When we got to the center Joe parked as close to the door as possible. I got out and began to push myself up the slight hill to get to the door. I have done this for a long time and it’s now a fairly easy push for me but this time I was pushing uphill, on a surface covered in slush and a ridiculous amount of salt. It was hard, I went slowly but I made it into the building. I hadn’t been bothered by offers of help because I was lucky enough to come in when there was no on else around.
A couple hours later, when we were preparing to leave, I went over to the doors to watch for Joe who was bringing the car to come get me. The parking lot was busy and there were lots of cars dropping people off so I knew that it would take some time so I sat back in my wheelchair relaxing while I was waiting.
“Excuse me, are you waiting for a ride?” came the voice of, as it turned out, a young man in his early 30s.
“Yes, I am,” I said.
“Would you like me to wait with you and help you get to your car?”
“Thanks, but no, I’m good.”
“I don’t mind,” he said a bit earnestly.
“No really, it’s okay, I don’t need help.”
“It’s no bother,” he said.
I sighed, bored by a conversation I’ve hand thousands of time, “Look outside, it’s downhill, I’m on wheels.”
“But …” he said.
I interrupted, “It’s down hill, I’m on wheels, I’ve got gravity on my side, really, seriously, I don’t need help.”
He looked so disappointed, but he acknowledged my ‘no.’
But I think he went away wondering why I would let gravity help me but not him.
Joe pulled up and I went through the door and rolled downhill barely needing to touch my wheels except where the salt lay in big bunches on the pavement.
Wheels.
Downhill.
Seriously.
