Decoration for Valor
Page 12
That afternoon, I convinced Sam to let me stand up in the frame. I put my knees against the pad and Sam grabbed the waistband of my pants and pulled my butt up. I pushed my chest up and stood for about five seconds before I passed out. It was the same routine as I went through when I first got up in the wheelchair, but it took loads more time and more energy. By the end of that first hour, I could only stand for about thirty seconds before I had to sit down. That evening, I was too tired to go to the mess hall. I fell asleep with my clothes on. An aide woke me up at about 10:00 p.m. and got me undressed. I had no trouble going right back to sleep.
22
Happy Birthday, Baby
The monotony of the hospital’s routine crawled through the last two weeks of March, but, for me, there were a few changes. I was able to stand in the frame for almost a half hour. I could push to the mess hall with fewer stops to catch my breath. And I was developing a weak grip in my right hand. If I slid a soda can so that it was wedged against something, I could push my thumb to one side and the knuckle of my index finger to the other side and, by flexing my wrist back, could force a grip and pick it up. I was also becoming more coordinated at using two hands to do what I had done with one. When the hands failed, there were always my teeth to grab, lift, or pull. I graduated from a hard plastic collar to a soft foam rubber one. Finally, the hospital gave me a smaller chair without the reclining back. It was much shorter and lighter.
Thursday, April 1, 1971 was more than just April Fools Day. It was my twentieth birthday. I was aware of its approach, but I had taken pains to keep it a secret. I had been watching for a card from my parents. This really was my first birthday—of my life in a wheelchair. That thought did not make for a happy birthday. The VA had a sense of timing, though. A therapist came in to measure me for my own wheelchair, one of two I could get from the VA. What a macabre birthday present; it would not come in for a few weeks. I ordered dark blue and the narrowest chair I could get, better to get through narrow doors like men’s room stalls.
The student therapists did not come on Thursday. Flo sat and flexed my hands. “Where does your son go while you’re at work?” I asked.
“He goes to a special school or stays with my mother.” She went on telling me about his classes, the things they did together. I was impressed about how important it was for her to be there for this little person. She told me about Saturdays. They would go to a stable and ride horses and go out on trails together. I felt melancholy when I thought that was her hot date on the weekend.
I stopped by my bed at lunch. I hoped to find a letter, but mail had not come around yet. I changed from hospital clothes into jeans and boots and a jacket. I went to the phone and called a cab. Recalling how much trouble Suzie had with the chair, I suggested that they send a station wagon. I had my own birthday celebration planned.
I packed my wallet and some papers into a canvas bag that hung from the handles of my chair. Outside, the sky was full of puffy white clouds moving quickly in a steady wind. The cab arrived in thirty minutes. The driver was a short, round woman. She had a red face with bright blue eyes and a big smile—but no teeth. It looked like some plastic surgeon had taken a tuck in her cheeks and pulled the corners of her mouth back toward her ears. I was not sure if she was happy or deformed. It turned out she was cheerful, very cheerful, one of those people who, when you are near them, you start feeling better and I realized I was smiling. I did not know why—maybe her energy and attitude were contagious.
She opened the back door as I pulled up to the cab. I tried several approaches, but I could not get around the rear wheel well. “Can I ride up front with you?”
“Don’t make no never mind to me, darling. I’ll tie you on the roof rack if you want me to.” She grinned wider. I could not help smiling more.
“No, the front seat’s fine.” After I got in, she handed me my cushion and bag. Then, she folded the chair and deftly swung the ungainly mass in through the open tailgate. She slid into the front seat, wedging her round shape behind the steering wheel. I looked down at the brake and accelerator pedals. She had wired a thick block of wood to each one so her short legs could reach them. She expertly slalomed through the cars and curves of the parking lot on the way to the exit.
“Okay were you wanna go?”
“Do you know the Pontiac dealer down by the interstate?”
“Have you there in a second.” The friendly driver introduced herself as Delia. She’d been driving a cab for twenty years. There wasn’t any history or part of Richmond that she did not know. Her daughters owned a beauty shop (they did her hair) and they furnished her with all the gossip in town. Her son was in the Navy in Norfolk. She reached over and flipped down the visor in front of me. It was covered with snapshots of her four grandchildren.
It was 2:30 when we got to the car dealership. I had seen it when I had been out with Suzie. Mostly, I had noticed a dark blue LeMans on the front lot. “That’s $8.50.”
I handed her a ten-dollar bill. “Keep the change.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, it’s only money. Besides, I’m hoping I could ask you to stop back at 4:40 and pick me up?”
“I’ll be here.” She pulled the chair out and held it for me. I had improved since my effort with Suzie, but the exercise of getting into the chair was part lifting and part falling sideways and then squirming side to side to drag my butt onto the cushion. As I worked to catch my breath, I felt her pat my shoulder, and then she slid behind the wheel and was gone. I pulled on my gloves and pushed across the pavement. The LeMans reflected the sun and the other cars. I peered through the windows at the white upholstery. I read the sticker on the window. The car was loaded; no option had been left off. The price was $4,595.
I saw the reflection of someone coming up behind me, a tall man with salt and pepper hair. “I’m Herbert Walters,” he introduced himself and held out his hand. I was aware how weak my own handshake must feel. “Do you have any questions?”
“I like it.” I thought that was probably a mistake to tell a car salesman that you liked the car, but it was my first time.
“She’s a nice car, only been here a week or so. Would you like to drive it?”
“Well, I couldn’t drive with out hand controls, but if you wouldn’t mind, I would like to get in and see how easy it is to get the chair in and out.”
“No problem. When I saw you head straight for this car, I went ahead and brought the keys out.” The salesman opened the door and stepped back. “I don’t want to get in the way, but I’ll help anyway I can.”
I looked at the gap between the LeMans and the car next to it. “You’re gonna have to back it up so that I can get the door to open all the way so I can get close enough to get in.” That being done, I rolled to the open door.
“Need any other help?” he offered.
“Thanks, but I have got to see how much of this I can do by myself.” I had watched Joe White and some of the other guys load their chairs into cars by themselves. I had practiced the routine in my mind. I pulled the right arm off and laid it on the backseat. Then, I got into the car. It was much easier getting into the driver’s side because I had the steering wheel to pull on. I placed the cushion on the passenger seat. Then, I folded the footrests and collapsed the chair. I put my hand under the footrest frame and lifted the front wheels. I pivoted the chair on its rear wheels and put the front wheels on the door edge behind the front seat. Then, I slid across the front seat, slid the seat forward, and leaned the back of the seat forward against the steering wheel. I reached behind the front seat, hooked my hand under the toe strap on the front edge on the footrest, and pulled so that the rear wheels rolled up onto the door edge. This sounds simple because I haven’t described in detail the many times then and thereafter that I pinched my fingers, crushed my hands between the car and the chair, had the chair flip sideways, lost my hold and had it fall out and roll away, and all the other causes for silent swearing and, at times, violent cursing.
“You do very well,” he complimented as he steered it into the back. I was feeling pretty proud just then, one more little mountain conquered. I settled back into the driver’s seat and felt the steering wheel against the palms of my hands. I shuddered.
The salesman had come around and gotten into the other side. “It has a 350 V-8, three speed automatic, air, power steering and brakes, AM-FM stereo and cassette player.”
I nodded appreciatively. “I am a veteran and the VA gave me the paperwork to get a car—but I’m not sure of all of the procedures.”
“Oh, but I am,” assured Mr. Walters. “When I saw you getting out of that cab, I thought you might be from the hospital up here. In all the years that I’ve been here, I’ve sold more than a few cars to veterans. Do you have your own hand controls or do you need to get them?”
“I need to get them but I don’t know who sells them.”
“Well, I can have some installed by a shop across town that does a nice job. Their controls are black and blend in with the car.” I dug my paperwork and Pennsylvania license out of the bag and handed them to the salesman. “Do you want to discuss the price?” asked Mr. Walters.
“Why, it’s the VA’s money,” I said.
“Do you want to come into the dealership and I’ll fill out the forms?”
I looked at the front steps. “How?”
“Oh, we can bring you through the garage and into my office.”
I shook my head. “Actually, I’d just as soon sit here in my new car and listen to the radio, if you would bring the paperwork out here to sign.” The salesman smiled and tossed me the keys. I found a good radio station and marveled at the smell of a new car. If buying a new car puts pride in the heart of any red-blooded American male, then at this point in my life, I was soaring in great arcs high above the earth.
I was reading the owner’s manual when the right door opened. I looked over and saw a very lovely female backside in a beige knit dress sitting down on the bucket seat. Then, a pair of long legs swung into the car. “Mr. Walters thought you might like some coffee.” She had a cup and some packets of sweetener and creamer.
“Just black, thanks.”
“I thought you might like to try out the tape player so I brought some of my tapes.” She handed me a couple of cassettes. “If you don’t need anything else, I’ll go finish typing your forms.”
“Thanks very much.” I watched her get out of the car. “Oh, God, thank you for women, especially when they look like her.” I watched her in the rear view mirror. I shuddered. After I finished the coffee, I noticed that my leg bag needed to be emptied. The driver’s door faced away from the dealership, so I looked around and, not seeing anyone, I opened the door, pulled the hose from inside my boot, and drained it onto the ground. I thought I had done this very unobtrusively until I looked up and saw a stream of liquid running from under the car and heading across the parking lot. “Damn,” I thought. I started the car and turned on the air-conditioning. Maybe anyone who saw it would think it was from the system.
About an hour had passed when Mr. Walters came walking from the office carrying a clipboard. “Sorry it took so long, but I got through to the guy that installs the hand controls. Their man is off next week so they can’t get to it until after Easter.” He placed the clipboard on the seat and indicated all of the places I had to sign. Every place had carbons under it and I had to grip the pen with both hands to get enough pressure.
“After Easter is not a problem,” I said, “if you don’t mind keeping it here and delivering it to the hospital when the controls are on.”
“By the way, happy birthday,” he said. I looked puzzled. “It’s on your license,” he explained. Mr. Walters sat and talked. He wanted to know how I got hurt and about Vietnam. I answered his questions but I was uncomfortable talking about it. Delia came driving in right on time. I got the chair out, said good-bye to Mr. Walters, and handed him the cassettes. I waved to the beige dress through the window. When Delia and I had gone through the operation of getting me and the chair into the cab, I pointed to the LeMans. “I bought myself a birthday present. Whaddya think?”
“That kind of car can get you into trouble.”
“And the sooner the better.” We started driving back. “Delia, do you get a break for dinner?” I forgot I was not going to get a “yes” or “no” answer.
“Well, I was gonna drop you off and go home and fix a can of soup. See, my husband works for Phillip Morris and on Thursdays his V.F.W. has bingo at the V.A. hospital, so I just work a few extra hours.” I thought that was a “yes.”
“It’s my birthday and I was hoping to celebrate with something better than hospital food, but I don’t feel like eating alone. How about having dinner with me? My treat.”
“Oh, I don’t know.”
“Come on, there’s a steak place right up here.”
Delia helped me cut the steak so I did not make a mess. It was 7:00 p.m. when Delia got me back to the hospital. I knew everything worth knowing about Richmond. She had talked my ear off but it was better than sitting in a hospital feeling lonely.
I handed her another ten-dollar bill. “No, no. I can’t take this. That dinner was the best tip I ever got. My husband will never believe that a fare invited me to dinner and I had lobster.” Delia was not timid at the table. I thought, if she keeps eating like that, she’s going to have to drive from the backseat.
There were three envelopes on my bed. From the shape, I knew that they were birthday cards. The return address on the first one told me it was from my parents.
“Happy Birthday, son. Your father and I are sorry we haven’t been to see you. (Yeah, I’ll bet he’s all broken up.) I feel sorry about missing your birthday for the first time in twenty years. (She forgot that she didn’t make last year’s birthday at Fort Benning.) I plan to come down for Easter. I hope you can use this to buy yourself a birthday present. Love, Mom and Dad.” There was a twenty-dollar bill in the card.
There’s the cab fare back, I thought.
The next return address was Suzie’s. The card was a picture of Cathy and Suzie. Cathy was dressed in a man’s suit with wide lapels. She was wearing a fedora with the brim pulled to the side and holding a Thompson sub-machine gun. Suzie was dressed as a flapper with her foot on a chair and her leg showing through a slit in the skirt, a glittering garter on her thigh. Inside, the card read, “Youse bedda have a Happy Boitday.” Suzie had written, “I’ll bet you didn’t know we knew it was your birthday, but it was on your chart. Cathy and I went to a place in downtown D.C. where they dress you up in costumes, take your picture, and make it into a card. I’ll be down in a few weeks. Love, Suzie.” Cathy had written, “I can’t come this weekend because my family is having an eightieth birthday party for my grandmother. I promise to be there on Good Friday. Love, Cathy.”
The last card was a surprise. The return address was “Sheila Scott, 1011 Mariposa St., Tucson, Arizona, 85710” Sheila was my Uncle Jake’s daughter. I hadn’t seen her since I was ten and she was about eight. Her dad did not get on with my dad any better than I did. Her family had moved out West, but her mom and mine were best friends and they never lost contact. I remembered Sheila as being a stork with long hair that her mother kept in braids. I opened the card and a photo fell out. She still had long hair and long legs but she was no longer a stork. She wore a T-shirt with “Wildcats” on the front.
“Dear Jake,
I know it has been a long time but your mom wrote and said you would like to hear from the cousins. I am a freshman at the University of Arizona in Tucson. I am studying elementary education. Your mom said you are planning to start college this fall. You should think about Arizona. It’s great here. We could share an apartment. I hate the dorms. I could show you around. Also, it would be nice to have some family near. I still get homesick. Please, write to me if you get a chance. Good lu
ck, Sheila.”
Arizona. Hmmm. At least I would not have to worry about getting to class through the snow.
23
Flushing Out the Doc
Friday, I was exuberant. Happy. Feeling better than I had felt in a long time. The new car and the birthday cards had been pick-me-ups for the spirit, bright thoughts to distract me from my gloom. I had to find someone to tell about the car. At lunch, I trucked the brochures to the cafeteria and found Joe White. “Not bad for a GM product,” Joe said, then paused and leafed through the pages. “Course you’ll never catch my Charger.” Joe had a bright orange Charger in the parking lot. He spent hours in the evenings and weekends waxing it, cleaning the chrome, dressing the tires, and cleaning the inside and the glass. He had shown me how he pulled his chair into the car and even offered to let me put my own chair in. When I reflected on the possibility of being harangued for the rest of my stay at the hospital for any nick to his car, I declined.
I showed Joe the photos of Suzie and Cathy and Sheila. I explained that Sheila had suggested I come to college with her help. “Too bad,” said Joe.
“Whaddya mean too bad?”
“Too bad anything that looks this hot is your cousin—unless you’re up for a little incest.”
“Get the hell outta here—you’re sicker than I am.” I decided I might get a more enthusiastic reception from Ben. When I got there, I thought that Ben did not look so good. “You all right?”
“I don’t know, maybe I’m just tired.”
“Look at this; it’ll make you feel better. Is she pretty or what? I bought it yesterday for my birthday.”
“Not bad.” He paused and struggled to take several deep breaths. “I guess this means you’re planning on getting out of here and leaving me behind.” I was stung by the remark and I did not know how to answer him. It had not occurred to me that, during Ben’s stay, he had made a number of friends, only to see them leave him here in this hole.