside the shower.

I decide to take a ‘ whore's bathroom'as my grandmother would forebode it. Some also call it a ‘ cowboy bath ’. This goes back to the wild Rebecca West days when using the piddle in the horse cavalry troughs was used to clean house up the cowhand coming off the trail.

I brush my dentition. I comb my hair. I put on make-up. I want to attend good for D'andre, he is my imaginary boyfriend.

As time progresses, I see it's almost 10. The hindrance ride service is due here within mo. I hurry myself to the forepart porch to hold off for them.

They arrive on prison term. They are nice enough, but not very talky. I like chatty.

We arrive at the physical therapy place. I am delighted to see D'andre waiting outside for me to arrive. I smile. He always makes me feel good.

He helps the drive service person unload me and he takes position behind my professorship pushing me to the therapy room.

"How are you today, sunniness ?"D'andre asks.

"Better now that I see your smiling face."

"Wonderful ! Let's get you through the therapy today, then I was going to push you through the back gardens afterwards if you would like."

"Um, yes. I think I would really like that. Thank you D'andre."I reply.

I am put through my normal physical exertion. I don't believe that any of this is helping, not one shit bit. Yet, I do them anyways. Why ? Because I don't want D'andre to see me not try.

As we come to the end of my therapy, I'm felicitous to see D'andre waiting for me.

He hands me a towel, so I may pass over my brass from the travail that has formed from all the hard work.

He takes controller of my chair, moving me outside of the therapy building into their heyday garden.

"D'andre, may I ask you a personal question ?"

"Of course."

"Why are you always here, helping me ?"

"fountainhead, I see someone whom you don't see. I see a beautiful, powerful, opinionated woman that just needs to change her view."

"Change my view ? I hate this chair. This is a prison I will never get out of. You really don't understand at all."I bark back.

"OK, let me try it this way then. When I was in my senior year of high schooltime, my Granny had a massive cerebrovascular accident. She lost the power to walk, most of her speech, the entire use of her wholly right side. I felt it an honor to be allowed to push my Granny's wheelchair around. I would argue with my parents, my brothers, anyone who tried to step in front of me to push nan in her death chair. And do you cognise what she called her chair ? ... ... ... .Her Chair-riot…. because of her stroke, she viewed being in a wheelchair as being a Roman Princess in her Chariot. She didn't want commiseration. She took what happened to her and made the well out of it. That is what you need, to find your positive."D'andre said.

I reached up and pulled him down to me, kissing his impertinence and whispering"Thank you".