Survivor
Authors: Kaye Draper
By Kaye Draper
Copyright
©
2013 Kaye
Draper
All rights Reserved
All my
complaints shrink to nothing
I’m
ashamed of all my somethings
She’s
glad for one day of comfort
Only
because she has suffered
Here she
stands today
In her
brilliant shining way
Fully
alive
More
than most
Ready to
smile
And love
life
-Flyleaf
T
he doors clattered open and I pushed my wheelchair
over the threshold. A couple of people squeezed in before me. Everyone was
always in a hurry to get where they were going. Busy, busy people with busy,
busy lives. I was slow, a roadblock. It didn’t bother me anymore. I was used
to it- for the most part.
After I got on the train, I pulled a lap throw from
my backpack and spread it over my legs. Then I settled in to read. I took a
minute to tilt the brim of my cap down to hide my face, ignoring the curious
look I got from the businesswoman seated across from me. I wore the hat for
just this reason. People always stared. Some were more obvious about it than
others. The cap made me at least
feel
like they couldn’t see me. If
they couldn’t see my face then they were just seeing
a
person in a
wheelchair, not
the
person in the wheelchair. They weren’t staring at
me.
There was a commotion on the platform, and I glanced
up. A dark-haired man in a suit was making his way down the aisle. It took me
a minute to realize that he was hurrying away from a group of men- running, but
trying not to look like he was running. He dashed onto my car just as the
doors rattled closed and the train began to move.
I don’t know why I did it. Maybe I just know how it
feels to be the underdog. For whatever reason, I lifted up my blanket and took
off my hat. The dark haired man glanced at me for a mere second before he
grabbed them and sat down on the bench next to me. He shoved the cap on his
head, squashing his shiny, dark brown hair, and tilted it down to hide his
eyes. Then he threw the blanket over his wide shoulders. By the time the
train passed the men still searching for him on the platform, he was also in
possession of my walker, unfolded and braced in front of him.
He slumped a bit and I went back to reading my book.
No one else seemed to notice. Everyone was busy. They didn’t care if he was
crazy. We were probably both crazy. After all, we both looked
disabled.
I knew from experience that many of the people around us were thinking it like
it was a dirty word. If they thought about it at all, which they probably
didn’t.
After a few minutes, the man sat up and returned my
things. His eyes were very green, and had a warm, honest look in them. He waited
while I slowly folded up the blanket and put it in my backpack, then hooked the
walker over the handles on the back of my wheelchair. Standing, he glanced outside
and rocked onto his toes- not impatient with me, I thought. Just impatient to
get off the train.
“Thank you,” he said softly. His voice was
beautiful, musical.
I nodded, reminding myself not to stare. He had a
good-natured face, with a square jaw and a couple of deep lines that bracketed
his mouth when he smiled. “No problem.” I wanted to ask him why he was
hiding, but I figured that was a rude question. I would hate to be accused of
being socially inappropriate. My therapists would be so proud.
He cocked his head to the side, studying me. “Why
did you help me?”
I glanced up at the lighted panel over the door as
the unintelligible voice announced our next stop over the crackling loudspeaker.
Glancing back at the man, I shrugged. “Sometimes I just do things without
thinking… impulsivity, I’m told.” The medical world has so many terms for
everything.
He chuckled softly. “Well, thank you…”
“Melody,” I said shyly. He was a very attractive
man, lean and graceful with a smile that went right to my heart, warming me
from the inside out. Attractive men don’t usually bother to waste time
chatting me up.
He stuck out his hand. “Melody. It’s a very pretty
name. Thank you for your help.”
I liked the way he said my name, with a little lilt
to it. When he said it, it
was
a very pretty name. I shook his hand
firmly. If I squeeze hard when I shake hands, it hides the tremors. He didn’t
seem to mind. He just squeezed back and gave me a dazzling smile.
The train came to my stop and I frowned. I hadn’t
talked to someone new in a while, but I had to get off. I started to push my
chair forward, but he stopped me, stepping in front of me to block my path. I
would be lucky if I managed to make it out the door before it closed.
“Can I push you?” His smooth voice was confident. I
beamed up at him. People have all these rules about what they can and can’t do
if you are in a wheelchair. Okay, so some people probably get all offended if you
try to help them. I don’t. I like to do things for myself, but sometimes help
is nice. Sometimes just an offer of help is nice.
“Sure,” I said eagerly. Now I could tell the ladies
at the library about the hot guy that helped me off the train. They would milk
it for hours. They were older, so they got out about as much as I did these
days.
He gently pushed me over the threshold and across
the platform, hesitating for a minute as we reached the sidewalk. He stepped
around the front of the chair, and I placed a hand on each wheel to keep from
rolling backward.
“Where are you headed from here?”
I nodded at the building behind him. “I work at the
library.”
He glanced over his shoulder toward the old brick
building and gave me a dazzling smile. “I love that old place,” he said
happily. “I’m glad it’s still being used.”
The building that housed the library had once been
the courthouse. It was a pretty structure, with lots of history. I loved the
building itself almost as much as I loved being surrounded by books. The man
stepped back and gave me a dramatic bow, won him a surprised laugh from me. “Thank
you for your help, miss Melody.”
He smiled and headed off down the street, and I
waved goodbye. I sat still for a moment, processing what had just happened. By
the time I pushed myself into motion, he had disappeared from sight, lost in
the small crowd of people rushing by on the street. It was early enough that
people were still heading to work in the mad dash to begin their busy day. It
was all too fast to me. I felt like they were all hopping about like rabbits,
while I moved at the pace of a tortoise.
Nonetheless, when I made my way into the library, I
was still smiling. Janice, one of the librarians, greeted me with surprise. “You
look great today,” she said, mirroring my smile.
I nodded at the round, grey haired woman. “It’s
going to be a good day!” I said cheerfully. One thing I had learned to accept
since my brain injury was that sometimes you have good days and sometimes you have
bad days. That the bad days were now much worse just made the good days feel
that much better by comparison. It made me appreciate the little things- like
talking to a new person on the subway, for example.
I put my things away and went to the pile of
returned books, inhaling the scent of paper and bindings, and
book
that
suffused the place. I hummed to myself as I carefully sorted the books onto the
cart to be re-shelved. I glanced at each title, keeping an eye out for stories
I hadn’t read yet. I stroked the bindings lovingly. Books had been my escape
for years now. I couldn’t do much adventuring out there in the real world, but
through books, I could go anywhere and do anything.
My job at the library was a godsend. It was one of
the few places where people didn’t care if I did things slowly. Mrs. Waverly
was waiting at the desk when I returned from shelving the books. The elderly
woman held a little scrap of paper with tiny bluebirds on it. A book title was
scrawled across it in flowery cursive. “Can you help me find this one dear?”
She had been coming to this library every Thursday for at least the last few
years.
I took the scrap of paper and wheeled out from
behind the desk. “Sure thing, Margaret. It should be right over here.” She
took her time to browse the nearby shelves and soak in the quiet atmosphere
while I wheeled over to the biography section and slowly scanned the catalog
numbers on the tidy rows of books. Finally, I saw the title I was looking
for. I locked my brakes and unbuckled my seatbelt. Using one arm, I levered myself
up just far enough out of my seat to reach the book. My legs helped but they
were weak, unable to support my weight. I plopped back down almost
immediately, book in hand.
After I checked out her books and slipped them into
her tote bag, Mrs. Waverly reached across the counter to pat my hand. “Thank you,”
she said sweetly. “Most people would get irritated with an old lady like me.”
I laughed. “I know the feeling,” I said lightly.
“And it’s no trouble at all.”
She shouldered her bag and headed for the door.
“See you next week dear.”
Throughout the day, my mind kept drifting back to
the guy from the subway. He had seemed nice. And he really was
very
attractive.
I frowned as I recalled the shady-looking men that were following him. Thanks
to my overactive imagination, I dreamed up all sorts of outlandish stories as I
went about my work. I had the guy involved with everything from a jewelry
heist to the mafia. It was better than reading a mystery novel. Only this
time, I didn’t have the ability to flip to the back of the book and see how it
ended.
*****
The next day was one of the bad days where
everything seems to take twice as long as normal and it seems like the whole
world is out to get you. I awkwardly rolled over to shut off the alarm, and
sucked in a deep breath when a spasm made my reaching arm contract painfully.
Once the muscles relaxed, I tried again… and again. It only took me three
tries today.
I sat up and pushed back the covers. The bed heaved
and Taz, my big chocolate lab mix, stuck his face in mine. I ruffled his soft
ears and he lunged to the floor and trotted out of the room. I used my hands
to move my legs to the edge of the bed where I let them fall, my feet hitting
the carpeted floor with a soft thump.
Sighing, I took a minute to just breathe. I closed
my eyes and said thanks.
Thanks for letting me wake up today. Thanks for
everything I take for granted.
I double checked the brakes on my wheelchair and
hiked myself to the edge of the bed. From there I levered myself into my
chair, scooting sideways and using my arms to do most of the work. My legs
helped, but they were lazy, weak. My brain was sending out the wrong signals,
making motor control pretty much non-existent. I sighed and re-positioned my
legs. Most people could move automatically, without thought.
I
had to
concentrate like crazy. I tried to scoot back in my seat, and flopped back
harder than I had intended. Sometimes I didn’t quite get the movement I was
going for. An inpatient doggy whine drifted to me from the kitchen and I
pushed myself into motion. “I’m coming, I’m coming. Chill.”
I grabbed some clothes out of my old, beat up
dresser and wheeled into the big, open bathroom. Thankfully, once it was
determined that my brain injury was a permanent condition, the car insurance
company had paid to make my apartment accessible. The first couple of months
after I came home had been rough. I had to have someone help me around, not
because I couldn’t do it on my own- I had been through rehab at that point- but
because there just wasn’t room for my chair or a walker. Now I didn’t have to
worry about running into doorframes or getting my wheels stuck in the tight
places.
