Now, I don't know if anyone's paying that close attention
to the whole story unfolding in these little dispatches, but if
you are, maybe you've noticed by now that I'm kind of an idiot a
lot of the time.
But pretty near the top of the list as far as stupid things
I've done--and I'd even put it high on a list that includes all
the stupid things I'm likely to do in the future, too--is the
line I spoke to Heather as we watched Deena and her dad step
into the Chrysalis House lobby. "She's the bravest person I've
ever met," I said about Deena, and because I'm trying to be
straight up honest in all this stuff, I have to admit I said it
without a single twinge of irony.
Because if there's one thing I've hated all these years
I've been riding this wheelchair, it's the way some people put
me up on a pedestal for no reason other than that my legs don't
work anymore. But since I've ranted about this already, I won't
take up any more space. Just suffice it to say that it drives
me crazy when people assume that I'm so much braver and nobler
and better than anybody else for no reason other than the chair.
So what did I keep doing with Deena? As I tried not to
stare at the needle tracks up and down her arms? As I sat out
on the sidewalk with her little dog and my great big cat in my
lap?
It's like an invisible needle and thread that jabs into
everybody's right ear, squishes through the middle of all our
brains, then pops out the left ear before diving down into the
right ear of the person next to us. It connects us all, this
idea that the struggle to overcome some difficulty that I don't
have must make the struggler a better person.
All I know is: I'm not a better person. Not better
than anyone else, I mean. Or if I am better, it's
got nothing to do with the chair. If I'm even halfway tolerable
to be around, all the credit goes to El Brujo for not allowing
me to be as much of an idiot as I know I'm capable of being.
But I said I wasn't going to rant about this again. It's
just, I mean, if I can't get this right, who can?? If I
feel this weird warm pity, this whole "Oh, how wonderful you
must be to try dragging your life out of the hellhole it's
fallen into! How glad I am that I don't have to do
that!" kind of thing that came over me looking at Deena, how can
I expect other people not to feel the same way when they look at
me? We're all the same, like I said, all tied together by the
same invisible thread through our brains.
Maybe that's why I like animals so much better...
End of rant! And I promise this time!
Heather gave a low little groaning howl as soon as we
couldn't see Deena through the front door anymore, then she spun
around in my lap, her tongue lolling out from the tangled fur of
her face, her tail thrumming behind her like a hummingbird's
wing. "What are we to do next, Mr. Augie?? What fun thing lies
waiting for us in this world while Deena is inside that
world??"
And to be honest--again--I hadn't a clue I'd been so
worried about everything else surrounding Deena's first therapy
session that I'd forgotten to worry about the whole reason I was
supposedly there: to dog sit Heather.
Serena stirred in my jacket, stuck her head and bushy tail
out at the collar. "If I might suggest more chasing?"
"Oh, yes!" Heather's tail became even blurrier. "You
squirrels have the very best ideas!"
"Not here," I practically yelled--though any human
walking by wouldn't've heard a thing. But we don't have very
many people walking through this neighborhood, anyway. They
drive, see, which was why-- "You shouldn't ever run around in
the street, Heather," I told the little dog firmly.
El Brujo puffed a dainty breath. "Perhaps the park, then,
August? I'm led to understand they're designed especially for
the running around crowd."
"Especially?" Heather's eyes widened. "What a wonderful
place this park must be!"
I shrugged. "I've never been, actually, but I know the
way." Seizing my wheelrims, I spun us around and started us
down the street. "Let's go see."
And on we go to 32! Which doesn't rhyme, but that's OK!
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