lynnifer
02-08-2011, 01:53 AM
I was looking around on my laptop tonight, which usually sits and collects dust in my bedroom. I found an old short story that I had written 2 or 3 years ago - I remember it was when I was stuck in bed trying to heal my foot.
I remember showing it to 2 co-workers. One was thoroughly impressed and asked if I had more. No comments good or bad from the other. I'm embarressed to show it ... I actually like to take my own memories of actual events but embellish them with sci-fi or horror themes. I wasn't sure who my readers would be, but after going over it a few times, it reads like an adolescent's book. I've taken many stabs at writing over the years but I get frustrated and drop it. I used to have a bunch of small files on my computer but got frustrated one day and erased everything. I kept this one for some reason. There's more but I'm only showing a partial of it. I'm not happy with where I went with the fictional part, but I hope you enjoy some of it anyway. It was how I actually suffered inside with my adult thought processes.
(c) Jennifer Spence
It wasn’t raining anymore.
“Okay, so, we’ll be back later. Are you sure you’re going to be alright at home?” My mother had been testing me during these past few weeks, since returning home from the hospital. Here I was, a grown thirteen-year-old, and she wondered if I’d be okay at our family farm for an afternoon. Hadn’t I been alone here before? We all knew what was different, but we never spoke of it.
I was mildly irritated with her, but then again I was frustrated with everyone and everything as of late. “Yeah, I’ll be fine …” I trailed off as I lowered my chin onto my crossed arms, which were situated on the back of a kitchen chair. I started to roll away backwards so I returned to my former position and engaged the brake.
She hesitated at the door with her body pointed to leave, with one hand on the screen door. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, mother,” I sighed with that eternal teenage angst. My eyes, as if magnified to the ceiling, rolled as my jaw set and my lips formed a straight line. All that was missing was the stamping of my feet.
I didn’t want to go with them. I couldn’t get used to the chair in public.
My parents never failed a routine. They went for a drive every Sunday afternoon, after church. I could thank God I got out of that particular routine because the church wasn’t wheelchair accessible. There had to be a perk besides the parking spots. My parents were the epitome of ‘Sunday drivers,’ as my father would cruise at or below the speed limit. Oh no, never above it - not on a Sunday! Who was I fooling? He never went over the speed limit any day of the week. The excuses always fell short of reason, but always equaled time spent together. They might look at a tractor forty minutes away in Tilbury or a car lot in Chatham. Perhaps it was time to retrieve apples at the orchard in Cedar Springs or go for ice cream near the lake. Since I could no longer walk, I couldn’t sit in the back seat of the family car anymore. It was just too difficult to try and lift over the back wheel hub, so I had inadvertently relocated my mother to the back seat while I sat shot-gun with dad. Not that I liked it up there. Not that I would have sat up there ever again, if I’d had the power to change things. None of us had that power.
I had cringed all week long at the thought, hesitantly wondering if they’d make me go with them again. Last Sunday was a nightmare. I thought it was safe, just sitting in the front passenger seat of the car looking normal through the car window at the passersby. No one could tell there was anything wrong with me sitting in the car at traffic lights, looking around like everyone else. Suddenly, I remembered that I needed deodorant. If I was going to go back to school, the least I could do was play my part and not stink up the place with my interrupted and unpredictable hormone growth. My mother had enquired as to which kind I preferred and I didn’t have an answer. She seized her opportunity. I hated getting out of the car, especially in a bulky jacket. I hated getting into my wheelchair. I hated lifting those ‘Benedict Arnold’ legs of mine that were as inanimate as the aluminum and steel wheelchair I sat in. The motion sickness was not something I was used to yet. Looking back, if I had tried to look up in the direction where I was going, instead of eyes cast down on the ground all the time, I probably wouldn’t have felt sick at all. I couldn’t though; the stares were too much for this rattled teenager with robbed self-esteem.
So there I was. My father holding the door and my mother in front of me making sure items were removed from the path of my wheelchair. I reluctantly wheeled through the narrow doorway into the franchised drug store, known for its giant red sign. The cold hand-rims of my wheels barely scrapped the metal framework on the door. I was already an expert at removing my hands before I smooshed them. It was just another example of why people like me should stay at home. While my father walked ten feet behind us and my mother constantly looked at the aisle widths and adjusted the merchandise so I could follow her, I was horribly conscious of the stares. Young, old, fat, thin, beautiful or ugly, I was still the odd-person out. I had to remind myself to breathe. I was high-strung aware of the silence that had drifted into the store, my very presence the fog.
“Why don’t you pick one out while I do some other shopping and I’ll come back?” my mother inquired. She barely gave me time to answer before she turned to leave. She was crafty when she had her mind set on a mission.
“Yeah, sure,” I barely whispered. I watched her disappear at the end of the aisle with just my eyes. I didn’t want to move so I darted my eyes back to the floor and tightened my grasp on the wheels of my chair. I could sense that my knuckles were white. Like hawks on a piece of road-kill, both ends of the aisle quickly filled up with my mortal enemies: the people that stare. My peripheral vision was certainly intact and working at high function. It really was one of the worst things about being in a wheelchair. The day would come where I could hold my gaze with theirs with a power that overcame their own gumption, but today was sadly not that day. I shrunk into my seat and searched the shelves to realize that the deodorants were divided into male and female products. I quickly reached for one of the pink deodorants from the shelf. I picked it because I could relate to the feeling its name implied. I held my own secrets that no one could relate to and I could never share them with anyone. I set it upon my lap and turned my wheelchair to leave the aisle and find my parents. When I swung the front part of my chair sideways by turning each wheel in the opposite direction, I almost took out a middle-aged woman by her legs. “Sorry,” I muttered sheepishly. Teenagers never watched where they were going and in that regard, I was no different. She just smiled and continued on her hunt for the perfect scent. I cast my face downwards again and slowly wheeled to the end of the aisle. Coke-Cola boxes were everywhere. I tried to fit through the product arrangement but the outside corners of the footrest of my chair kept catching on the boxes and I would retreat to try forward again. I wasn’t going to fit. Quickly, I turned my chair around – looking behind me first this time – and pushed through the empty place towards the other end of the aisle. The shelves came closer together here and I certainly had not come in this way. There was no way the width of my chair was going to fit through here. My back wheels completely blocked me from squeezing through. Frustrated, I sprinted back to the other end again and tried unsuccessfully to maneuver through the boxes of pop. I suddenly hated Coke and promised myself I would never consume it again, ever. I hated the colour red. In fact, I hated this store. Just then, my mother and father showed up on the scene. A chubby, dark-haired manager wearing a golf shirt in that newly hated colour stacked another box of evil drink over the first ones that trapped me. I gave my mother a look of longing and looked towards the door. She could see I couldn’t get through. An argument erupted. A scene ensued and more mortal enemies, the starers, surrounded us. My mother yelled and my father retreated like he didn’t know who we even were. I leaned over my lap and buried my face in my hands. My mortification was complete. It had been a quiet ride home in the car.
So I was happy that I wasn’t going to have the chance to repeat that episode. I sat in the kitchen doorway, looking straight through the screened glass door and waved, just in time, as I saw the flash of brown that was the Ford Granada head down the barely graveled driveway with a trail of swirling dust. I backed up, turned around and wheeled quickly to the large dining room window in front, just in time to see them turn left from the end of the driveway. So they were headed to Blenheim then; right would have meant Ridgetown. I got the feeling they were going to take their time then; good. I continued to watch as they approached and rounded the precarious S-turn on our lonely gravel road.
Exultation quickly turned to worry. The heavy blanket of silence was deafening. I slowly turned around and looked back towards the kitchen. I cast my glance to the right and wheeled over the doorway hump into the living room, intent on turning on the television. I then remembered it was early Sunday afternoon. There would be nothing on but the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat. No, I couldn’t handle that just yet. I missed baseball a lot, never mind any other sport that I would never do again. I wheeled back to the dining room and flipped open the long door of the piano. A high-pitched clink sounded throughout the empty farmhouse as I imagined an echo. I struck a different key that resonated a higher tone. I didn’t want to play the piano either. I would have had four years of training but the fourth year involved the pedals so that was out. No stone was left unturned in the slow destruction of the life I once knew. I closed the piano with a heavy sigh and backed away, wondering what to do next. I knew what I wanted to do but I wasn’t sure I could actually accomplish it so I wheeled back to the living room. I wheeled to each window, looking outside on three sides of the farm house. Out front was the driveway. The side view showed the precarious corner where at least five people would end up in the ditch every winter. Another side view showed where the boys would unload wood into the basement below for the furnace. The back view showed the expanse of the farm, and the fields thereafter. It was then that I panicked. What about the highway? It wasn’t unusual for some random stranger either broke down or lost in their vehicle to make their way by foot to our farmhouse. I whipped my chair into action and without worry of taking anyone out with my wheelchair as a weapon, I rounded the corner by letting my hand trace the wall and pulled at the last second to whip the chair and my body around the corner with me. I never tired of that. I coasted to the wooden door and slammed it shut. It was a funny lock where you had to push in the doorknob and turn, but I managed it on the first try. I felt the air lock in the room with a final click. Aha! I was safe. From what, I wasn’t sure but no one was getting inside. This time I turned my chair around with purpose and went to find my schoolbooks. I had to somehow become a nerd because I wasn't going to be the popular, funny girl anymore.
It was almost mid-afternoon and I was chewing on the eraser at the end of my pencil. I hated math and felt it completely useless. I was, however, noticeably bored. I could actually hear the audible click of the second hand on the kitchen clock. This was ridiculous. What I really wanted was to go outside and explore the back of the farm. When I used to walk, I would go back there to the old barns and dare myself to go inside those old, dark and dusty ruins. Every horror movie I had ever seen would suddenly come to life, but I never failed to notice something new, before fear would chase me out. While my round wheels would forbid me from getting over the ancient concrete step outside the door of the old horse barn, I could look through its large window at the rotting hay that had been there for decades. The horses were long gone, since my sister had moved out. I had been promised a horse when I turned age twelve, but instead I had inadvertently garnered the chariot I sat in, whether I liked it or not.
I wasn’t sure I could even get out the door by myself. The wooden door could turn on its hinge and align with the wall, completely out of my way so that wasn’t a problem. I would have to unhook the screen door and its spring hinge would propose a problem for me getting out. The short ramp from the lip of the doorway was steep and required that I give a shove of my body weight with the chair to get up or down it. The temptation was filling me up, like pouring water into a glass. I threw down the pencil and heard it roll and stop on a book so it couldn’t hit the floor. I looked out the kitchen window over the sink. I was too short to see anything of substance but what I needed to see was the sky. There was a dark cloud rolling in and I remembered that mom and dad had said it would rain later. There wouldn’t be an opportunity like this in a long time. It was now or never.
I decided it was now. With a fervor that had been missing up until now, I grabbed my denim jacket from the back of a kitchen chair and inserted one arm. Timed perfectly, I whipped the other half behind and around me so I could catch the corner of the jacket and find the other arm-hole. It was a trick I had learned from another patient in a wheelchair during my months-long stay at the hospital. Buttoned, tucked and ready, I faced the wooden door. I cast another glance towards the sink window and looked up towards the sky. It was graying. I would have just enough time to defeat my demon of fear.
I unlocked and opened the first door, pushing it so it stayed back against the wall. I sat still and listened for any approaching cars on our solitary gravel road, but there was nothing. I touched the cool handle of the screen door – such a familiar action from my old life - and swung it outwards. I pulled my chair into position at the height of the door-lip and set the brakes. I leaned forward, careful not to dump myself out, and pushed on the container that held the spring for the door. I held the cylinder while I unhooked the latch from the end closest to me and the door became lax. I couldn’t leave frontwards because of the height of the ramp. I had tried once and had slowly slid forward from the seat of my wheelchair, without my legs to stop me with support so that lesson had been learned the hard way via face-plant. I whipped my chair around so I was backwards against the doorway. I pulled heavily to get me over the lip of the doorway. Success! I put the brakes on and looked at the cylinder of the screen door, which threatened to stick out and into my spoked wheels or cut my left hand. I pushed the screen door as far back as it would go while holding the cylinder and then inched down with my hand towards the brake of my chair. With my first two fingers, I disengaged the brake and let myself slide out of the doorway and down the ramp onto the top of the concrete platform of the stairs. One turn too much and I would end up face first down a flight of five cold and unforgiving cement stairs. I wedged myself diagonally into the wooden ramp that was attached to the house and swung the screen door shut, just touching the tips of my shoes that were sticking out from the footrests of my early eighties Quickie 2HP wheelchair.
The fresh air enveloped me. I smiled in spite of myself. I inhaled deeply and could smell the autumn air. The hand-rims of my chair immediately turned cool, but not so cold that I needed gloves. I was glad to have my jacket though. Positioning myself parallel to the wooden rails of the newly constructed ramp, I slowly eased down the ramp ten feet backwards to the waiting platform where I could turn and make the rest of the way forward. My feet barely scraped the corners as my chair was just the perfect fit. The ramp had been built in one afternoon by three men, after the new construction of a more modern kitchen. It was dumb luck that the new digs accommodated more room, and therefore my new appliance. I reached the bleached and even patio stones and sat stock still. I looked one way and could see the burner barrel, the asparagus patch as well as the fruit trees. The soybeans had been harvested. My dad’s old, blue Ford truck lay before me. It was his work and farm vehicle. Looking towards the right, I saw a pile of freshly cut wood stacked against our huge maple tree. I saw the bushes that separated the house from the field. Beyond that, was the cornfield where I had gone missing once, as a child. I unintentionally shuddered at the thought and looked straight before me to the back of the farm. There was a yard of drying autumn grass back there where farming equipment was parked when it wasn’t put away for the season in the big, domed steel barn. I could do this. I was going to do this. Move!
I wheeled to the end of the patio stones and let myself drop off. It took effort to pull the back wheels of the chair up and over that uneven spot, but I had done it before so I knew returning wouldn’t be a problem. Though the farm had gravel, it wasn’t so much that I couldn’t push my chair through. It was mostly made up of matted dirt. In my mind’s eye, I was conscious of the retreating house as I wheeled forward where the wind picked up, uninterrupted by bushes or wood piles. The back of my hair flew up and whipped at my cheeks. It tickled and I stopped and smiled. This is something I would have normally done; headed to the back of the farm to explore on a weekend. I felt a reconnection and a tiny spark of energy inside me as if my life had been restarted like a lawnmower pulley. I let my excitement carry me forward.
I reached the dome barn entrance. The doors were shut today. The wind shifted and I could smell the faint petroleum from the rusted gas tanks that fueled the farm equipment, located across from the barn. I set sight on the old workshop. My dad rarely went in there and I hated the building. I always did. You never knew when a winged bat might fly out of there or any number of creatures that lived below it that would charge and scuttle towards you. I quickly wheeled past. The empty pig barn on my left stood motionless. It was left uninhabited and wasn’t even used for storage space. There was nothing exciting in there. Been there, done that many times. My eyes caught the long grass that sat between the pig barn and the horse barn as I realized I was less than twenty feet away from my target: the large, glassless window that peeked inside the elusive horse barn. Instantly, my breath caught and I froze as I heard a foreign noise from not far behind me. I twisted in my chair and searched frantically for the origin of the noise when it happened again. The wind had picked up and a tree branch scrapped the side of the gas tank, making a hollow screeching sound. I exhaled and faced forward again. I must have missed that the first time when I wheeled by. Even with my window, I stretched my spine and lifted with my hands on each wheel. I could only get a few inches out of doing that as my lower spine creaked. Yup, it was still dark and scary as hell. The basis of every horror movie I ever saw existed in that barn. Freddy, Jason – they were all waiting to get you from behind in there. For some reason, this barn had always meant fear for me. The top part was fun. I remembered one birthday party with all of my invited friends up above in this barn. We found a hook used for holding hay bales that would move, suspended from the ceiling on a pulley system. The hook was large enough to hold a foot and dangle the other. One would hold on to the heavy, rusted chain and push away from the wall. My friends and I had hours of fun swinging and getting stuck in the middle, then dropping to the soft hay below. It wasn’t something I would have done on my own though.
In the middle of remembering those good times when my legs worked, I thought I saw movement out of the corner of my eye around the far corner of the barn. Was it a hand? It couldn’t have been. I sat stock still and waited for a sound but heard nothing. I called out hesitantly, “H-hello?” but there was no reply. My brothers weren’t home today so it couldn’t have been one of them. With a feeling of dread, I noticed that the sky was not just gray, but approaching a mean dark colour which signaled an approaching storm. The wind picked up again and I wasn’t sure if I felt a drop of moisture on my face or if it was simply a wet tear from the dry wind, affecting my vision. I moved one wheel rotation and heard nothing. I moved again, closer to the end of the barn where I thought I had seen … a hand, I was sure of it. Was it a green hand or had I gone crazy? I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary now. I twisted and looked behind me towards the house and nothing looked out of place there either. Should I proceed forward or just go back? What if I turned around and whatever it was got me from behind? No, I must continue forward. There was no other choice but to see what was going to get me head-on, if there was anything at all. My mind could be playing tricks on me. Once, I had suddenly gone paralyzed. Maybe this was the final stages of my illness and I was going to go crazy too. I reached the end of the barn and saw long brownish-green grass, in its change for the coming winter. The same rusted piece of old farm equipment that had sat there since I was born had weeds growing up, around and on it but there was nothing else. Yes, I was going crazy. I smiled and breathed fully of the fresh air. Oh well. The decaying leaves signaled the end of another season and drew the year to a close. I felt that my fate was sealed. I was banished to exist three feet from the ground forever. I wheeled forward towards the water pump house and the grass that lay beyond it. The grass was kept short in front of me, but the long grass near the horse barn was left to grow of its own abandon. I never played there even as a kid because I saw a snake slither in there once; and once was all it took of the creepy crawlies for me. Snakes could bite your ankles before you even knew they were there. The long and lean grass waved at me, enticing me closer. It was too cold for snakes in the middle of the day. I left the grip of the gravelly dirt behind and quietly slipped onto the grass. It wasn’t as hard to push over it as I thought it would be. Sure, it was uneven, but not impossible. I positioned myself in front of the long wavy strands.
Another peripheral movement surprised me. Was it a flash of glowing green? Certain that I was now hallucinating, I opened my mouth to form the word hello, when a long slender form peeked out from the back corner of the old horse barn. I didn’t really expect anyone or anything to be there! My heart stopped in my tight chest and I couldn’t breathe. I could feel the electricity in the air. My eyes became dry as I remembered that I should blink. I took in a shallow breath and didn’t dare move. I wouldn’t be able to escape anyway. All of my fears of vulnerability came to a head. Whatever it was, it was slender and very tall. It was taller than the top of the horse barn window. It was bald and had a large head. It was a healthy grass green colour but the gentle glow it emanated made its image soft and blurry. Its eyes were matte black and should have been scary but I felt an inviting warmness about them. We stared at each other for a long time and neither one of us moved. Just when I thought I should say something, another being moved from behind the first one. It was half the size and while not fat, it had a child’s chubbiness in comparison to the taller figure. Right away I could tell it had a happy disposition and meant me no harm. Its eyes were not matte black, but a warm gray and reflected in the sky.
‘Hello, child.’
I was sure that I didn’t say it. I looked to my left. No one was there. The thing didn’t have a mouth and was too far away to make such a clear, distinct sound with that kind of volume. Where had that come from?
‘Here.’
I searched the face of the slender, elder being. The words that formed in my mind were answered before I could say them, ‘From you?’
‘Yes.’
My mouth fell open. I quickly set each hand upon my wheels as if to move away quickly. I gave a jerk of the wheels and pulled from where I had been sinking in the grass. My vision caught the green, glowing feet. They looked like human feet, but without bone structure. They were just straight, not curved, but with five toes. There was a big toe but the rest were the same size. Not an imperfection in its outer layer. I followed my glance upwards and could compare the knee to a human’s, but the legs were so slim. It was not human.
‘We mean you no harm. My son is simply curious about you and wanted to meet. We’ve been watching you a long time.’
Disbelief gave way to panic. My breath came shallow and quickly as my forehead creased. How had it moved so quickly from where it was a second ago? I looked towards the back of the horse barn from where it came and noticed the little one still there, waving at me with a hand that had a thumb, but four, long slender fingers of the same length. I looked up into the black eyes of the larger creature. I was sure I was going to die. Funny, because that's what I had wanted a few months back at the hospital.
‘Why don’t you play in the woods anymore?’ A high-pitched child’s voice erupted in my head.
Fear gave way to shame and I became choked up when I remembered my imprisonment. “Because … I can’t walk anymore,” and my voice trailed off as I gazed towards the ground. An ancient sadness crept over me like a cloak while my eyes welled with moisture. I could feel and hear the change in the air displacement from the wind, as I noticed that the younger being was suddenly beside his father.
‘The connection between the brain and muscles has been severed, son.’ A hologram appeared from nowhere as it showed the diagram of the spine and its vertebrae. Each vertebral level signaled different controlled movements from within the spinal cord. One eruption in the cerebrospinal fluid meant a dead connection. My eyes immediately focused upon where the belly-button would be, at Thoracic-11 vertebra, where my childhood died.
I looked up at the alien creature as the diagram faded and disappeared. We both understood the concept that the young one couldn’t grasp.
‘Her legs no longer work and she must rely on this chair with wheels to get around, but only on flat surfaces within her strength to navigate. Wherever the wheels won’t go, she is no longer allowed. That means no more exploring of the woods, or the fields or the river. The Earth’s gravity keeps her held to the ground. This is how her kind let her be. She’ll never use her legs again, son.’
A gasp of sadness and finality escaped from my throat. No matter how many times I heard it, it was as if I was hearing it for the first time. My chest hitched and my breath caught from trying to control my bullet-train emotions.
‘S’not fair,’ the high-pitched voice came into my head. I looked upon him as the tears rolled down my cheeks. His sunny disposition was serene in an effort to try and understand the wetness escaping from my eyes. I could hear my heart beating inside my head.
“Life isn’t fair!” I snapped back and they both recoiled. “I’m sorry,” I suddenly apologized in shame as I looked back to the ground. I had to keep that buried. They resumed their former positions near to my wheelchair.
‘My son has been watching you for many years. He longed to play beside you and explore the land of this planet, but it was forbidden. I’m afraid he has learned your emotion of sadness quite well during the past few months. He longs to see you as you were so he can enjoy watching you again.’ The thought came from inside my head.
‘I’m done,’ I thought. ‘There is no cure for what I have and I can’t move my legs ever again. My circulation will slow and create wounds that will become infected. I am waiting for slow death.
The beings looked at each other.
“Nothing can be done for me. I’m sorry to disappoint you.” I should have been amazed and alarmed. I should have been astounded and excited at this first contact with other-worldly beings. Instead, I was morose and miserable and completely self-absorbed in my own damnation. I turned my wheelchair back towards the front of the farm and faced the house.
‘No.’
It came from within my head again, from the older being. He was staring at the younger one. No emotions displayed on their perfectly still faces, but I felt an air of disagreement. I looked up at the senior being, prepared to ask a question when I saw a bright flash of white coming from the approaching young one’s hand. His outstretched fingers became larger as they engulfed my vision and he reached for my forehead and his feet left the ground. An explosion of white hot light made me flinch and I squinted my eyes for protection. I heard a rush of wind from within my head. I felt the Earth move and realized I was going over backwards in my wheelchair. I opened my eyes in time to see the gray cloud’s silver lining contrast with the most beautiful blue I had ever seen, and I wondered how I would get myself back up before mom and dad came home.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I heard the roar of a car’s engine and felt the heat coming from underneath it. Flashes like a strobe light bounced between my vision and my occipital brain with no meaning.
My face was wet. It was darker than I remembered. I registered a car door click open. “Ken? Is she okay?” My mother’s worried voice sounded from the other side of the vehicle. I could hear the steady thrum of the windshield wipers.
“Jeeezus Christ,” sounded my father’s frustrated voice from above me. “She’s buried in this muck.”
I moved my uncomfortable right leg from something cold and metal to untwist it from underneath me in the mud and heard the gasps. I moved my leg. I fainted as my world disconnected from reality. ‘No,’ was my last thought and then the protective darkness encased me as I lost consciousness.
I remember showing it to 2 co-workers. One was thoroughly impressed and asked if I had more. No comments good or bad from the other. I'm embarressed to show it ... I actually like to take my own memories of actual events but embellish them with sci-fi or horror themes. I wasn't sure who my readers would be, but after going over it a few times, it reads like an adolescent's book. I've taken many stabs at writing over the years but I get frustrated and drop it. I used to have a bunch of small files on my computer but got frustrated one day and erased everything. I kept this one for some reason. There's more but I'm only showing a partial of it. I'm not happy with where I went with the fictional part, but I hope you enjoy some of it anyway. It was how I actually suffered inside with my adult thought processes.
(c) Jennifer Spence
It wasn’t raining anymore.
“Okay, so, we’ll be back later. Are you sure you’re going to be alright at home?” My mother had been testing me during these past few weeks, since returning home from the hospital. Here I was, a grown thirteen-year-old, and she wondered if I’d be okay at our family farm for an afternoon. Hadn’t I been alone here before? We all knew what was different, but we never spoke of it.
I was mildly irritated with her, but then again I was frustrated with everyone and everything as of late. “Yeah, I’ll be fine …” I trailed off as I lowered my chin onto my crossed arms, which were situated on the back of a kitchen chair. I started to roll away backwards so I returned to my former position and engaged the brake.
She hesitated at the door with her body pointed to leave, with one hand on the screen door. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, mother,” I sighed with that eternal teenage angst. My eyes, as if magnified to the ceiling, rolled as my jaw set and my lips formed a straight line. All that was missing was the stamping of my feet.
I didn’t want to go with them. I couldn’t get used to the chair in public.
My parents never failed a routine. They went for a drive every Sunday afternoon, after church. I could thank God I got out of that particular routine because the church wasn’t wheelchair accessible. There had to be a perk besides the parking spots. My parents were the epitome of ‘Sunday drivers,’ as my father would cruise at or below the speed limit. Oh no, never above it - not on a Sunday! Who was I fooling? He never went over the speed limit any day of the week. The excuses always fell short of reason, but always equaled time spent together. They might look at a tractor forty minutes away in Tilbury or a car lot in Chatham. Perhaps it was time to retrieve apples at the orchard in Cedar Springs or go for ice cream near the lake. Since I could no longer walk, I couldn’t sit in the back seat of the family car anymore. It was just too difficult to try and lift over the back wheel hub, so I had inadvertently relocated my mother to the back seat while I sat shot-gun with dad. Not that I liked it up there. Not that I would have sat up there ever again, if I’d had the power to change things. None of us had that power.
I had cringed all week long at the thought, hesitantly wondering if they’d make me go with them again. Last Sunday was a nightmare. I thought it was safe, just sitting in the front passenger seat of the car looking normal through the car window at the passersby. No one could tell there was anything wrong with me sitting in the car at traffic lights, looking around like everyone else. Suddenly, I remembered that I needed deodorant. If I was going to go back to school, the least I could do was play my part and not stink up the place with my interrupted and unpredictable hormone growth. My mother had enquired as to which kind I preferred and I didn’t have an answer. She seized her opportunity. I hated getting out of the car, especially in a bulky jacket. I hated getting into my wheelchair. I hated lifting those ‘Benedict Arnold’ legs of mine that were as inanimate as the aluminum and steel wheelchair I sat in. The motion sickness was not something I was used to yet. Looking back, if I had tried to look up in the direction where I was going, instead of eyes cast down on the ground all the time, I probably wouldn’t have felt sick at all. I couldn’t though; the stares were too much for this rattled teenager with robbed self-esteem.
So there I was. My father holding the door and my mother in front of me making sure items were removed from the path of my wheelchair. I reluctantly wheeled through the narrow doorway into the franchised drug store, known for its giant red sign. The cold hand-rims of my wheels barely scrapped the metal framework on the door. I was already an expert at removing my hands before I smooshed them. It was just another example of why people like me should stay at home. While my father walked ten feet behind us and my mother constantly looked at the aisle widths and adjusted the merchandise so I could follow her, I was horribly conscious of the stares. Young, old, fat, thin, beautiful or ugly, I was still the odd-person out. I had to remind myself to breathe. I was high-strung aware of the silence that had drifted into the store, my very presence the fog.
“Why don’t you pick one out while I do some other shopping and I’ll come back?” my mother inquired. She barely gave me time to answer before she turned to leave. She was crafty when she had her mind set on a mission.
“Yeah, sure,” I barely whispered. I watched her disappear at the end of the aisle with just my eyes. I didn’t want to move so I darted my eyes back to the floor and tightened my grasp on the wheels of my chair. I could sense that my knuckles were white. Like hawks on a piece of road-kill, both ends of the aisle quickly filled up with my mortal enemies: the people that stare. My peripheral vision was certainly intact and working at high function. It really was one of the worst things about being in a wheelchair. The day would come where I could hold my gaze with theirs with a power that overcame their own gumption, but today was sadly not that day. I shrunk into my seat and searched the shelves to realize that the deodorants were divided into male and female products. I quickly reached for one of the pink deodorants from the shelf. I picked it because I could relate to the feeling its name implied. I held my own secrets that no one could relate to and I could never share them with anyone. I set it upon my lap and turned my wheelchair to leave the aisle and find my parents. When I swung the front part of my chair sideways by turning each wheel in the opposite direction, I almost took out a middle-aged woman by her legs. “Sorry,” I muttered sheepishly. Teenagers never watched where they were going and in that regard, I was no different. She just smiled and continued on her hunt for the perfect scent. I cast my face downwards again and slowly wheeled to the end of the aisle. Coke-Cola boxes were everywhere. I tried to fit through the product arrangement but the outside corners of the footrest of my chair kept catching on the boxes and I would retreat to try forward again. I wasn’t going to fit. Quickly, I turned my chair around – looking behind me first this time – and pushed through the empty place towards the other end of the aisle. The shelves came closer together here and I certainly had not come in this way. There was no way the width of my chair was going to fit through here. My back wheels completely blocked me from squeezing through. Frustrated, I sprinted back to the other end again and tried unsuccessfully to maneuver through the boxes of pop. I suddenly hated Coke and promised myself I would never consume it again, ever. I hated the colour red. In fact, I hated this store. Just then, my mother and father showed up on the scene. A chubby, dark-haired manager wearing a golf shirt in that newly hated colour stacked another box of evil drink over the first ones that trapped me. I gave my mother a look of longing and looked towards the door. She could see I couldn’t get through. An argument erupted. A scene ensued and more mortal enemies, the starers, surrounded us. My mother yelled and my father retreated like he didn’t know who we even were. I leaned over my lap and buried my face in my hands. My mortification was complete. It had been a quiet ride home in the car.
So I was happy that I wasn’t going to have the chance to repeat that episode. I sat in the kitchen doorway, looking straight through the screened glass door and waved, just in time, as I saw the flash of brown that was the Ford Granada head down the barely graveled driveway with a trail of swirling dust. I backed up, turned around and wheeled quickly to the large dining room window in front, just in time to see them turn left from the end of the driveway. So they were headed to Blenheim then; right would have meant Ridgetown. I got the feeling they were going to take their time then; good. I continued to watch as they approached and rounded the precarious S-turn on our lonely gravel road.
Exultation quickly turned to worry. The heavy blanket of silence was deafening. I slowly turned around and looked back towards the kitchen. I cast my glance to the right and wheeled over the doorway hump into the living room, intent on turning on the television. I then remembered it was early Sunday afternoon. There would be nothing on but the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat. No, I couldn’t handle that just yet. I missed baseball a lot, never mind any other sport that I would never do again. I wheeled back to the dining room and flipped open the long door of the piano. A high-pitched clink sounded throughout the empty farmhouse as I imagined an echo. I struck a different key that resonated a higher tone. I didn’t want to play the piano either. I would have had four years of training but the fourth year involved the pedals so that was out. No stone was left unturned in the slow destruction of the life I once knew. I closed the piano with a heavy sigh and backed away, wondering what to do next. I knew what I wanted to do but I wasn’t sure I could actually accomplish it so I wheeled back to the living room. I wheeled to each window, looking outside on three sides of the farm house. Out front was the driveway. The side view showed the precarious corner where at least five people would end up in the ditch every winter. Another side view showed where the boys would unload wood into the basement below for the furnace. The back view showed the expanse of the farm, and the fields thereafter. It was then that I panicked. What about the highway? It wasn’t unusual for some random stranger either broke down or lost in their vehicle to make their way by foot to our farmhouse. I whipped my chair into action and without worry of taking anyone out with my wheelchair as a weapon, I rounded the corner by letting my hand trace the wall and pulled at the last second to whip the chair and my body around the corner with me. I never tired of that. I coasted to the wooden door and slammed it shut. It was a funny lock where you had to push in the doorknob and turn, but I managed it on the first try. I felt the air lock in the room with a final click. Aha! I was safe. From what, I wasn’t sure but no one was getting inside. This time I turned my chair around with purpose and went to find my schoolbooks. I had to somehow become a nerd because I wasn't going to be the popular, funny girl anymore.
It was almost mid-afternoon and I was chewing on the eraser at the end of my pencil. I hated math and felt it completely useless. I was, however, noticeably bored. I could actually hear the audible click of the second hand on the kitchen clock. This was ridiculous. What I really wanted was to go outside and explore the back of the farm. When I used to walk, I would go back there to the old barns and dare myself to go inside those old, dark and dusty ruins. Every horror movie I had ever seen would suddenly come to life, but I never failed to notice something new, before fear would chase me out. While my round wheels would forbid me from getting over the ancient concrete step outside the door of the old horse barn, I could look through its large window at the rotting hay that had been there for decades. The horses were long gone, since my sister had moved out. I had been promised a horse when I turned age twelve, but instead I had inadvertently garnered the chariot I sat in, whether I liked it or not.
I wasn’t sure I could even get out the door by myself. The wooden door could turn on its hinge and align with the wall, completely out of my way so that wasn’t a problem. I would have to unhook the screen door and its spring hinge would propose a problem for me getting out. The short ramp from the lip of the doorway was steep and required that I give a shove of my body weight with the chair to get up or down it. The temptation was filling me up, like pouring water into a glass. I threw down the pencil and heard it roll and stop on a book so it couldn’t hit the floor. I looked out the kitchen window over the sink. I was too short to see anything of substance but what I needed to see was the sky. There was a dark cloud rolling in and I remembered that mom and dad had said it would rain later. There wouldn’t be an opportunity like this in a long time. It was now or never.
I decided it was now. With a fervor that had been missing up until now, I grabbed my denim jacket from the back of a kitchen chair and inserted one arm. Timed perfectly, I whipped the other half behind and around me so I could catch the corner of the jacket and find the other arm-hole. It was a trick I had learned from another patient in a wheelchair during my months-long stay at the hospital. Buttoned, tucked and ready, I faced the wooden door. I cast another glance towards the sink window and looked up towards the sky. It was graying. I would have just enough time to defeat my demon of fear.
I unlocked and opened the first door, pushing it so it stayed back against the wall. I sat still and listened for any approaching cars on our solitary gravel road, but there was nothing. I touched the cool handle of the screen door – such a familiar action from my old life - and swung it outwards. I pulled my chair into position at the height of the door-lip and set the brakes. I leaned forward, careful not to dump myself out, and pushed on the container that held the spring for the door. I held the cylinder while I unhooked the latch from the end closest to me and the door became lax. I couldn’t leave frontwards because of the height of the ramp. I had tried once and had slowly slid forward from the seat of my wheelchair, without my legs to stop me with support so that lesson had been learned the hard way via face-plant. I whipped my chair around so I was backwards against the doorway. I pulled heavily to get me over the lip of the doorway. Success! I put the brakes on and looked at the cylinder of the screen door, which threatened to stick out and into my spoked wheels or cut my left hand. I pushed the screen door as far back as it would go while holding the cylinder and then inched down with my hand towards the brake of my chair. With my first two fingers, I disengaged the brake and let myself slide out of the doorway and down the ramp onto the top of the concrete platform of the stairs. One turn too much and I would end up face first down a flight of five cold and unforgiving cement stairs. I wedged myself diagonally into the wooden ramp that was attached to the house and swung the screen door shut, just touching the tips of my shoes that were sticking out from the footrests of my early eighties Quickie 2HP wheelchair.
The fresh air enveloped me. I smiled in spite of myself. I inhaled deeply and could smell the autumn air. The hand-rims of my chair immediately turned cool, but not so cold that I needed gloves. I was glad to have my jacket though. Positioning myself parallel to the wooden rails of the newly constructed ramp, I slowly eased down the ramp ten feet backwards to the waiting platform where I could turn and make the rest of the way forward. My feet barely scraped the corners as my chair was just the perfect fit. The ramp had been built in one afternoon by three men, after the new construction of a more modern kitchen. It was dumb luck that the new digs accommodated more room, and therefore my new appliance. I reached the bleached and even patio stones and sat stock still. I looked one way and could see the burner barrel, the asparagus patch as well as the fruit trees. The soybeans had been harvested. My dad’s old, blue Ford truck lay before me. It was his work and farm vehicle. Looking towards the right, I saw a pile of freshly cut wood stacked against our huge maple tree. I saw the bushes that separated the house from the field. Beyond that, was the cornfield where I had gone missing once, as a child. I unintentionally shuddered at the thought and looked straight before me to the back of the farm. There was a yard of drying autumn grass back there where farming equipment was parked when it wasn’t put away for the season in the big, domed steel barn. I could do this. I was going to do this. Move!
I wheeled to the end of the patio stones and let myself drop off. It took effort to pull the back wheels of the chair up and over that uneven spot, but I had done it before so I knew returning wouldn’t be a problem. Though the farm had gravel, it wasn’t so much that I couldn’t push my chair through. It was mostly made up of matted dirt. In my mind’s eye, I was conscious of the retreating house as I wheeled forward where the wind picked up, uninterrupted by bushes or wood piles. The back of my hair flew up and whipped at my cheeks. It tickled and I stopped and smiled. This is something I would have normally done; headed to the back of the farm to explore on a weekend. I felt a reconnection and a tiny spark of energy inside me as if my life had been restarted like a lawnmower pulley. I let my excitement carry me forward.
I reached the dome barn entrance. The doors were shut today. The wind shifted and I could smell the faint petroleum from the rusted gas tanks that fueled the farm equipment, located across from the barn. I set sight on the old workshop. My dad rarely went in there and I hated the building. I always did. You never knew when a winged bat might fly out of there or any number of creatures that lived below it that would charge and scuttle towards you. I quickly wheeled past. The empty pig barn on my left stood motionless. It was left uninhabited and wasn’t even used for storage space. There was nothing exciting in there. Been there, done that many times. My eyes caught the long grass that sat between the pig barn and the horse barn as I realized I was less than twenty feet away from my target: the large, glassless window that peeked inside the elusive horse barn. Instantly, my breath caught and I froze as I heard a foreign noise from not far behind me. I twisted in my chair and searched frantically for the origin of the noise when it happened again. The wind had picked up and a tree branch scrapped the side of the gas tank, making a hollow screeching sound. I exhaled and faced forward again. I must have missed that the first time when I wheeled by. Even with my window, I stretched my spine and lifted with my hands on each wheel. I could only get a few inches out of doing that as my lower spine creaked. Yup, it was still dark and scary as hell. The basis of every horror movie I ever saw existed in that barn. Freddy, Jason – they were all waiting to get you from behind in there. For some reason, this barn had always meant fear for me. The top part was fun. I remembered one birthday party with all of my invited friends up above in this barn. We found a hook used for holding hay bales that would move, suspended from the ceiling on a pulley system. The hook was large enough to hold a foot and dangle the other. One would hold on to the heavy, rusted chain and push away from the wall. My friends and I had hours of fun swinging and getting stuck in the middle, then dropping to the soft hay below. It wasn’t something I would have done on my own though.
In the middle of remembering those good times when my legs worked, I thought I saw movement out of the corner of my eye around the far corner of the barn. Was it a hand? It couldn’t have been. I sat stock still and waited for a sound but heard nothing. I called out hesitantly, “H-hello?” but there was no reply. My brothers weren’t home today so it couldn’t have been one of them. With a feeling of dread, I noticed that the sky was not just gray, but approaching a mean dark colour which signaled an approaching storm. The wind picked up again and I wasn’t sure if I felt a drop of moisture on my face or if it was simply a wet tear from the dry wind, affecting my vision. I moved one wheel rotation and heard nothing. I moved again, closer to the end of the barn where I thought I had seen … a hand, I was sure of it. Was it a green hand or had I gone crazy? I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary now. I twisted and looked behind me towards the house and nothing looked out of place there either. Should I proceed forward or just go back? What if I turned around and whatever it was got me from behind? No, I must continue forward. There was no other choice but to see what was going to get me head-on, if there was anything at all. My mind could be playing tricks on me. Once, I had suddenly gone paralyzed. Maybe this was the final stages of my illness and I was going to go crazy too. I reached the end of the barn and saw long brownish-green grass, in its change for the coming winter. The same rusted piece of old farm equipment that had sat there since I was born had weeds growing up, around and on it but there was nothing else. Yes, I was going crazy. I smiled and breathed fully of the fresh air. Oh well. The decaying leaves signaled the end of another season and drew the year to a close. I felt that my fate was sealed. I was banished to exist three feet from the ground forever. I wheeled forward towards the water pump house and the grass that lay beyond it. The grass was kept short in front of me, but the long grass near the horse barn was left to grow of its own abandon. I never played there even as a kid because I saw a snake slither in there once; and once was all it took of the creepy crawlies for me. Snakes could bite your ankles before you even knew they were there. The long and lean grass waved at me, enticing me closer. It was too cold for snakes in the middle of the day. I left the grip of the gravelly dirt behind and quietly slipped onto the grass. It wasn’t as hard to push over it as I thought it would be. Sure, it was uneven, but not impossible. I positioned myself in front of the long wavy strands.
Another peripheral movement surprised me. Was it a flash of glowing green? Certain that I was now hallucinating, I opened my mouth to form the word hello, when a long slender form peeked out from the back corner of the old horse barn. I didn’t really expect anyone or anything to be there! My heart stopped in my tight chest and I couldn’t breathe. I could feel the electricity in the air. My eyes became dry as I remembered that I should blink. I took in a shallow breath and didn’t dare move. I wouldn’t be able to escape anyway. All of my fears of vulnerability came to a head. Whatever it was, it was slender and very tall. It was taller than the top of the horse barn window. It was bald and had a large head. It was a healthy grass green colour but the gentle glow it emanated made its image soft and blurry. Its eyes were matte black and should have been scary but I felt an inviting warmness about them. We stared at each other for a long time and neither one of us moved. Just when I thought I should say something, another being moved from behind the first one. It was half the size and while not fat, it had a child’s chubbiness in comparison to the taller figure. Right away I could tell it had a happy disposition and meant me no harm. Its eyes were not matte black, but a warm gray and reflected in the sky.
‘Hello, child.’
I was sure that I didn’t say it. I looked to my left. No one was there. The thing didn’t have a mouth and was too far away to make such a clear, distinct sound with that kind of volume. Where had that come from?
‘Here.’
I searched the face of the slender, elder being. The words that formed in my mind were answered before I could say them, ‘From you?’
‘Yes.’
My mouth fell open. I quickly set each hand upon my wheels as if to move away quickly. I gave a jerk of the wheels and pulled from where I had been sinking in the grass. My vision caught the green, glowing feet. They looked like human feet, but without bone structure. They were just straight, not curved, but with five toes. There was a big toe but the rest were the same size. Not an imperfection in its outer layer. I followed my glance upwards and could compare the knee to a human’s, but the legs were so slim. It was not human.
‘We mean you no harm. My son is simply curious about you and wanted to meet. We’ve been watching you a long time.’
Disbelief gave way to panic. My breath came shallow and quickly as my forehead creased. How had it moved so quickly from where it was a second ago? I looked towards the back of the horse barn from where it came and noticed the little one still there, waving at me with a hand that had a thumb, but four, long slender fingers of the same length. I looked up into the black eyes of the larger creature. I was sure I was going to die. Funny, because that's what I had wanted a few months back at the hospital.
‘Why don’t you play in the woods anymore?’ A high-pitched child’s voice erupted in my head.
Fear gave way to shame and I became choked up when I remembered my imprisonment. “Because … I can’t walk anymore,” and my voice trailed off as I gazed towards the ground. An ancient sadness crept over me like a cloak while my eyes welled with moisture. I could feel and hear the change in the air displacement from the wind, as I noticed that the younger being was suddenly beside his father.
‘The connection between the brain and muscles has been severed, son.’ A hologram appeared from nowhere as it showed the diagram of the spine and its vertebrae. Each vertebral level signaled different controlled movements from within the spinal cord. One eruption in the cerebrospinal fluid meant a dead connection. My eyes immediately focused upon where the belly-button would be, at Thoracic-11 vertebra, where my childhood died.
I looked up at the alien creature as the diagram faded and disappeared. We both understood the concept that the young one couldn’t grasp.
‘Her legs no longer work and she must rely on this chair with wheels to get around, but only on flat surfaces within her strength to navigate. Wherever the wheels won’t go, she is no longer allowed. That means no more exploring of the woods, or the fields or the river. The Earth’s gravity keeps her held to the ground. This is how her kind let her be. She’ll never use her legs again, son.’
A gasp of sadness and finality escaped from my throat. No matter how many times I heard it, it was as if I was hearing it for the first time. My chest hitched and my breath caught from trying to control my bullet-train emotions.
‘S’not fair,’ the high-pitched voice came into my head. I looked upon him as the tears rolled down my cheeks. His sunny disposition was serene in an effort to try and understand the wetness escaping from my eyes. I could hear my heart beating inside my head.
“Life isn’t fair!” I snapped back and they both recoiled. “I’m sorry,” I suddenly apologized in shame as I looked back to the ground. I had to keep that buried. They resumed their former positions near to my wheelchair.
‘My son has been watching you for many years. He longed to play beside you and explore the land of this planet, but it was forbidden. I’m afraid he has learned your emotion of sadness quite well during the past few months. He longs to see you as you were so he can enjoy watching you again.’ The thought came from inside my head.
‘I’m done,’ I thought. ‘There is no cure for what I have and I can’t move my legs ever again. My circulation will slow and create wounds that will become infected. I am waiting for slow death.
The beings looked at each other.
“Nothing can be done for me. I’m sorry to disappoint you.” I should have been amazed and alarmed. I should have been astounded and excited at this first contact with other-worldly beings. Instead, I was morose and miserable and completely self-absorbed in my own damnation. I turned my wheelchair back towards the front of the farm and faced the house.
‘No.’
It came from within my head again, from the older being. He was staring at the younger one. No emotions displayed on their perfectly still faces, but I felt an air of disagreement. I looked up at the senior being, prepared to ask a question when I saw a bright flash of white coming from the approaching young one’s hand. His outstretched fingers became larger as they engulfed my vision and he reached for my forehead and his feet left the ground. An explosion of white hot light made me flinch and I squinted my eyes for protection. I heard a rush of wind from within my head. I felt the Earth move and realized I was going over backwards in my wheelchair. I opened my eyes in time to see the gray cloud’s silver lining contrast with the most beautiful blue I had ever seen, and I wondered how I would get myself back up before mom and dad came home.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I heard the roar of a car’s engine and felt the heat coming from underneath it. Flashes like a strobe light bounced between my vision and my occipital brain with no meaning.
My face was wet. It was darker than I remembered. I registered a car door click open. “Ken? Is she okay?” My mother’s worried voice sounded from the other side of the vehicle. I could hear the steady thrum of the windshield wipers.
“Jeeezus Christ,” sounded my father’s frustrated voice from above me. “She’s buried in this muck.”
I moved my uncomfortable right leg from something cold and metal to untwist it from underneath me in the mud and heard the gasps. I moved my leg. I fainted as my world disconnected from reality. ‘No,’ was my last thought and then the protective darkness encased me as I lost consciousness.