When I was a teenager, I didn't go to parties or concerts a lot like most of my friends. I liked being a homebody for the most part, but one night I was really bored so I started calling around and seeing what my friends were doing. Most of them were already busy, but one of them called me back,
"Hey, I was thinking about seeing The Buzzcocks play tonight, downtown. Do you want to go?" he asked.
"Sure," I agreed. I'd heard a few of their songs and thought they were pretty good.
Later, my friend picked me up and he and I went to the local warehouse. We'd arrived early to get a good spot, but when we went inside, the room was hardly crowded.
"I'm surprised the turn out was so weak," I said to my friend, "I thought this band was really popular."
"Oh, it's still early," he assured me. "Places like this can fill up fast."
We watched the opening band play. One of the members brought out a guitar that was so small, I could have held it. I was mesmerized watching him play, until he smashed the instrument in front of me. I could hardly believe it. I was so angry, I thought I might explode - I wished he'd given me the guitar if he really didn't want it.
"Are you okay?" My friend asked, seeing my expression.
"That was a punk ass thing to do," I said motioning to the splintered wood and strings littered across the stage.
"Yeah it was," he agreed, understanding my anger.
"I'm going to the bathroom. I'll be back," I said.
"Okay, I'm gonna get a beer," my friend gestured toward the bar at the back.
I went to the bathroom and splashed some water on my face to calm down. I wished I were old enough for a beer. I wasn't about to ask my friend to buy me one, though I doubt he would have - my dad wouldn't have let me hang out with him alone if he thought he would, and I didn't want to break my dad's trust.
I wheeled back out and was shocked to see the venue was suddenly packed. Eventually, I found my friend at the back, by the bar.
"I told you this place could fill up," he said, sipping his beer. "I'm sorry, I should have gone back to the front and reserved our place."
"It's okay, maybe we can push our way back up," I suggested. But it was no use.
"When the show starts, I will let you sit on my shoulders," my friend offered.
"Are you sure?" I asked.
"Come on," he said and bent down so I could climb on.
My brother let me sit on his shoulders numerous times, but I'd never trusted anyone else not to drop me. Still, I did want to see the band play - plus it didn't smell very pleasant the more crowded the room got. I stood up on my wheelchair and started to climb, when suddenly we were approached by the bouncer.
"You don't need to do that," he said to me. "Come on, we'll find you a place where you can see the band play."
A place where we could see the band play. I imagined we were about to be escorted back to our earlier places in the front. Instead, the bouncer led us out of the side door, around to a ramp in the back, through a room behind the stage, up another ramp and then right up on stage!
"How is this for a view?" The bouncer grinned at me. We were positioned behind the left speaker, just in the shadows. Still, we could see the whole band.
The Buzzcocks began to play and my friend and I were on cloud nine. It was so loud, I was sure I would be deaf, but I didn't care! I was amazed at their performance. Pete Shelley - the lead singer, who at the time was in his fifties - seemed to have the crazy energy of someone in his thirties. Every once in a while one of the members would look at us; smile, nod, wink or acknowledge our presence with some small gesture. After the show my friend and I got to meet the band who, despite their wild stage presence, were kindly spoken gentlemen.
"It was so wonderful to meet you my dear," Pete said, taking my hand with both of his as we said goodbye.
His british accent made me feel as though I were being bid farewell by an elder knight.
As my friend and I left in a daze my friend finally broke,
"Wow, that was so amazing!" he said.
"Yeah it was, thanks for bringing me!" I beamed.
"Thank you," he said. "It's because of you that we got to sit on stage. Do you always get to do stuff like that?"
"Not always," I answered.
"You should," he said.
"I'd feel guilty. I always say I want to be treated normal, but if I got special treatment all the time just because of my wheelchair, it would be kind of hypocritical," I reasoned.
"But you're short. Even if you weren't in a wheelchair, you would have had to move where you could see - that's normal," he countered.
"True," I agreed. "But wow, I wasn't expecting them to let us sit on stage!"
"I know, that was awesome!" My friend and I continued geeking out over our amazing night.
~*~
Being in a wheelchair has taught me many things, but most importantly it has given me a deep appreciation for the kindness of people. I am grateful for every chance I am given to sit where I can enjoy a movie, concert or show; for every person who offers to hold a door or let me cut in line; for anyone who helps me reach things up high. If you're one of these people - from my heart, Thank You.
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