by Michael Earp
Dad buys the “it’s for an assessment line” until I tell him it’s at the college. “What is she doing living at uni, then?” he says.
Shit! “She’s studying at uni and at TAFE,” I say quickly. “God, I don’t know, can you please drop me off?”
“Yeah, sure, little darling,” he says. “It’s good to see you getting out.”
“Dad, I’m not your little darling any more. I’m seventeen. Can we go now?”
Thankfully Drew is inside when I get there and Dad doesn’t insist on coming in, otherwise there would be more questions. He’d probably think it’s lovely that I’m hanging out with someone else “like me”. He once went on at me for a good forty minutes about how I should make friends with other people with disabilities because then I wouldn’t feel so different as they would understand what it’s like to be me. But what does he know? They might be jerks and it might be deeply awkward. Plus, just because they use a chair too doesn’t mean we’ll automatically get along. Anyway, he doesn’t need to know I’ve found someone actually cool.
I wheel into the apartment. No steps! Visiting another wheelchair user is awesome!
The living room is small and dark with the blinds drawn and someone, presumably Drew’s housemate, plays a game on the TV. They don’t look up, mumbling, “You must be Drew’s friend. Her room is down the hall, first door on the right.”
“Thanks, man,” I say, and wheel gingerly between what looks to be uni textbooks, chip packets, pizza boxes and game cases till I get to her room. I knock on the door.
“Come in,” she says from behind the door. I open it and wheel in and gasp. The walls are covered with images, big and small, of people with disabilities! There are images of people in wheelchairs, not those stock images you see online of people in daggy hospital chairs with inspirational quotes below them. There’s a big photograph of what looks to be a protest march of people with disabilities looking fierce and holding a big sign that says, “Disability rights now! Close the institutions!” There’s a photo of two parents with Down syndrome cuddling a baby, and another of a man with short arms wearing a fabulous-looking jacket. He’s staring into the camera, proudly showing off his different arms.
“Welcome,” says Drew, turning around from her computer to face me. “Make yourself at home. Do you want a drink or something?”
“I love this image,” I say, wheeling into the room and stopping under the disability rights photo.
“Yeah,” says Drew, wheeling over beside me, “it’s from the beginning of the disability rights movement in the UK, when they took to the streets to demand change.”
“It’s super cool. It’s great to see different bodies, to not feel like the odd one out all the time,” I say. “I was reading that book you recommended last night and it was so good to read about other people with disabilities just living their lives, you know, having jobs and families and feeling proud of who they are, not feeling ashamed or apologetic all the time. I haven’t read stories like that before, where disability is part of who someone is and it’s not automatically a bad thing. There weren’t any queer disabled stories though, which was disappointing. I was really wanting to find that.”
“Yeah, that doesn’t surprise me. But that, my friend, is where I can help you!” Drew wheels over to a bookshelf beside the door. She pulls out a book and hands it to me. “That should satisfy your longings, or at least get you started,” she says with a grin.
I place the book in my lap and wheel about the room, checking out the other images on the walls as Drew starts some folk music from her computer.
“Is this music okay?” she asks.
“I love folk!”
She laughs. “We are totally fitting the queer stereotype right now! All I’ve got on here is sad folk or camp coming-out songs!”
“Sounds great,” I say. “That drink would be good when you’ve got a sec.”
The rest of the evening goes by quickly. We talk about everything, from what life has been like growing up with a disability and going to a special school, to how hard it was going to a mainstream high school and being the only kid with a disability. We talk about how we both had times where we felt really alone and hopeless, especially realising we liked girls. We share our first crushes and whether we currently like anyone. I get super awkward at this point, ’cause I kinda like Drew, though I’m not sure if it’s an “I want to be you” or an “I want to bed you” crush. She asks me if I’m “out”; if people know I like girls.
I say, “Mostly, except my parents.”
She says, “When I came out to Mum, she told me not to make life harder on myself then it already was, and to keep quiet about it because it was probably a phase. Mum was scared of my life looking even more different, but she did come around in the end and now she’s proud of me. When I was with my ex-girlfriend, Sasha, Mum knew it was the real thing, that it wasn’t a phase, ’cause I wouldn’t shut up about her!” Drew smiles. “I knew Sasha was the one for me as soon as she leaned into me as we danced together drunkenly at a friend’s house party and whispered: ‘I like your rotation, babe! I like how you move in your chair! It’s damn hot!’ It’s rare to meet someone who sees my chair and likes me because of it, not in spite of it. And she was a total babe so I was a goner from that moment.”
Drew checks the clock on her computer; it’s almost 10.30 pm. She says that unfortunately she’s going to have to head to bed soon as her support worker is going to arrive to assist her. “You could crash, but I’m pretty stuffed.”
“No worries,” I say and call Dad to come collect me.
When he texts me that he’s outside, I say goodbye to Drew. She leans over the side of her chair and I slide my chair beside hers so we have an awkward/amazing hug.
Dad’s super suss on me in the car. He asks me how study went. I say, “Good, yeah, we got heaps done.”
He just goes, “Mmmm,” and we drive home in silence.
I put a late-night photo of the book Drew loaned me up on Instagram and climb into bed full of anticipation of what might be between its pages. It’s less of an erotic read than I was hoping for and more of a big ideas kind of book. But it’s still amazing! It gives me goosebumps because it hits me right in the heart with truth and I can’t wait to discuss it with Drew.
A few days pass and I don’t hear anything, though I know Drew’s about because I see photos of her exploring the town on Insta. I half consider being a weirdo and going and hanging about on campus in the hopes of running into her. I manage to keep it cool.
One afternoon she finally messages me: Wanna go to the pool together? It’d freak everyone else out, they’ll think we’re training for the Paralympics or something!
Yeah, I’d like that, I reply. Someone bought me ten free visits the other week because they thought it was super inspiring that I was swimming. Suckers, I just like the water.
As I’m heading into the pool area an older lady holds the gate open for me and says, “It’s great to see you here all the time trying your best! It must be tough and you deal with it really well …” She trails off and looks down at my wheels.
Not this again. “I’m only trying to keep fit like you,” I say.
“You’re such an inspiration!” she says as I pass her.
I look away and grimace. “Why am I an inspiration simply for going for a swim?” I say softly as I wheel towards the pool.
Drew is already in the water. All the other lanes are full. She waves at me and motions for me to come in. I quickly get dressed in my boardies and tank top, park my chair beside hers and jump out onto my hands and knees then slide into the water. Drew swims towards me and grabs on to the end of the lane to steady herself.
“Hi,” she says, out of breath. “I only got in five minutes ago but I’m totally winning by two laps. Try to catch up!” She swims away, slowly, with uneven strokes, her legs dragging along after her.
We race until she can’t take it any longer. “I give up,” she says, “the gold medal is yours
, mate. I’ll retire gracefully and make a start in the accessible shower.”
I swim a few more laps while she showers, though I’m not really swimming hard any more; my mind keeps going to thoughts of her in the shower, even as I try to not think about it. After about twenty minutes she wheels out of the bathroom, hair still dripping, and I get out and climb back in my chair. As we meet at the door she says, “I’ll wait for you and we’ll hang?”
“Totally,” I say as I wheel inside.
It feels kinda hot having a shower in the same cubicle straight after her, especially because I know she was sitting on this exact shower bench all naked and wet literally a few minutes earlier. It also feels a bit dodgy to be thinking about her like this when she’s right outside, so I force myself to stop and have the quickest shower I think I’ve ever had. I don’t want to keep her waiting or get distracted by my thoughts again. Even my feet don’t want to waste her time, and slide into my boots without their usual fuss.
When I’m done we wheel onto the oval near the pool and park our chairs. I hop out of mine and lay back with my head on my hands, looking up at the sky as it begins to get the first hint of sunset colours. Drew stays in her chair and tilts it back so she’s almost lying flat.
“Wow, that’s pretty cool,” I say. “I didn’t know powerchairs could do that!”
“Yeah, and it can make me taller!” She brings it back into a sitting position and then presses the controller. The seat rises up slowly until she is about a regular standing person’s height.
“Now that is super cool!” I say.
“Yeah, being this tall is how able-bods move through the world. It’s a whole different perspective!”
She stays like that for a moment and then slowly brings the seat back down to her regular height.
We lay and sit like that, talking about the book she loaned me until the stars come out and the mozzies begin attacking us, forcing us to head home. We have another awkward/awesome hug and before I can stop myself I say, “You smell really good.” Thankfully it’s too dark for her to see me blush.
“Thanks,” she says. “My ex used to love it, it’s called ‘just be different’, I think that’s why it suits me. My maxi taxi should be here soon. How are you getting home?”
“Oh, my place is wheeling distance from here and it’s a nice night for a stroll – I mean roll – home.” I laugh awkwardly, and wait with her till her maxi taxi turns up.
“See ya, babe!” she yells from the back of the van and I wheel into the gathering darkness.
I daydream about Drew all the way home. I imagine her holding me in her arms and what it might feel like to kiss her. Would she kiss gently or passionately and what would it feel like to run my hands over the shaved parts of her head? What kinds of sounds would she make if I kissed her? Does she think about me too?
Later in the week we agree to meet up in the less than bustling CBD of my small town so I can show Drew all the good places to go. It’s a hot, steamy day, the kind that makes me stick to the cushions of my chair with sweat and wonder if summer will ever end. We stay in the shade as much as we can and we get a few looks from curious strangers.
An older lady nods at us and gives an enthusiastic smile. “I love your hair! I wish I had the confidence to do that,” she says to Drew.
“You can! I can even tell you where to get the dye from!” Drew yells after her. “This is why I like having bright hair,” she says to me, “it puts me outside of people’s expectations of how a wheelchair user looks and gives people something to begin a conversation about other than my chair. You should really consider dyeing your hair too, then we’d really make an impression on this town!”
As we wheel around together, I realise all the shops I’ve never been in because their steps have made it impossible. I think about all the times my family and friends have gone into them while I’ve waited outside.
After about the sixth place on one street, Drew says, “You know, there are lots of buildings in this town I can’t get into, more than when I lived in the city. Or maybe not, maybe there are fewer places, but I’m really noticing it today. It really sucks, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I say, “usually when I’m wheeling around by myself I don’t even think about it. I’m sorry this is what my town is like. It’s totally ridiculous.”
“Hey, no, don’t you be sorry,” she says. “It’s not your fault, it’s the people who built these buildings; it’s their fault. They are the ones who have excluded us, not you. If they had built a few ramps we could get in. Access is not that hard, but able people, they don’t even consider it until they are living with a disability themselves.”
She’s totally right.
We decide to meet again that afternoon and see the latest X-Men movie. I’m feeling hella nervous. Like, what if this is an actual date? What if Drew tries to kiss me? I haven’t kissed a girl before! What if I stuff it up by using too much tongue, or not enough? How do girls even like to be kissed? Girls who like girls, I mean. And how do I know who should make the first move? With guys everyone says you should wait for him, but this is different.
By the time I make it to the cinema I’m literally a rolling ball of nerves, and I’m sure my legs will start shaking when I see her. She’s not there yet and the film’s about to start in ten minutes. Has she realised I’m not cool and bailed? Or maybe she’s in the accessible toilet? I hover near the ticket line and try to look relaxed and super interested in my socials. She texts to say her taxi was late and the dude took forever to harness her chair down to the floor of the cab. Grab us our tix?
I use what I call my “disability privilege” to push to the front of the line. It’s one perk. People never tell me to wait my turn; they always let me jump the queue. Guess they probably think my days are numbered or I’ve got it hard enough already or some other patronising crap. I grab our tickets and then jump the queue again at the candy counter and buy us drinks and a large popcorn. It’s only after I’ve bought them that I realise I can’t carry all this stuff on my own. Two drinks held between my thighs is my carrying limit. Damn it. Nice one, Jem.
“Do you want a hand with that? Let me carry it for you, dear,” an older lady behind me in the line says, reaching for them.
“It’s okay,” I say, “I’m waiting for my friend. I’m fine.”
Luckily at this point Drew wheels in, apologising for being late. We grab our snacks and head in. An usher escorts us to the two wheelchair spots up the back, beside each other. Drew whispers, “Man, I’m sorry I’m late. I waited for that taxi for ages and then when he did rock up he was super slow getting me in and strapped down, and he kept trying to talk to me … I don’t know, I got a bit of an odd vibe from him.”
“Yeah,” I whisper back, “he’s a total creep. He asked me if I had a boyfriend once and told me if I ever wanted to go for a drive, like with the meter off, he’d be up for it. Super gross!”
“Shhh,” says a person in front of us as the film starts.
To be honest, action films aren’t my thing. I spend the whole time hyperaware of what Drew is doing and if she is going to try to lean across and put her arm around me or something. After about an hour of nothing, other than reaching into my lap to grab popcorn, I suck it up and put my hand on her hand. Just like that. God, my palms are sweaty. I keep looking straight ahead like nothing is happening.
She looks across at me and then she says it: “Hey, I really like you, but as a mate, okay?”
Oh, god! I’m such a fool! I’ve ruined it. Of course she wouldn’t be into me.
“I need to use the loo,” I whisper and wheel out as fast as I can, not caring if my chair makes a racket on the double doors on the way out.
Thankfully no goddamn able-bod is using the accessible toilet and I can take refuge in there.
I won’t cry. I won’t.
Years of having painful therapies done to my body mean that I find getting to the point of tears hard, a fact I’m thankful for right now. But I’m ser
iously close. I’ve stuffed it up. I will never find a girlfriend. I bet she thinks I’m a total loser. I’m never coming out of here. What the hell do I do? I need to go for a wheel to clear my head. Moving my body always helps me think.
I open the door and she’s right there, waiting for me. Looking sorry for me.
“Hey, can we t–”
I don’t wait for her to finish. I’m past her and out the door. It’s starting to get dark. The cinema is on a hill, so I let myself take off at speed. I almost run into this old couple as I round the corner of the building at the bottom of the hill.
“Hey, watch where you’re going!” the woman shouts after me. “You need a licence for that thing!”
“Shut up!” I shout back. “If you can run then I’m allowed to wheel fast!”
I’m so angry right now. I never usually allow myself to get angry in public lest people think I’m angry because I’m in a wheelchair.
I’m angry at myself! I wheel the length of the street and stop to cross at the lights.
“Jem! Wait up!”
Argh! She’s following me!
If I keep “running” and she keeps chasing me, people will look. People always look extra hard when there is more than one person with a disability in public together. I take a deep breath. My damn legs are shaking. They shake when I’m upset. Big tremors are going down them, especially my left one. I press my feet hard into the base of my footplate and they slow down their shaking.
Drew wheels up to me and stops. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to give you the wrong idea. I do like you. I’m just … I’m just not looking for anything right now. But I think you’re really awesome.”
“You mean you’re not looking for anything with anyone who’s disabled,” I shoot back with tears in my eyes. “If one of those normal girls from uni came on to you, I bet you’d jump at it!”
