Wheelchair Roulette

  When I was ten, I lost my marbles - and my wheelchair. I came home one evening after playing with my friends. I hoped my mom wouldn't remember that I'd taken my wheelchair out, as I often did when the walk was far, but it had been an unlucky day for me.

"Where is your wheelchair?" she asked.

"I lost it in a bet," I said, trying not to sound as scared as I felt.

"Excuse me?" my mom said.

"I was playing marbles," I lowered my gaze.

  Recently, the kids in my area had become addicted to playing marbles. My brother taught me how to play, but I had a hard time beating him.

"Don't get frustrated," he told me after I'd lost some of my allowance to him. "I'm just a pro. You need to find people less experienced, that you can beat."

  So I began playing my friends, even teaching some, and soon I had a beautiful collection of marbles I'd won in games.

  As kids, we were taught that gambling was a sin. That included making bets.

"Betting is a pathway to gambling, and gambling is a sin," my mother chanted. "You start gambling with the small things and soon you lose everything God gave you."

  I should have headed those words, but I had a weakness for the colorful, little glass orbs that rolled smoothly across a hardwood floor. The satisfaction of aiming one swift pawn marble at my target acquisition and hearing the little click that knocked it from the protective circle and into my silk pouch, where I kept at least a hundred other marbles, made me giddy with anticipation.

  Tonight, I lost almost all of my favorites. I didn't want to bet anymore of them out of fear that I'd have nothing left. In a desperate attempt to get at least one or two back I pleaded with my friend,

"Can't we bet something other than my last marbles?"

"Okay," she said, "We can bet your wheelchair."

  I thought about it. I knew my parents would be livid if I lost, but I really wanted my prized collection back.

"Fine," I sighed, "but you can't keep it. My mom won't let you. You can borrow it for a week."

"Deal," my friend agreed.

  The game was short and when it was over I went home without my marbles or my wheels.

"Whose house did you leave it at?" My mom asked and I told her.

"You stay put. I'm gonna go get your wheelchair," Mom said and left.

  It was sometime before my mom returned and when she wheeled my wheelchair into the bedroom she asked me for the silk pouch where I kept my remaining marbles.

"You're done playing with these for awhile," she said. "Do you want to know where I found your wheelchair?"

"Where?" I asked, confused.

"Apparently, your friend decided to bet your wheelchair in one of her games. I had to go two blocks away and the boys who had it, left it outside. You can consider yourself grounded for the next two weeks and if you do any betting again, I'll help you out and give away all of your toys." She stormed out of the room.

  A little while later my brother came in my room.

"Wow, I heard what happened. Do you want me to give you some of my marbles?" he offered.

"No, mom said she'd give away all of my stuff if she caught me betting again. You should probably stop too. I know she only said that to me, but I'm pretty sure she means you also, and she will catch you," I warned. My brother grinned.

"Wanna bet?"

The Perks Of Having A Wheelchair

  When I was younger, my manual wheelchair was a multi-purpose object. I used it for a step stool, a way to carry laundry to and from my room and sometimes I toted toys in and out of the house whenever I wanted to play outside.

  One day my siblings and I decided to go around the block to a friend's house. As always, I pushed the supplies (a box full of video games, barbie dolls and snacks) in my wheelchair, while my brother and sister walked behind and beside me.

"Guys, I need to sit down," I said to my siblings.

  The walks around the neighborhood often wore me out, so we parked my wheelchair on the curb and dug into the box to retrieve our sodas and cookies. After we finished them,

"Uh-oh," I said, "I have to use the bathroom."

"Do you think you can make it to our friend's house?" my brother asked.

"I don't know," I said, standing up. I could feel the pressure on my bladder and I knew that I'd have to go soon.

"Maybe you can knock on the neighbor's door," my sister pointed at the house in front of us.

  I wasn't too keen on the idea, but desperate times call for desperate measures. I ran ahead of my siblings to the front door and knocked. My tiny hands were never good at making noise and I was too short to reach the doorbell. Luckily, my brother ran up behind me, leaving our sister in the driveway with my wheelchair. He rang the doorbell. Still, no answer.

"Let's try another house," my brother suggested.

  We ran next door, our sister pushing the wheelchair behind us. Again we rang and knocked, but there was still no response.

"I don't think anyone is home anywhere," I said, noting the next three empty drive-ways. I felt a little ridiculous knocking on so many doors.

"Get in your wheelchair and I'll push you," my brother said.

"What about our stuff?" I asked.

"Can you carry it?" he asked our sister.

"No," she said.

"Wait here with it then," he told her.

"Don't leave me here!" my sister insisted.

"We can't leave her by herself," I told my brother. I thought for a moment. "Let's hide the box in the neighbor's bush then come back and get it."

  Our friend lived just one street over from where we were. My brother took the box and hid it in the bushes in front of the neighbor's window. I got in my wheelchair and he pushed me as swiftly as he could, with our sister running behind us. We made it to our friend's house just in time.

"Where is your stuff?" our friend asked.

"We had to hide it so it wouldn't get stolen," my brother said. "You girls stay and we'll go get it. Can I borrow your wheelchair, sis?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said.

  It took awhile, but when they returned, my brother and our friend were laughing hysterically.

"What happened?" I asked them eagerly.

"When we went to get the stuff, there was a car in the driveway," my brother said. "I thought we'd get in trouble sneaking up to their window."

"So I got in your wheelchair and your brother pushed me up to the front door," our friend said. "He rang the bell and told the lady who answered that someone took my toys and we thought they hid them in her yard. She obviously felt sorry for me, because of the wheelchair, so she let us 'look' and we 'found' them!"

  The both started laughing again. My sister and I joined in.

"You're lucky," our friend said to me, when we'd calm down. "If I were in a wheelchair, I'd never get in trouble."

  My siblings and I looked at each other, and started laughing even harder.

Wheeling My Way To Disney World

  I've only ever participated in one school fundraiser. When I was fifteen, my choir teacher announced that we were going to raise money to go to Disney World the next year. The teacher planned three community ticketed events, including a bake sale, but first she said we'd have a catalogue fundraiser. I was so excited, because I'd always wanted to go to Disney World. It was a dream come true for me and the other girls in my class.

"We are also having a contest and the one who raises enough money at the end of the year will win free passes to Six Flags," our teacher announced.

  I took the fundraising packet home that evening and sat at the table looking through the catalogue. My sister looked with me.

"How are you going to raise enough money to go to Disney World?" she asked.

"If the class sells enough items to meet half of the cost, the school is going to pay the other half," I told her. "And, if I make enough sales on my own, I'll win free passes to Six Flags."

"Can I go?" my sister asked.

"I dunno about Disney World, but if you help me sell this stuff I'll definitely take you to San Antonio," I told her.

"Okay," she agreed.

  The next morning, with my electric wheelchair fully charged, my sister and I set out to make the sales. My sister stood on the back of the wheelchair while I drove us around the neighborhood. Our first stop was at the home of an older woman who lived across the street a few houses adjacent to us.

  We often saw her in the yard working on her flower bed and we always said hello. I figured that she would be open to buying some of the decorative trinkets in the catalogue. I'd never sold anything before and didn't know anything about having a good sales pitch. I was in for an interesting lesson.

"Good morning ma'am," I said when she answered the door.

"Hello girls," the lady beamed.

"I'm selling stuff to raise money at school," I said as polite as pudding, "would you like to buy anything?"

"Oh what are you raising money for?" she asked.

"She's going to Disney World with her class," my sister answered for me.

"How exciting," the lady replied. "I'm in the middle of baking. Will you come in and I'll look at the catalogue." she said.

  I could smell the evidence of baking cookies wafting toward us, so I motioned to my sister and we entered. The woman had a beautiful home with plush furniture and shelves full of trinkets - mostly ceramic cats. We sat in the bright, sunlit dining room at a wooden table with a white lace table cloth.

"I was baking these for my grandkids. They'll be here later today, but you girls can have a couple," she offered.

"Thank you," we said, and she put a few on a small plate.

  I pulled the catalogue from my backpack and sat it on the table. The woman sat down and began thumbing through the pages while my sister and I nibbled on the warm cookies.

"My granddaughter had one of these last year," the lady said to me. "I got some really nice scented candles," she motioned to the bar that had a few mason jars with candles in them.

  We spent the next four hours at her house listening to stories of her grandkids, her life in Germany and her love of cats. Gratefully, she bought five items and invited us to stop by again. By the time we left, it was well into the afternoon.

"Wow," I said to my sister as we headed down the street, "she was a sweet lady, but we have to be careful. No more going into people's homes. We'll never get anything sold if we sit around listening to everyone's life story."

  The rest of the day, my sister and I went around the neighborhood knocking on doors and hoping that nobody else would ask us to come in. Fortunately they didn't, but unfortunately not many people were as kind as the old woman had been. There were a few that said no almost as soon as we made our pitch and one even yelled at us in spanish before shutting the door in our faces.

"How many sales have we made today?" I asked my sister, as evening approached.

"Twelve," she replied, checking the list.

"Ready to do this again tomorrow?" I asked.

"If it wasn't for your wheelchair, I'd say no," she laughed.

"Honestly, if it wasn't for my wheelchair I'd say no too. I feel bad for my classmates who are doing this on foot."

  By the end of the weekend, we sold 42 items. I was sure I'd won the trip to San Antonio. However, when I got to class on Monday, I was shocked to discover that many of my classmates had sold well over forty-two products. Some had as many as 100 on their list.

"How did you sell that many? I went around the neighborhood in my wheelchair and it wore me out," I asked.

"I got my mom to take the catalogue to work and her co-workers bought most of it," one friend bragged.

"My grandma loves this kind of stuff and the ladies in her church group do too," another boasted.

  I felt like a goober. I never thought to enlist my parent's help. We all turned in our packets. The rest of the semester was fun. I sang in a talent show where we collected raffle tickets and sold snacks. We held a Disney themed concert and sang at the local community center, where we were given donations for our trip. At the end of the semester our teacher presented one of my friends with the tickets to Six Flags.

"And great news ladies," she said, "we've reached our intended goal so that means..."

"WE'RE GOING TO DISNEY WORLD!" we all screamed with excitement.

  My spirit soared. So what if I wasn't going to San Antonio. Our class would be singing for Mickey and I would finally visit the most magical place on earth. Nothing could take that away...

  And then my family moved.

A Day Without Wheels

  One day, when I was in the sixth grade, I forgot to charge my electric wheelchair and the battery died an hour after I got to school. Unlike my manual wheelchair, the electric one was bulky and hard to push.

"You're going to have to call your parents and tell them to bring your manual wheelchair," my teacher directed. She helped me park my wheelchair at the back of the classroom and gave me a hall pass.

  This was my first time traversing the halls of my school without my wheelchair and I was nervous, but very excited. I walked carefully so as not to slip or trip, being ever so clumsy at home. My teacher told me not to run, but I had the urge to take off my shoes and sock skate across the smooth floor.

  I looked up at the lockers and felt very small and fragile without the frame of my wheelchair around me. I imagined the bell ringing at any moment and that I would be stampeded by my fellow classmates.

  I arrived at the front office and handed the secretary my note. She directed me to the phones and I dialed my dad's work number. A few moments later my dad was on the line.

"Daddy, my battery died. I need my manual wheelchair," I said.

"I'm not going to be able to leave work right now, do you think you can get through the day without it?" he asked.

"I dunno if I'm allowed," I admitted. At that moment the bell rang and I heard the hallways fill up with students heading to their next classes. I thought about my wheelchair in homeroom.

"Ask if I can speak to the principal," my dad said, and I asked the secretary. Soon the principal was on the phone with my father.

  When they hung up, the principal said to me, "You're going to have to go through the rest of the day without your wheelchair, do you think you can handle it?"

"Yes," I said, but admittedly I was a little uneasy. Fortunately, so was the principal.

"To make sure you're safe, I'm going to have you wait here until the bell rings and the halls are clear."

  After the second bell the principal had an office aid escort me to my next class with a note for my teacher. I gave my teacher the note and sat at the front of the class so I could see the board.

"Where is your wheelchair?" my friend asked.

"The battery died and I can't get my manual one, so I have to go without it," I answered.

"Why are you in a wheelchair if you can walk?" my friend inquired.

"I have brittle bones and if I fall and get hurt at school, the teachers could be in trouble," I replied.

 About ten minutes before class ended my teacher let me leave early so I wouldn't be stuck in a crowded hallway. She allowed one of my friends to walk with me, because my backpack was too heavy for me to carry.

"Wow, I never realized how far it was between some of the classes," I told my friend as we walked.

  By the time we reached my art class, the first bell rang. My teacher wrote my friend a pass so she wouldn't be counted as tardy. The tables in the art room were high. Normally I would park my electric wheelchair close to a stool and climb up on it, but I was not strong enough to climb from the floor. I didn't want anyone to pick me up, so my teacher allowed me to work on the floor in a corner of the classroom. I actually preferred sitting on the ground with so much space to myself.

  When lunchtime came I was allowed to enter the cafeteria first with my friend. Since I wasn't strong enough to carry my own tray one of the cafeteria workers helped me through the line and to a table. The tables were not too high, but the stools were low and I had to sit on my knees to eat my food.

  The rest of the day presented similar challenges - chairs were too low, desk were too high, I couldn't reach the sinks in the bathrooms and all of the walking was taking a toll on me. By the time I struggled up the steps of my afternoon bus, I was completely exhausted. At dinner my dad asked,

"Did you enjoy not having your wheelchair today?"

"Yeah," I said, "but having it does make getting around school a lot easier. How am I going to get my wheelchair back?"

"Take your charger to school tomorrow and just let it charge while you're in class," my dad said. "Think you'll remember to charge it from now on?" he asked.

"Yep!"

Two weeks later, I forgot.

Wheelchair Wars

  Late one night my fiancé, a couple of our friends and I were hanging out. It was getting late. We ate dinner, but we weren't ready to call it a night.

"What do you guys wanna do?" My fiancé asked us. 

  We were in the Walmart parking lot and I was wheeling myself around out of hyper energy.

"I read this funny article online the other day about pranks to get yourself kicked out of Walmart," I said. 

"Oh come on, I spend enough time there during work," one of our friends moaned. 

"Not much else is open besides bars and clubs and I really don't feel like going there," I said. 

"Alright," they acquiesced, and we walked across the parking lot into the store. 

  Walmart is almost always full of shoppers. You can find a diverse group of people - once I met a group of monks. There is a man that works at one location whom I call Hagrid, because he resembles the great grounds keeper from the 'Harry Potter' books. 

  The store was not so crowded. I led my friends to the toy isle. 

"What are we doing here?" my friend asked.

"We are having an epic battle," I said pulling out a red light saber. "But not just any battle, a hide and seek one! Everyone chose your sabers!"

  My fiancé and friends selected their colors: Blue, green and red. I had my own red one.

"Now, the rules are: We split up and hide in different parts of the store. Give it two minutes and then start searching. When you run into someone, engage them in battle. Heart strikes and neck strikes are death marks. When you die, you must return to this area and put up your sword. Last person seeking is the winner."

  We split up. I wheeled away to the towel section and hid behind some laundry baskets. I waited ten minutes, counting the seconds silently in my head. I was barely through, when I saw one of my friends coming around the corner. Immediately, I moved behind some rugs and sped off down the isle, my saber at my back.

  Not too far away, I could hear the sound of sabers engage as two of my friends had found each other and were dueling to the death. It seemed the fight didn't last long,

"Oh man, no! I died" my friend shouted.

"To the post with you." the other said.

  I tried to avoid being seen and somehow managed to slip behind them and down another isle. I wheeled as fast as I could. My fiancé was chasing one friend down the shoe isle. Another friend appeared, following their sounds. He would sneak up on the two of them and engage whoever won. I headed toward the clothes. I knew I could hide easily amongst the racks of shirts.

  Suddenly, I heard my fiancé's shout of defeat and laughter as our friend won their battle. Now it was just me and my friend. He would be searching for me so I decided to avoid hiding and just seek him out. I left the clothes and headed to where I heard my fiancé had been. Just as I was slipping around the corner of the kitchen wares isle, I noticed my friend at the other end, so I turned thinking that he was coming down the next isle and I would sneak up on him. I wheeled slowly, to avoid any metal from clinking on my wheelchair.

  Just as I reached the end of the isle, my friend came around the corner next to me and we were suddenly face to face in combat mode. The battle began. It was short but epic. We pitched our plastic sabers against each other as hard as we could and I was so into it that I shouted my defiance.

"Die, sith scum!"

"You're the one with the red saber," my friend shot back at me.

"Your friend stole mine so I had to take this off the body of a dead Sith," I improvised.

"Admit it, you've embraced the dark side," my friend said.

"Never!" I shouted.

  It was hard to maneuver my wheelchair while I fought, but fortunately I was able to use the tires to buffer a few of my friend's blows. Just as I thought I might win, my friend and I made the same motion and our light sabers struck each other in the neck at the same time!

"Wow, I can't believe we both did that." I laughed.

"So what, it's a tie?" my friend asked.

"I guess so," I smiled.

  We went back to where our other friends and my fiancé waited.

"Looks like a draw," I said. "We killed one another at the same time, by striking each other in the neck," we all laughed.

"Well that was fun," I said, "but we didn't get kicked out."

"I don't think anyone really cared." my fiancé said looking around.

"No, I guess not," I said. "But it was a lot of fun and will make for a great story."
  

Wheelchair Water World

  When I was fourteen, my choir class took a trip to San Antonio for our spring concert. I had to take my manual wheelchair, because the electric one was too heavy for my teacher to handle and we couldn't get a handicapped bus in time. After the concert our teacher took us to an amusement park which was next to a water park. My friends and I roamed the park and I watched as they rode the rides. I was too short to ride anything, so I shopped for souviners instead.

"Okay girls, we have been given free passes to water world," my teacher announced, while we were eating lunch.

  Everyone cheered, except me. I was tired from pushing myself around the amusement park and just about ready to call it a day. However, I didn't say anything, but I was fortunate enough to have a very thoughtful teacher.

"I know you've got to be tired," my teacher said to me as we finished up our lunch.

"It's okay," I said. "I may just find a wade pool and stay there."

  I wanted to go on the water slides, but I didn't feel like pushing myself much further around the park. My teacher got up and went to the ticket booths. A few minutes later she called to me and three of my friends who had taken turns pushing me when I got tired.

"Girls, the director is sending over a couple of life guards to give you a ride around the park, that way you don't have to keep pushing your wheelchair all day," the teacher said to us.

"Awesome!" we cheered.

  A few moments later, a trolly arrived and I could hear my friends take a collective gasp as two really gorgeous guys stepped down and stood in front of us.

"Hello ladies," The one with red shorts and shoulder length brown hair said.

"Looks like you get the royal treatment, hot escorts and all," one of my classmates said loud enough for the guys to hear. I pretended like I didn't.

"Let's get you girls loaded up, so you can all get wet," the other, a blonde with sun glasses that never came off, said with a smirk.

  The guys were cute, but there was something about them that felt off to me. Politely, though, I accepted their assistance and they loaded my wheelchair onto the trolly. They drove us to two parts of the park. I rode on three water slides, one was the second largest in the park. As we rode with our guides to the other side of the park, I sat on the trolly seat so as not to get my wheelchair wet. My friends were shamelessly flirting with the guys, and even though they were obviously way too old for us, they flirted back.

"Wanna sit in my lap?" The blonde asked me. "I promise I won't let you fall off."

"Um, no, I don't - thanks," I said, trying not to sound rude, but feeling really uncomfortable.

  My friends however, seemed totally at ease. I tried not to listen to their coy chatter, but then...

"We go on break in ten minutes if you girls just want to come hang out with us. There is a mexican joint at the end of the park that doesn't card -- not that you look young," the blonde guy grinned at me, "We could drink some margaritas -- we'll have you back in half an hour."

"NO," I shrieked at them, and everyone jumped in surprise.

"Oh, come on," one of my friends pleaded, "Let's have some fun."

  I think that being in a wheelchair and not having control over a lot of aspects in my life has pushed me to be as stubborn and steadfast over the decisions I do get to make. Therefore peer pressure was never a big issue for me.

"We don't know these guys and haven't you watched enough Lifetime television to know how something like this plays out?" I scolded my friends, not caring if the guys heard me.

"But this isn't TV babe, and we work here. Come on, I promise we're not bad guys," blonde guy tried to make his tone sincere, but he was almost laughing. I glared at him and his friend grinned.

"I think that's a, 'no' dude," he chuckled.

"You don't have to come. We can let you stay and..." one of my friends started, but I cut her off.

"NONE of us are going with them and if any of you try to sneak off, I am telling," I shouted at my friends, then rounding on the two guys, "And I swear to God I'll fight you if you try to abduct us. In fact, we are getting off NOW." I insisted. I started to go into panic mode.

"Uh, we don't know how to get out of the park and it's gonna be a long walk," my friend whispered to me.

"Well I don't trust these guys to take us back, and I plan on reporting them when we return," I fumed.

"Look, we're sorry. We really were just trying to be friendly. It was inappropriate," blonde guy finally seemed to realize that I wasn't joking around, and both of them got serious. "We'll give you girls a ride back," they said.

  I felt a sudden guilt about the situation. Had I misunderstood? I wasn't used to being flirted with, but I always trust my instincts, because so far they hadn't let me down. I accepted their offer for a ride back. When we got to the front, the guys let us off and helped me back into my chair.

"I really am sorry," the blonde guy said. "I didn't mean to scare you," he turned to my friends. "You've got a really good friend here. Listen to her," he said.

"Thanks for bringing us back," I said to him.

"Anytime, your highness," He reached his hand out and I shook it.

Working At The Wheelchair Wash

Wheelchairs should have their own washing services.

  I was eating breakfast one saturday morning and looking at a car magazine. At sixteen I was already dreaming about having my own vehicle. I knew it would have to be a van to accommodate my wheelchair. 

"Dad, when am I getting a car?" I asked, flipping through the pages of the magazine.

"When you get your license," he answered, "but I'll tell you one thing, if you treat a car the way you treat your wheelchair you won't have it very long."

"What does that mean?" I frowned.

"It means you better be more cautious when you drive, don't let it run on empty and keep it clean. Just look at your wheelchair. I don't think you've ever washed it. You need to do that this afternoon," he said.

  Later, I took my wheelchair outside. I got a bucket of soapy water, a sponge and set to work. I intended to make my purple wheelchair look as shiny as a new car. I scrubbed hard and for what felt like an hour, giving it a good twice over. However, for all of the effort, my wheelchair seemed just as dirty as when I started. My sister offered to help.

"Maybe you should use some kind of cleaner," she suggested after trying to scrub some of the dirt off. 

  I went to the kitchen and looked under the sink where the cleaning products were kept. There was wood furniture polish, glass cleaner, tile scrub, sink and toilet cleanser and oven cleaner.

"Do you think oven cleaner would work?" I asked my sister.

"Seems closer to the stuff the wheelchair's frame is made of," she replied.

"Yeah, I was thinking that too." I grabbed the oven cleaner, two rags and went back out to where my soapy wheelchair was drip drying. 

  I skimmed the directions on the back of the can. 

"It says to let it sit for about thirty minutes before wiping off," I said. "Since this is a wheelchair, not an oven, I'm just gonna give it ten, then scrub and rinse."

  I only sprayed the white foam on the wheelchair's frame. The tires, I'd cleaned successfully with the soapy water. After ten minutes, my sister and I began scrubbing the foam from the frame.

"Oh my god, stop-stop-stop!" I shouted.

"Uh-oh," my sister said at almost the same time.

"Quick, we gotta wash this off," I said, grabbing the hose. My sister turned it on and I sprayed the frame clean of foam.

"Well that was a bad idea," I sighed, examining my wheelchair. 

  The oven cleaner worked a little too well. It removed the dirt, but it also stripped much of the purple paint off, particularly where my sister and I scrubbed. I couldn't hope that my dad wouldn't notice so when he came home later I told him what I'd done. He shook his head and laughed in disbelief.

"It's a good thing for your future car that you can take it to a carwash."