With a resounding thud, he landed on the floor, dragging his bedclothes with him in a last ditch attempt to remain in bed. It wasn’t the first time Jason had fallen. It most certainly won’t be the last. Thrashing around the bed in the midst of a recurring nightmare is usually bad enough, but when you’re largely limbless, there’s very little to stop you from rolling. So, when you reach the edge…
Jason clawed his way back onto the duvet. It is far easier to gain a wheelchair from above a bed than below. The youngster discovered this the hard way years ago, when, in a similar situation, had remained on the floor for hours before help arrived. By that time, he had closely approached hyperthermia, and had shit himself into the bargain! The hyperthermia he coped with, especially as the arriving help helped him into a tub of steaming, aromatic bath water. However, the sheer and utter embarrassment caused by the acrid pungency of his defecation filled shorts stayed with him for years.
Jason vowed never to allow himself to get into that irreversible situation again. And he didn’t. Fall he did. Often. But this past experience prompted Jason to work-out, and his upper body strength actually became second-to-none, and never again did he have to leave himself on any floor.
Fourteen years on, Jason, at twenty nine, is a remarkably well adjusted individual considering his circumstances, because fifteen years ago, he lost both legs just above the knees. Why is irrelevant at present, save to say it was a very necessary evil required to prolong his life.
With straggly dark brown hair, knotted and untidy; and cold, steel grey eyes, Jason was a ruggedly handsome individual, especially on the occasions he went unshaven. The ‘five o’clock shadow’ look suited him, although any more looked pretentious. When not in bed, which in fact is only in the night, Jason resides permanently in his wheelchair. Customised with black and silver ‘go faster’ stripes and a built-in CD player with a ten disc auto-changer, and with headphones built into the headrest, Jason is as comfortable and ‘hip’ as he feels he can get.
Because of his disability, visitors are a regular occurrence. The physiotherapist, John Weston, calls once per week and gives Jason a severe bruising with a regime of extreme exercises. Mandy McCullough, a thirty-something Scottish nurse, is Jason’s health visitor. She calls twice a week, on Mondays and Thursdays, checks his medication, and assures herself that nothing unusual is happening. Mandy loves her visits! Three time a week, on Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday, a white van pulls up outside Jason’s flat, and a short, Asian van driver expertly balances covered trays of food along his path. Whilst Jason tucks in to these culinary offerings, Khalid sits alongside and chats. About the weather, the football, the food. It doesn’t matter! It doesn’t matter about the weather, the football or the food, or anything else, for that matter. What matters is that they chat. The companionship started early, way back when. But they gradually grew closer as time passed, and Khalid likes to think that they are quite good friends. Jason likes Khalid, but is reticent about creating a friendship that he may grow to regret. His ability to strike up close friendships was always hampered by his idea that no-one would want to become friends with a cripple!
But, time’s a great healer, so the saying goes, and thus, Jason accepted his friendship with a reverence bordering on fanaticism. Because of the closeness developed over time, Khalid was the only person Jason deemed to enlighten as to the truth about his legs. Sworn to secrecy, Khalid actually had two secrets to keep. He was in love with Jason! Khalid was gay!
Today is Wednesday, and Khalid had been there for twenty minutes.
“What are you doing with yourself today then?”
“Oh, I don’t know whether to go shopping or not. Can’t decide.”
“I’ll take you if you want. I’m doing nothing later. Say two o’clock?”
“OK. That’ll be great.” Jason’s wheelchair would fit comfortably in the back of Khalid’s van, and he would appreciate the company. He didn’t go shopping very often anyway.
* * *
They had a great time together, with Khalid being extremely careful to keep his glances covert, and Jason, unaware of the attention he was receiving, laughed and joked, and spent more than he could afford on CD’s and DVD’s. The only time during the afternoon that didn’t go well involved a scene of Jason looking longingly into Clarks shop window. It would have been part of his wish-list, except futility was to the fore of the many emotions on display.
Later that day, shortly after six thirty, Jason’s doorbell disturbed his post-tea workout. Zipping down the hall, he found Mandy at his door. He wasn’t expecting visitors, least of all Mandy, as his health visitor wasn’t due today.
“Hello,” puzzled, “What can I do for you?”
“Hi Jason. I was passing and remembered something. I forgot to tell you about a meeting you may find interesting. But it’s tomorrow morning, so I thought I ought to tell you tonight, give you time to arrange stuff.”
“You’d better come in.” Wheeling aside, Mandy stepped past and on into the lounge. When Jason joined her, he invited her to sit and enquired about the meeting.
“Thank you. Yes, the meeting. At the council offices. Aimed at any interested party, but specifically wheelchair-bound. It’s about access. Access to shops and pubs, parks and, oh, just about anywhere.”
Jason sat forward, interest etched into his face. “Yes, I’ll come.”
“Will you make your own way, or can I give you a lift?”
“Oh would you? That’d be great if you could!”
“I’d love to.” Replied Mandy, and gave him a look from behind a veiled but very pretty young face. A look of longing.
Mandy had grown to love her twice-weekly visits, and had spent many hours searching for excuses to ‘socialise’. This first real opportunity was just the ticket, because unfortunate though the saying may be, she fancied the socks off Jason.
She stayed and chatted a while, eventually leaving with a light step and a smiley face. Jason fell readily asleep that night, but continued to suffer the indignity of the recurring nightmare!
One Comment
Ian, I love this, it is beautifully written and conveys compassion without being over-sentimental.