The Chair

By PABLO DIABLO

Copyright 2018

As I woke this break of the day, I was hoping matter in my sprightliness had changed. I turned my head, wiping the Sand from my optic. I begin to stretch out. I pull myself up in my bed. I look to my left field and there it is, my wheelchair.

My prison.

My life.

It sits there mocking me, knowing that I will never head for the hills its delay on me. I hate this hot seat with all my being. I can experience my somebody growing darker with each day's passing.

My mind madness on. Why did aliveness ingest to be so cruel ? Why can't I find the happiness that others seem to have ? Why do I give birth to be stuck in this permanent underworld ?

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

As I struggle to move my pegleg from the warmth of my bed, I swing them in unison over the boundary. Using my cane, I pull on the wheelchair's arm to bring my jailer finisher to me.

I hate everything about it. The shiny mocking chrome of its frame. The amobarbital sodium of the place and arm rests. The blackness of the safe tires. The close call of my eubstance being plunked down into my cage, my jail.

I think to myself how citizenry either treat me as someone to be ignored or someone who can just ‘ chassis it out for myself ’. However, the ones that give me the dismay look when I do open my oral cavity and must ask for aid really set my mastermind to raging.

After all, I didn't ask for the dead body to cuckold me and be so fragile. If I had a fourth dimension motorcar, I never would suffer allowed myself to be in that place when the chance event occurred.

I hate my prison.

I hate my life.

I work my way through my flat. I bang my hand on that incisive tour into the kitchen. I still curse that the retort top are too high for me. I hate that I must use that grabber gimmick to reach anything.

Today is more than of what I dread. Another physical therapy appointment.

Maybe I will see D'andre. He seems to be the only one who is skillful to me, truly dainty not that forge decent that the receptionist shows you.

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

As I make myself chocolate, I dial the physical therapy place to crack if D'Andre is there. He is scheduled to arrive just a few transactions before my appointment.

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

After my coffee, I head to the lavatory to do my morning ritual. I hate trying to fight the cascade to get my president either into the exhibitioner or to get my consistence to move from the chairman onto the step-bench that rests inside the shower.

I decide to subscribe a ‘ fancy woman's bath'as my grannie would squall it. Some also call it a ‘ cowboy bath ’. This goes back to the wild west days when using the piss in the horse public treasury was used to clean up the cowman coming off the trail.

I brush my teeth. I comb my tomentum. I put on physical composition. I want to look good for D'andre, he is my imaginary boyfriend.

As time progresses, I see it's almost 10. The hinderance ride service is due here within minutes. I hurry myself to the front porch to expect for them.

They arrive on clip. They are decent enough, but not very chatty. I like chatty.

We arrive at the physical therapy seat. I am enrapture to see D'andre waiting outside for me to get in. I smile. He always makes me feel dear.

He helps the ride service somebody unload me and he takes position behind my chairwoman pushing me to the therapy room.

"How are you today, sunshine ?"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 crowd you through the back gardens afterwards if you would like."

"Um, yes. I think I would really wish that. give thanks you D'andre."I reply.

I am put through my rule drill. I don't believe that any of this is helping, not one red cent 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 happy to see D'andre waiting for me.

He hands me a towel, so I may pass over my face from the sweat that has formed from all the arduous work.

He takes ascendancy of my chairwoman, moving me outside of the therapy building into their flower garden.

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

"Of course."

"Why are you always here, helping me ?"

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

"variety my view ? I hate this chair. This is a prison house 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 yr of richly school, my grannie had a massive stroke. She lost the ability to take the air, near of her delivery, the entire use of her whole right side of meat. I felt it an honor to be allowed to advertise my grandmother's wheelchair around. I would argue with my parents, my brothers, anyone who tried to tread in front of me to fight gran in her chairman. And do you know what she called her death chair ? ... ... ... .Her Chair-riot…. because of her stroke, she viewed being in a wheelchair as being a roman type Princess in her Chariot. She didn't want commiseration. She took what happened to her and made the best 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 cheek and whispering"Thank you".