Into Appleby's we enter, using the long accessible entrance. It wasn't necessary for either one of us, it was just close to where I parked the Volvo. The Volvo, is the 21 year old trusty classic that serves as my means of independence. Without transportation, my world would disintegrate rapidly just like any suburban American.
Maureen is dressed attractively in black with a black leather jacket. She has large brown eyes and flawless skin. My girl can talk and does so with volume. Maureen knows what she wants simply by looking at the food pictured on the menu. "I want that, just as it's pictured," she announces to the waitress who then puts her attention on me.
This gesture, looking for confirmation from me touches a sensitive nerve. Maureen had already done that by announcing that she knew I was very shy underneath my friendliness. I felt exposed for the first time in a very long time. Most people when they meet me or even if they've known me for a long time, never get to the shy me, so well I have surrounded her, with a host of social graces, honesty and personal appearances. There underneath it all is the shy ultra-sensitive me. I bet you didn't even believe this is possible!
So here we are, two women having lunch together, one with a visible disability and the other with an invisible one. I've been here before and my mind wanders back a few years ago to Mike. He was brilliant, so funny, handsome and an out-going mensch. He, also, became a quadriplegic having broken his neck in a diving accident at age 17 years old. When I met him he was 47 years old and had been a 'quad' for 30 years. Fortunately, he was not respirator dependent and when the weather was good, man,could he ever get around Boston!! Talk about a man who broke down barriers for individuals with spinal cord injuries in a proactive activist manner.
Eventually, Mike got married and had a daughter. Absolutely everything has to be done to keep a 'quad' functioning as a spirit/soul trapped in a body that refuses to do anything. It takes it toll on the caregivers and thus any marriage. Debbie and he divorced but it was Debbie who single-handily whenever Mike got sick and near "the valley of death" who talked him back to life, badgered the doctors and saw that he got the best medical care possible. She continued this role long after they were divorced. She was an incredible inspiration herself.
I simply loved Mike and he joyfully loved me back. We had chemistry and had a lot of fun together walking or getting around the city, He knew all the disability access points in the subway. We got to ride for free on buses and trains and vans wherever we were going. I learned to cut his food for him and on one occasion an elderly woman said as we passed "God bless you. I don't know how you do it." The shock hit me in the gut. She was speaking to me, not to Mike. His disability, was by far worse than my twisted route to stability. Of course, she assumed I was his wife.
Mike was good for me because he got me moving and opened up a whole new world to me. With him, I became an advocate for individuals with disabilities. I guess that means that I am comfortable in the company of those who are different or who've known tragedy or vulnerable health and have overcome it in their own way against the greatest odds. Mike was the finest. He died about 7 years ago having defied the medical professionals and specialists about how long a man can live in such a state.
He loved the fact that I was a Democrat and he was a Republican. Mike knew how to bait a conversation to get "my Irish-up". He also invited me as his date to one of the Republican Inaugural Balls when Mitt Romney became Governor of the Commonwealth. Want to make an entrance? Make an appearance dressed in a sexy black dress with a full-length mink coat accompanied by a man dressed in his finest suit looking handsome in his crisp white shirt. Except, picture the handicapped van with an electric lift and the gentleman in an electric powered wheel chair. No lines for us! We are whisked inside. That was an entrance, I know he played over and over, because it gave us great laughs. Crowds parted for us. It was all quite amusing and astonishing at the same time.
Maureen may be disappointed but I can not commit to this as a weekly event until the k-ching increases. Next stop at her insistence is to see James Cotton play at a Salisbury Beach venue. She's dying to go to Salisbury Beach. I haven't been there since high-school days and this, too, is not a destination that normally intrigues me. Yet in this instance, too, I'll let her take the lead. She obviously relishes the job. Maybe, it'll even be fun.
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