A Different Set Of Wheels

  One day I was watching my brother work on his bike. He was changing the tires and as he took the old ones off I began to muse about my wheelchair's tires. The wheels of my chair never needed to be changed, because they weren't inflated. At the time I didn't know how they always stayed intact, but I'd never really thought about it before.

"Suppose those bike tires would work for my wheelchair?" I wondered aloud.

"Maybe," he answered, looking up. "Wanna try it?"

"Sure," I said.

  My brother stopped what he as doing and came over to examine my wheelchair.

"Get up and let me see if I can put my tires on it," he instructed.

  I got out of my wheelchair and sat on the grass. He set to work. First, he took the tires off of my wheelchair and examined them.

"Are you going to try and put them on your bike?" I asked.

"Can't," he answered. "It doesn't have an opening for a pin that will go all the way through." He showed me the covered clip.

"So then the bike tires won't work?" I queried.

"I might can get them to," my brother responded. In other words, challenged accepted.

  My brother laid the wheelchair on it's side. He put a pin in and placed the tire on. After the pin was through, he secured each side with a lug nut. He lay the wheelchair on it's other side and repeated the process. When he was done he stood the wheelchair upright. It was a weird sight. The wheelchair looked taller, but somehow more impractical...

"Something is wrong, it's missing..."

"Hand rails." My brother finished my thought. "Yeah, you'd have to push these tires," he smirked.

  I'd only recently learned how to use the handrails on my manual wheelchair. When I first got my wheelchair, my arms were too short and I couldn't reach the rails. Two years later my arms were finally long enough, but my parents had a difficult time getting me to stop pushing the wheelchair using my 'dirty' tires.

"Can I sit in it now?" I asked my brother.

"Let me test it first," he said, ever the protector.

  My brother got into the wheelchair and immediately we both realized how unstable it was. He tried to push himself forward, but the lug nut and pin slipped on the right tire, which fell off. My brother jumped up before the wheelchair could take him down with it.

"Well that was a bust," he said, annoyed. He put my wheelchair tires back on and I got in it.

"Sorry it didn't work," he said. "At least you'll never have a flat." He set back to working on his bike.

"I wonder why that is." I mused.

"I'm not answering that question." My brother replied, not looking up from his work.

Beached Wheelchair

  The first time I went to the beach I learned that sand is the bane of a wheelchair person's attempts to have fun. When I was thirteen I went with my church on a teen girl's retreat. We went to our local beach and stayed in a condo for the weekend. The next morning my friends and I got up, put on our swimsuits and headed down to the beach. There was a ramp path that led down to the sand bar, but as soon as it ended...

"Uh-oh, I don't think your wheelchair is going to move through this sand," my friend said, as she attempted to push me. 

"Try turning the wheelchair around and pulling it backwards," I suggested. No luck. 

  It was still quite a walk to get out to where the water was. I was barely able to walk at the time, but I got tired easily and my back hurt more as my scoliosis was still progressing. 

"I have an idea," one of my friends said, and unfolded her towel. "Get on and I'll drag you to the water and that will make your wheelchair lighter to bring along."

  I sat on the towel. We put our other supplies in the seat of my wheelchair and my friends drug me to the beach, with one of them pulling my wheelchair behind us. We got close to the water. I got off of the towel and we spread it out next to the wheelchair. I took our supplies out of my chair and set it on the towel. My friends went into the water.

"Need help?" one of them asked, upon seeing me pull my wheelchair closer to the water's edge. 

"No thanks, I'm just gonna stay up here and get my feet wet," I smiled. 

  I never intended to get into the water. I knew from school, movies and just by seeing, that the current and waves were too strong for my fragile body to endure. I still wanted to feel the spray and the cold biting at my toes, so I parked myself where I thought the incoming tide was lowest and enjoyed watching my friends play as the water came rushing up and splashed against my feet, then receded back into the ocean. 

  It was so peaceful and exciting all at the same time. The day was bright and sunny; hot, but with the strong breeze and the salty waves splashing against my feet, the weather was perfect. I loved watching the waves roll in and catch my friends off guard. They'd all lamented about not having surfboards, but our youth leader was too concerned with safety. I listened to seagulls and saw a few of them flying high over us. 

  The sound of the ocean and the birds reminded me that I also wanted to collect seashells. I was particularly eager to find a conch-shell; I wondered if I really would be able to hear the ocean long after we'd left. I got out of my wheelchair and sat beside it. I began digging in the sand. I found lots of cockles and coquinas, a few ladder horn snails and what I thought was part of a sand dollar. I had a couple of moon snail shells and was working on getting what I hoped would be an oyster, when I heard one of my friends screaming at me.

"Get back! Get back!"

  I looked up just in time to see a huge wave barrel toward me. I say huge, but it probably wasn't taller than if I'd been standing. Still, it could have been ten feet tall for all of the force that came with it. I tried to back up, but bumped into my wheelchair. The wave hit me first, knocking me back hard. I narrowly missed hitting my head on the wheelchair's frame. 

  Instead, I went under the wheelchair. I felt the pull of the tide and was helpless as it quickly drug me and the wheelchair back with it into the ocean. Another reason I had decided not to get into the water was my inability to swim. No matter how hard I'd tried to learn in a calm pool, I was as buoyant as a rock. Now I was being drug along the bottom of the tide. I could feel my arms and legs scrape against the sand and rocks. Small seashells and other plants tore into my skin as the current pulled me along. I had no sense of where I was or what was happening. 

  At one point, I saw my wheelchair tire and I tried desperately to grab it, but it was yanked out of my reach and I did the last thing I could think of and reached up. I thought the current responded somehow and pulled me toward the surface. I felt myself being drug out of the water against the will of the tide. My head was spinning. When I was able to focus, my friends were kneeling over me, my wheelchair beside them. 

"Are you okay?" they asked, concerned. "You could have died." 

  Then one of them said, "Did your life flash before your eyes?"

"Were there choirs of angels?"

"Did you see God?" another asked.

  They looked at me expectantly to which I replied,

"No, I only saw my wheelchair."

Wheelchair Physical Education 101

  The most pointless required school subject for a girl like me, brittle and in a wheelchair, is gym class. I never understood why my high school would not allow me to substitute it with study hall or another elective.

  For the first half of class, we engaged in warmup stretches, push-ups and (for those not in a wheelchair) jumping jacks. The rest of the time, the coach let us chose what activities to do. Some played basketball, volleyball or tennis while others, like me, tried to avoid participating altogether. It seemed like I was the one most targeted for my lack of enthusiastic involvement.

"Get off the floor and go change into your uniform!" the coach ordered me for the second time. 

  I was laying in the middle of the gym with my wheelchair parked beside me. We just completed our morning stretches. Everyone else had changed into their required uniforms: a grey t-shirt and black shorts. It was September and sixty-five degrees inside the gym. I was not inclined to change out of my jeans.

  I pulled the hood of my jacket off of my face and got into my wheelchair. Maybe I could hide in the locker room for a bit. I turned the electric wheelchair on. I forgot to plug it in the night before and now it was at half charge. Hopefully it would last the rest of the day.

  I went to the locker room and retrieved my uniform. I wanted to bail again. I'd skipped class twice last week and the coach threatened detention if it continued. I went to the principal and begged to be taken out of the class. He spoke to the superintendent, but rules are rules so I was stuck. I wanted to rebel, so instead of changing out of my clothes, I put the shorts and shirt, that were too large for me anyway, over my jeans and sweater. 

  When I re-entered the gym. The coach glared at me, but didn't comment. I smiled. I was about to park myself in a corner of the room and pull out my sketchbook, when she blew the whistle. I followed my other classmates toward her. 

"I've noticed that the last half of class many of you are not participating in free period exercise (she looked directly at me), so we're going to spend every day for the last ten minutes running," she announced. 

  Everyone moaned, except me. 

  Of course I couldn't participate in running. Did she really think it was punishing me? As everyone lined up to run, I hung back. 

"Please get in line," the coach ordered. 

  I looked at her in shock. 

"I can't do this," I said. 

"Yes, you can." She replied. "You can go around with everyone else and encourage them to keep moving. You can't just do nothing in this class and expect me to pass you."

I glared at her. 

"My wheelchair battery is almost dead. You're going to make me run it down and then how am I going to get around?"

"Going around once or twice isn't going to kill your battery," the coach retorted. 

  I was livid. I felt that this was a personal attack so I did the only thing I could think of at the time...

  Turned my wheelchair to full speed and left the class!

  Three minutes later, I found myself crying in the counselor's office. 

"The coach wants me to run my battery down, because I won't follow her stupid, pointless rules!" I cried.

  The counselor was a really kind woman who often allowed me to spend time in her office whenever I was having a bad day (usually around gym class). The heightened tension between my gym coach and I was a point of concern for the counselor. 

"Have you tried having a conversation with her after class, rather than giving her attitude?" the counselor asked. "Everything you've told me this week has started with your not displaying a proper attitude." 

  I thought about it for a moment. She was right, It wasn't the coach's fault that I had to take gym, but I did take it out on her. After class I went to the gym, to the coach's office. 

"I'm sorry I left class again, but I don't understand why I have to take gym," I said in a shaky voice. 

"You know, you can participate in this class. I have seen you get in and out of that wheelchair, you are not 100% incapable," she said. 

"I know," I lowered my head, "but I am brittle and I can't play sports with the others and I can't run my battery down going around the gym ten times," I insisted. 

"You don't have to play sports to participate. I'll bring you some small arm weights and you can lift those. As for walking around the gym - once or twice isn't going to kill your battery. You need to charge it up, but if it really is about to die, then tell me. Don't just run out of here. I will write you up if you do it again." she warned. 

"Yes ma'am," I replied.

  After that day things got better, although I did get scolded for allowing students to take turns riding on the back of my wheelchair during the ten minute runs. Gym isn't pointless for people in wheelchairs, you just have to find your own way of participating.

Little Wheeled Angel

  My first grade christmas pageant was preformed by our choir class. Because the class only had 16 students, the teacher combined us with the second graders.

"Alright children, we are going to assign parts in the play. Who wants to be a reindeer?" Everyone raised their hand, including me. The teacher smiled.

"I'm glad you all want to volunteer. We only need eight deer, but don't worry, there are other roles," she said when a couple of kids started to fuss.

  The teacher selected eight of my classmates. I put my hand down. She promised there would be other parts, so at first I wasn't disappointed.

"Now we need elves," the teacher called. I quickly raised my hand again. I was small, so surely I would get picked this time, but the teacher selected three other children.

  I put my hand down, frowning. As the teacher announced other roles and other children were chosen, my anxiety grew. It seemed as though she overlooked me on purpose. But then...

"I need five volunteers to ride the christmas train," she said.

  Everyone's hand shot up, including the children who had already received their roles. I stood on the seat of my wheelchair with my arm held high. We'd recently read, 'The Polar Express' in class, and the idea of leading the christmas train filled me with excitement. I could imagine my wheelchair being pushed in front of the procession of kids, while I blew the whistle to signal the train's arrival.

"Please don't stand on your wheelchair," the teacher reprimanded me, and I sat down.

  Finally, the teacher chose the last of my classmates, leaving me in complete shock. Tears began pouring down my face. My friend sitting next to me raised her hand.

"She is crying," my friend tattled to the teacher.

"No I'm not," I said angrily, wiping my face.

"Is it because you didn't get a part in the play?" my friend asked, for the whole class to hear.

"Shut up!" I shouted at her.

"Please don't tell people to 'shut up,'" the teacher said, "and yes I do have a part for you, but you need to see me after class," the teacher instructed.

  Immediately, I perked up. There was a part for me after all. I began to wonder what it could be. After class, I eagerly wheeled over to the teacher.

"How would you like to be the christmas angel?" The teacher asked.

  The lead role! I could hardly believe it.

"What does she do?" I asked.

"She sings a song and afterward, places a star on top of the christmas tree. Of course we will have to get someone to lift you up for that. Would you be comfortable if the principal picked you up?"

"Yes!" I said. "What about my wheelchair?" I asked.

"What do you mean?" my teacher inquired.

"Angels don't have wheelchairs," I said quite serious.

  At that moment a girl from the second grade class entered.

"Some angels do," my teacher said, "and they have other angels to help them," she introduced me to the little girl. "You two are going to be angels together, and she is going make sure you get on and off stage easily," the teacher said.

  The day of the play came and I was excited for my role. I'd memorized the song and my few lines. I was still worried that nobody would believe I was an angel, because of my wheelchair. All week I'd begged to my parents and the teacher that I didn't need my wheelchair, but because of the large crowd of people in attendance I couldn't change their minds.

  I watched from the side stage as my classmates preformed their parts. Lines were missed, props were knocked over and laughter was prominent as the kids did their best to make up for minor mistakes by entertaining the audience with their youthful energy. Then my turn came.

  The girl and I took center stage. The microphone turned out to be too heavy for me to hold, so she held it up for me and I belted out the song. To this day, I still remember the lyrics:

I have brought a christmas star, to you critters from afar.

God has blessed you on this night, now your tree shall shine so bright.

This gift of love you all will share, the star of peace will always be there!

  When I was done, the principal came and handed me a silver star. She lifted me out of my wheelchair and up toward the tree. I placed the star on top and everybody cheered. She turned me so that I could wave to everyone and placed me back in my wheelchair. 

  My classmates came on stage and everyone clapped and cheered for us. It was such wonderful feeling. I remember thinking it didn't matter that I was in a wheelchair, I was special and I could do anything!

Game Of Wheelchairs

  When I was eight I declared myself a princess. My reign was short-lived; I was quickly usurped by my brother and cast out by our parents.

  My seven year old brother and four year old sister were usually good about listening to me even though I am smaller than them. I did my best to be a good big sister, but sometimes the power went to my head.

  We were watching cartoons one morning. My sister and I were wearing our Princess Jasmine nightgowns. Typically, whenever I became obsessed with a new disney princess my sister decided that it was also her favorite. Often we argued over who was the current coveted princess, with my sister eventually consenting to be the second favorite princess, but on this particular morning I made a new declaration.

"I have decided that from now on I am going to be the only princess and you two are going to be my royal servants," I announced to my brother and sister as we watched cartoons.

  Immediately my siblings turned in protest.

"Nuh-uh!" They said.

"I get to be the second princess, cause I'm the baby sister, remember?" my sister said.

"And I am the prince or the knight, but I am not the servant," my brother declared.

"No, I need servants and I only have you guys, so I am the princess and you have to listen to what I say." I decreed.

"Why?!" my sister said.

"Because I am the oldest and you have to do everything I say," I reasoned.

"That's not fair!" my sister whined.

"Don't worry about it," our brother said, and then to me, "we just won't listen to you," and he turned back to the television. Our sister however, took it personally and ran to tell our mom.

  Panicked, I gave my first command to my brother.

"I order you to stop her!" I shouted. My brother ignored me.

  We had an old TubeTelevision that did not come with a remote, but was operated with a knob on the front. I rolled to the TV, turned it off and held my hand over the knob. He jumped up furious.

"Turn that back on!" He shouted.

"Say you'll be my royal servant." I yelled at him.

"No!" he roared back at me and then stormed toward me, yanking my hand away from the console.

  I tried to bite him, but my brother was bigger and stronger. He picked me up out of my wheelchair and carried me to the couch. He set me down, went back to my wheelchair and sat in it. He turned the TV back on.

"Now I'm the prince and you have to sit in the dungeon!" He declared.

  I howled in anger. At that moment dad and mom entered, mom carrying our little sister.

"How about all of you go to the dungeon while I watch TV," dad said.

"No," we all cried, but our parents shooed us off.

  After changing into our play clothes, we went to my room and gathered toys to take outdoors. I pushed myself down the hall, my brother and sister in front of me, carrying our things.

"Don't ever take my throne again," I commanded my brother, still piqued at his usurping my seat of power.

"That's not a throne, it's a wheelchair," my brother said.

  I was wearing my birthday crown and pointed to it.

"I'm a princess and my wheelchair is a throne with wheels."

Wheelchair Sniper Simulation Training

  When I was sixteen, my brother and I went with our church youth group to play Laser Tag. Although it was my first time playing, I knew I wouldn't be able to escape anyone in my wheelchair and that I would most likely lose, but the appeal of watching other players run around me as though it were an actual war zone while flashing lights on their body armor indicated fatal hits, filled me with excitement.

"I'm gonna play the first game alone so I can see what kind of course we are dealing with," my brother instructed.

  I waited outside, getting my gear on and checking my gun. As soon as the first round was over my brother came toward me with a look of frustration.

"What's wrong?" I asked, feeling as though my fun were about to be ruined.

"There are a lot of platforms and I don't think I can get your wheelchair up them quick enough for us not to get shot," he said.

  Of course it would be difficult. 

"That's okay," I said, trying not to let my disappointment show. "Go ahead and play without me. I'll see if I can find something else to do," I gestured toward the arcade.

"Wait, I have an idea," my brother mused, "if you don't mind staying in one place."

  He quickly pushed me inside ahead of a few people and found a spot.

"Hurry, get out of your chair and sit in the corner," he whispered.

  I did as he directed. My brother was wearing his friend's black leather jacket. He took it off and gave it to me. I am really small, and the jacket covered me almost completely.

"Perfect," he grinned. "Okay, I lure, you shoot," He commanded.

"Got it." I said. "Behind you!"

  I saw a kid come around the wall just in time. My brother turned and shot him fast as a blink. The light on his armor lit up.

"You're dead kid," my brother told him.

"Awwww," the kid said, following directions to exit the course.

  My brother saluted me, then disappeared behind the wall. I stayed crouched in the corner behind my wheelchair. Fortunately, the course was dimly lit by ultra violet lights. My black wheelchair hid me well enough. Ever so often my brother would emerge and signal me to be ready. Almost immediately after, our victims would follow and I'd shoot them with an almost sniper like grace.

  I began to think we might win this round, but no sooner had the thought emerged than did a group of three shooters.

"Someone is picking us off," one of them said, "I think they're hiding over here."

  At the same time, one of them spotted me.

"Oh man, it's a chick in a wheelchair!" he laughed. They all laughed in disbelief as they readied their guns.

  I sat frozen, preparing to be massacred. Suddenly, one of the kid's critical hit lights flashed and my brother burst into the area shooting like a madman. He took them all out.

"Our game is up, time to leave the course!" He shouted at me.

  Quickly, I got back in my wheelchair and handed him the jacket. I prepared my gun. Two more shooters came in and I fired. I missed them. My brother shot one, but the other went around us. I was trying to turn my wheelchair around, but it was hard to hold the gun and turn with one hand. My brother dove behind me and I heard the beeping which indicated he had been shot.

"Why?!" I asked him, in disbelief. "You could have easily won this!"

"So that you could have fun sis," he said. "Now, let's have fun!"

  He ran me through the lower level covering my back so that no one could snipe me. It was an epic battle. I must have killed seven enemies that night before I, too, was eliminated. As my brother and I exited the course, I felt proud, because my brother has always fought for me, but for a moment (even though it was a game) I was able to fight for him.

Wheel-In-Theater

 

Nothing beats buttered popcorn

  Being in a wheelchair comes with a few perks and you can find loopholes for almost any situation if you are daring...

  One day I was looking online at movie tickets. However, the movie I wanted to see was sold out. Online tickets were limited and I thought perhaps if I called the theater there would be some left.

"Hello, thank you for calling the box-office," a woman's voice answered.

"Hi, I wanted to see a movie, but the site says tickets are sold out online. Are there any left at the box-office?" I asked.

"We just sold out here as well," she answered after checking. "Seats are limited and we try to keep an even split between the online and box-office sales."

"Okay thank you."

  After hanging up I thought about what she said.

  Seats are limited.

  So if tickets were sold based on seating then all these years I'd paid for nothing! The thought made me really upset and an idea I wouldn't have let slip through before, sprung into action. I arrived at the theater just as the previews were playing. I went in and went to the bathroom. I waited until a group of movie goers left and followed them out, past the ticket counter and into the hall.

  I already knew which theater my movie was in thanks to the online listing. I made my way to the theater when I was halted by one of the host.

"The lady at the front says she didn't get your ticket."

Busted.

  I was raised to own up to my mistakes so I responded,

"Look, yeah I know it's wrong, but the box-office woman said ya'll charge for seating, and tickets were sold out. I have my own seat. Can't I just pay for parking?"

  I wasn't expecting him to bust out laughing.

"Hang on, lemme ask my manager. You got a point." He left me waiting, feeling really worried about how much trouble I might be in. A few moments later he returned.

"Here," he handed me a ticket. "The manager said next time pay for admission, because so many seats are allowed in a theater."

"Thank you so much. I'm sorry if I caused problems." I said, taking the ticket.

  He held the door open for me smiling and as I went through,

"Go find you a parking spot."