Gravity

"Here's your first lesson, Sam. I am not this chair. The chair is not me. I am a woman. A woman who uses a chair. Just the same way, you are not your chair. You're a professor, I hear. You didn't stop being that just because you got busted up by a truck.

"The English language is really bad about this. I think of myself as a person with a disability, not a disabled person. The distinction is important. You are not a wheelchair. And, also, you're not a widower, that's a label, not an identity.

"You're a man. A grieving, damaged man, but a man, with a life to live.

"You dishonor your wife's love if you even say, 'I can't go on living without her.'

"Never say that in front of me again. NEVER."

Sam was upset. "Wait, Shari, please! Forgive me, I am not being clear. Yes, Lila would be angry with me.

"But you're wrong, I DO know something about you, something important. I know Vern, some, and a man who I respect highly knows Vern well and had recommended him to me. And I knew quickly while talking with Vern that he was trustworthy.

"That surprised me. Realtors, after all, are essentially salesmen/women; some of them might as well be hawking used cars.

"So, when he brought up his cousin, he said he would be asking your advice on, what I believe they call, 'accessibility.' That told me he values you and your knowledge.

"Lila trusted Bud, he was her boss. So, I trust Bud, Bud trusts Vern, and Vern trusts Shari, so then I trust Shari too. It's algebra!"

"Algebra?! They let you teach? In College? Our country is doomed. Well, Sam, you clearly need guidance. I guess I will work for you. I would probably do it for free as your new friend, but you offered, you can afford it, and I badly need the money. Do we have a deal?"

"Certainly, thank you, Shari. I need your first and last name for the check."

"It's S-H-A-R-I and the last name is E-L-D-E-R."

Sam wrote out the check and handed it to her. "Let me know when you want more."

"Wow, thanks. I can come back here tomorrow, same time, so we can meet again in your elegant dining lounge. Just the same, considering what I'm smelling, I'm bringing a bag lunch for safety's sake."

Smiling, "And here's your second lesson: if you tell a woman 'Let me know when you want more,' don't be surprised when she does just that. Quickly."

Sam watched the back of Shari's head as she rolled away. "What am I doing? She's a nut! Kind of pretty, though," he thought, as he rolled back to his room. He didn't notice the broad smile across his face.

Likely, it was the first time since the accident that he had smiled.

Chapter 7: To Start With.

As promised, Shari returned the next day. "Sam, I have an idea. To give you the best advice, I need to know as much as possible about you. Which will be hard, because most men have trouble talking about themselves and their interior lives. See, you're rolling your eyes already.

"Bear with me here. My idea is I'm going to go first. You're going to learn everything important to know about Shari Elder. And after that, you'll be comfortable telling me all about Sam Hartman.

"I was born about four hundred miles west of here, 30 years ago. My parents were healthy, and they didn't immediately recognize that I was impaired. They had another child, a boy, who was plagued with problems. My little brother died when he was only 11 months old. I don't remember him as I was only 3 at the time.

"After age 3 my parents were convinced that I was also having difficulties. I wasn't walking, of course. They took me through many doctors and by about age 5 they had a diagnosis for me. That diagnosis is still valid today.

"I have paraplegic cerebral palsy. Essentially, it's brain damage. It could have happened before, during, or after birth. The section of my brain that would operate my leg muscles is missing or too damaged to work. My legs don't do anything useful. Sometimes they cramp, or contract, or are just painful. But I get by well enough.

"It's not total paralysis, I have feeling on my skin.

"A huge gift would be for my lover to massage my legs, particularly when they are paining me. Followed by some good sex, which I am 100% capable of and would fully enjoy, by the way.

"Sadly, there have been no applicants to that position, or should I say, opening."

If Sam could stand, right now he would be shifting his feet nervously and staring at the floor. Instead, he just looked away, flushed with embarrassment. Shari noted his reaction, this time without comment.

"So, my parents did their best to raise me as normal as possible. They were early advocates to 'mainstream' me into regular school classes, except of course for P.E. And I was able to prove at school that my thinking brain was just fine. Only my leg-walking brain parts were broken."

"School wasn't ideal, though. Most of my peers ignored me. I had a couple of girls who were casual friends but no one I could truly confide in. No sleepovers, like the other girls would do. And I was invisible to the boys. Not one date. No homecoming. No prom.

"When I went to college, it was more of the same. I was now invisible to young adults instead of to teenagers. After a while the isolation got the better of me, and I withdrew, socially.

"It was so frustrating to me. I think I have a reasonable self-image. I would be about 5 feet 6 inches [168 cm] tall, if I could stand. I weigh a respectable 125 pounds [57 kg]. I'm in good shape and strong. (You'll learn, Sam, that pushing yourself around on these wheels will be a huge effort until your arms get built up.)

"I have a pleasant symmetrical face, it's not ugly."

"It's absolutely not ugly, Shari."

"Thank you, Sam. Straight teeth. No warts, no cold sores. What else? Oh, yeah, 34B, with perky pink nipples. Oh, Sam, you're getting all red again. It's so cute.

"What else? Lots of curly black hair, obviously. Oh, truth be told, there's more curly black hair elsewhere. I have no reason to shave my legs, pits, or any other underbrush."

Shari observed gleefully that Sam's face was now bright red, almost glowing.

"Unlike my love life, I had a whole lot of luck in the business world. I had a talent for computers and software, and when the web started to explode, I was right there making pages and sites for all sorts of clients."

"The great thing about a computer is it doesn't care. You can have great legs, useless legs, or no legs, it doesn't care. You can work in a suit, or naked, it doesn't care. You can be young or old, sleek or sloppy, cranky or calm, it doesn't care.

"And there's a creative design aspect to working on web pages that keeps the work interesting and even fun for me.

"Overall, my career is fulfilling and keeps me busy. I'm financially secure and independent, except just recently when things have gotten really tight. It's work where I don't have to commute or wear a suit, and I set my own schedule.

"There are only two gaps in my life right now.

"The first thing is just crazy. I'd really like to have a top tier powered wheelchair. They have a big car battery inside and they can go 15 miles between charges. But I can't realistically blow $20,000 (or more) for a good one.

"The second missing thing you can probably guess. But I hardly even think about it anymore. You'll learn, my new friend, that these wheels are a cloak of invisibility. You don't exist as a gendered person, capable of romance, or even flirting.

"Now, buddy, you've met Shari Elder in excruciating detail. Tomorrow, it will be time for the Sam Hartman story. With all the details. Same time, same place." She glanced towards the kitchen. "Here, it seems unlikely—but enjoy your lunch."

As she made to leave, she looked back. "On second thought, tomorrow you're taking me out to lunch, for some real food. I'll drive and pick the place. Be up front at 11:00 tomorrow and watch for my red van."

She studied his still-red face and waved her hand in front of his eyes.

"OK? Sam? Nod your head. Eleven o'clock. Red van. Good boy. I'll be leaving now."

Sam felt like he needed to sit down. Which was silly, because he was already in his wheelchair. His thinking had derailed back among those curly black hairs. Although, to be fair, he was still taking the opiates.

But there was another big smile on his face as Shari left the building.

Chapter 8: At Frankie's Flying Skillet.

"All the years I've lived here, Shari, and I never knew this place. I assume the food's good?"

"It is good. More importantly, it has an accessible entrance, and room to park our chairs without obstructing the other tables. These are questions you need to keep in mind for your new wheel-based lifestyle.

"Sam, yesterday I hit you with a lot of personal stuff. I kind of shocked myself, even. But there's something about you that inspires trust, and confidence. I bet you're a popular professor at the college.

"And I talked about how we should learn about each other so I could better help with your life transition. That's still true. But I like you. I want to be your friend. I think being friends would do us both good, don't you agree? I see that you do."

Staff appeared and took their lunch orders.

"So, my friend, it's now story time for Sam. I'll suggest you use my topics from yesterday as a guide."

"Alright, Shari. Well, my nipples are kind of beige." Shari's eyes got huge, and her jaw dropped into her lap. "I have curly brown hair everywhere, and I also don't shave my legs. Or my pubes." She stifled a shriek, and put her head down on the table, shoulders heaving. After a minute, she looked up, caught sight of Sam's face, and was gone again.

Finally, she composed herself, and wiped her face with the napkin. "You jerk! You made me cry. I hate crying in public. And I think I pulled a muscle. I almost fell out of my damn chair; I was laughing so fucking hard. OK, you're doing well. Keep going."

"Just to finish with shaving, I was tired of scraping my face. I started a beard last year, but it came in gray, so I shaved it off immediately."

"I was born 40 years ago, right here. I had a younger sister, Connie, but she had pneumonia and died when I was six and she was only three. I have almost no memory of her. Other than that, I had an utterly unremarkable childhood.

"My father was a CPA, my mother was a homemaker. I didn't get away with much, my mother being home all the time and me being an only child. I was closely watched in the afternoons to make I always completed all of my homework. I was not allowed to date."

Shari wore a puzzled expression on her face. "So, no dates for teenage Sam, either. I don't get it. Judging by your current mug, you were a decent-looking kid, with a functional body and a working brain, Professor. So did you have no interest in girls?"

"Not at all. I was interested, but impaired by a whole different set of bumps: pimples. With so many craters on my face, there should have been tiny little astronauts walking around picking up rocks.

"By the time I was a high school senior, I had convinced myself I would be always alone. Looking back now with more educated and experienced eyes, I recognize that I had taken on my parents' negative feelings about love. They were polite to each other, but never affectionate. I never saw them kiss. Most likely, they didn't have sex.

"But at the same time, my urges were constantly on my mind. The urge for love seemed to drive me as hard as my need for eating or sleeping.

I watched the girls as discreetly as possible. I couldn't help myself; they were fascinating and beautiful, but I couldn't bring myself to speak to any of them.

"It was teenage brain at work. My female peers were attractive but terrifying. In my imagination a girl would catch me watching her and then ridicule me and complain loudly. Again, teenage thinking, decorated with cowardice."

"Finished with high school, at age 18, I was compelled to whack myself off, but it brought me little pleasure, and left me feeling no better. I took a terrible summer job working in a kitchen with a bunch of men. No girls around to raise my futile desires. It was hot, arduous work, but it gave me a little spending money for my first year at college. And it was one time where I didn't feel I was being led around by my sex mania.

"I haven't spoken well of my parents, but they did put me through college with almost full financial support. And when I enrolled and moved into the dorms, I realized that I had a new problem. With a college roommate, I wouldn't have much privacy for my obligatory morning and evening masturbation sessions.

"But I did have a student health system benefit. So, I went to see their doctor. I explained to him how I had this out-of-control sex drive problem and how it was wrecking my life. I was hoping for some kind of anti-sex pill prescription, so that I could stop abusing myself and mooning over unattainable young women.

"Long story short, that wise doctor didn't laugh at me. He sent me on to the staff psychiatrist, who put me into counseling. They slowly helped me learn a more reasonable and self-accepting way to live. How to be a confident man that a woman could date, or even love.

"And my dorm roommate helped too, he got me out socializing on Friday and Saturday nights, and he hit the gym with me, so I stayed physically healthy. By the end of my first semester, I felt reborn.

"Because a bunch of people went out of their way to help a fearful frantic soul named Sam Hartman."

"In the second semester, I was dating, and then had my first girlfriend."

Shari sighed and opened her eyes. They were wet again. "What was your roommate's name?"

"Carter Otterman, why?"

"Because, Sam, I need to hunt him down and kiss him. A lot."

"I'm sure he would enjoy that. Um, maybe we should give these nice folks their table back? I'm due for Physical Therapy at 3:00, and they are promising some extra pummeling for today."

"Sure, I'll bring you back. Jerking off twice daily, really?"

Chapter 9: Home is Where the Ramp Is.

It was the Saturday scheduled for the big house-finding expedition. Shari parked her red van in the blue ♿ parking spot by the front door of Sam's facility. The van's side door slid open, and a ramp extended out, like a tongue.

Vern pushed Sam up the ramp and parked him behind the front two seats, between the sliding side doors of the van. Shari's chair was parked (and clamped down) behind the steering wheel, and Vern sat to her right in the front passenger seat.

"Here we go. Vern, direct me to the first house for today."

Three Hours Later.

"Sam, Shari, we have seen and reviewed every property on my list. How about we find a restaurant and decompress?"

"You're on, cousin," answered Shari. "Let's go to Andretti's for some pasta, Sam's treat. OK?"

Forty Minutes Later.

"Ah, that hit the spot. Vern, your choices were just right for me today. I'm sure we could have a big discussion and charts with pros and cons.

"But I've made up my mind, I want to offer on the third house we saw, the one on Walnut Street. Here's why: all of today's houses were accessible, with ramps up to the front door's threshold. But the third house had extra amenities for someone in a wheelchair. The hallways and doors are wide, there's no carpet, and the kitchen and bathroom counters are lowered.

"It is the most recently built, so I anticipate few problems with plumbing, electrical, and so on. Last, it's on a quiet street only three blocks long.

"I call for a vote: all in favor?"

Three hands were raised. It was decided.

"Vern, you have my complete endorsement to negotiate the sale. I honestly don't care how we get there, but I want that house. We can go above the asking price, if necessary, but I'm confident you'll work out a good deal for me. Tell them we'll pay in cash, the entire negotiated price."

Shari exclaimed, "Woof! You own a gold mine or something?"

"No, I heard from an insurance company I had forgotten about. We had taken out a life insurance policy on Lila when we were paying our mortgage. The premiums were automatically deducted from Lila's paychecks, so I didn't see them and forgot all about the policy."

"The payout qualifies as 'double indemnity' because it was a death by accident. The total runs close to the asking price of the new house. That's why I can purchase in cash and recoup the money when I sell our old house."

"There's one more reason I want to move fast, Vern. They are going to expel me from skilled nursing, as soon as I can fully ditch the opiates. I'm just not willing to stay in our old house surrounded by reminders of Lila. If I have to, I'll get a short-term rental."

"It's my hope that we can close quickly, grab the keys, and get the new place furnished right away so I can move in. Vern, tell me: am I being crazy?"

Shari jumped in. "I think you're being not crazy. I'm fully convinced, and I've known you for just three days. But for moving fast, you have good ideas. What about you, Vern?"

"Sam, I'll do my very best to meet your requirements. Don't forget we need a thorough and independent home inspection. Some of the newer construction I've seen is really slapdash. But I didn't see any red flags on Walnut Street. I'm going to need a check from you as earnest money when we have a purchase agreement.

"One more idea, Sam. My wife Connie has a good friend who does interior design. Paula can help you get the new place furnished fast, attractive, and comfortable. You don't want your new home full of allegedly Scandinavian particle board furniture."

Shari drove them all back to Sam's facility. "Sam, we have a lot more to cover together. Monday I will pick you up at 11:00. We're going on a picnic. I'll bring everything, just be ready."

"Sounds great, Shari. Thank you for being part of today's expedition, and driving. And Vern, I am so appreciative. You really know your business. Everything's going to work out great!"

Chapter 10: Outside, in the Fresh Air.

Sam carefully transferred from his chair into the van's front passenger seat. "I'm excited for today's picnic, Shari. I love being outside in nature."

"Great! I made ham and cheese sandwiches, and there's a cooler with some drinks. We're going out to the regional park where they have a day use area with paved walkways."

After eating, Shari and Sam arranged their chairs side by side under an oak tree, with a view of the hills and the lake.

"What a beautiful day. Thank you, Shari."

"Sam, I think it's time you told me about Lila. How did you meet?"

"I had finished my MBA and was hooked up with a business college for my first teaching job doing an evening class. Lila was a student, and she did really well."

"At the end of the class, I gave her an 'A' and she said, 'So now our student/teacher relationship is ended, you can ethically take me out to dinner tomorrow night. Here's my address, meet me there at six. Make reservations at the Parkside Grille at 6:30.'"

"Lila wasn't shy, not then, not ever. And so gorgeous in my eyes. I showed up for dinner as instructed, and it was love, and lust, at first bite. I couldn't believe my good fortune. I was more self-confident than I had been in high school, but with Lila I never got over the feeling of how lucky I was to be her man."

"On our third date, we were in bed together. Two months later, we were married. My parents attended the wedding but were indifferent to Lila. 'What's the rush?' they said. Lila's parents argued against me to her. 'He's only a part-time instructor at a third-rate night school. You could do so much better for yourself!'"

"As you might expect, the denigration from our parents only made us more determined to marry right away. Which we did. Money was tight, so we only had a three-day honeymoon."