My Perfect Imperfections

by Jalpa Williby

  Although Chance continues to text me every day, I can tell that our conversations are changing. They’re not as comfortable as they once were. It may be because we’re both busy. Or it may be for the simple fact that an invisible wall has begun forming between us.

  We follow each other on social media, so occasionally I notice pictures of him going out with his new friends on Facebook. He looks happy and strong. Although a big part of me is dying slowly without him, another part of me is glad he seems happy.

  I, too, begin making friends soon. If my colleagues from work have a get-together or an outing, I force myself to join them. Like Chance has always said, “Live every day to the fullest.”

  Holidays are soon upon us. As I’m driving my wheelchair to our minivan after work one evening, I notice my dad’s not in the van. That’s unusual for him because he doesn’t like me waiting in the cold. Just when I start sending a text to him, I hear, “Hello, Lily.”

  Gasping, I whirl my wheelchair around to the familiar voice. Unable to help myself, I let out a scream. Before I know it, Chance already has his arms wrapped around me.

  “Damn, Lily! I’ve missed you! You look great!”

  I can’t even speak, so caught up in emotions. The tears flow freely down my cheek, and Chance tenderly wipes them away.

  “I’m here for the week during the holidays. I went straight to your parents’ house and took the minivan. I wanted to surprise you.”

  All I can do is smile in awe, praying it’s not just a dream.

  During the week, we catch up on everything. I tell him about my job and my new friends. He shares how he’s met some phenomenal professors, and he swears that all of the students are geniuses. He says he’s learning a lot and although it was tough at first, he’s meeting some great people.

  Although both of our lives are heading in different directions, we put that aside for the week. Once again, we are best friends as if nothing has changed. I’m happy to see that he looks so healthy and full of energy. He, in turn, is happy about my work and my new friends.

  Chance stays at my parents’ house during his visit, but they have him stay in the spare bedroom. Every evening, we watch our favorite movies together in my room until late night while lying in bed. Before we fall asleep, though, he goes to the spare room. He says it doesn’t feel right to break my dad’s rules in his house.

  For Christmas, I don’t have a gift for Chance since I wasn’t expecting him, but when we’re alone, he pulls out a small box, wrapped in gold wrapping paper.

  “I wanted to get you something. Merry Christmas, Lily.”

  “But I have nothing for you,” I say.

  “I don’t need anything. I’ve got everything I need right here in front of me,” Chance replies as he winks.

  “Always teasing me.” I shake my head while taking the gift.

  “I love teasing you. Now let’s see what’s in that box.” Chance assists me with ripping the wrapper and opening the box.

  I gasp when I see the gold heart locket in the box. The necklace sparkles in the light as he pulls it out. When he opens the locket, I see pictures of us at Cancun. One picture is when he’s kissing my cheek in the pool, and the other picture is when he is carrying me in his arms in the ocean. Both are tender, happy moments we shared. I turn the locket over and see “Always” engraved on the back. Chance doesn’t say anything, but takes the necklace back in his hands and puts it on me.

  “Thank you,” I say with my words this time. Although the words are not said properly, I want him to hear the emotion in my voice.

  “You’re welcome. I’m glad you like it. Now, what movie do you want to see tonight? Harry Potter or The Hunger Games?”

  Okay, that’s my cue that he’s ready to change the subject. Before long, I’m snuggled in his arms as we lie on the bed watching Harry Potter.

  The next day, Chance leaves, whispering, “See you soon.”

  Unfortunately, his idea of soon is very different from my idea of soon.

  Chance continues to text me, but he doesn’t visit during the summer break. He has committed himself to working on a research project with one of the professors. Our texts are brief and detached. Sometimes, it almost feels like he’s texting out of obligation.

  I bury myself in my work and my studies. It feels good to actually receive a real paycheck. I refuse to think about Chance, although once in a while, I find myself checking his Facebook wall to see what he’s been doing. Many times, I see the pictures he’s been tagged in by his friends. To my relief, he looks healthy. The pictures that hurt the most are the ones of him partying with girls. Often, these girls are hanging all over him, and Chance has no problems holding them in his arms. Once there’s even a picture of a beautiful girl sitting on his lap while he’s laughing.

  For the life of me, I have no idea why I’m slowly torturing myself. I know if I click on his page, I’ll see things I don’t want to see. Powerless, I purposefully continue to cause myself the pain. I can’t help but be jealous. I don’t know if it’s because I wish I were one of the girls or because I wish I weren’t a prisoner in my own wheelchair.

  I know Chance and I have been best friends for a long time, but a part of me has to accept that he never really saw me as he sees these other girls. Sure, he cares about me, but he’s never been attracted to me. Can I blame him? After all, he’s a gorgeous man who can basically get any of those beautiful, able-bodied girls who are all over him.

  Knowing I need to let him go—not only for him but also for me—I eventually stop texting him back. At first, Chance continues to try to reach me, but I don’t respond. He even calls my parents to make sure I’m okay. When they assure him I’m doing fine, I receive one final email from him.

  Hey, Lily,

  I’ve been texting you quite a bit lately, but you haven’t replied back. I got worried so I called your parents. They assured me that you’re doing great and everything is working out well with your job and school. I wish I could be there in person so we can talk face to face about this. I just can’t get out of the commitments here, though. Since you’re not replying back to me, I can only assume that you don’t want to put in the effort any longer to keep in touch. If I’m wrong about this, please let me know. If I don’t hear back from you, I guess my assumption is correct. I’m not quite sure what to say, but if that is your desire, I respect it. Just know that whatever you may need in the future, I’ll be here for you.

  Always,

  Chance

  A single tear slowly rolls down my cheek and disappears behind my shirt.

  I live my life without worrying about my past or the future. I no longer allow my disability to slow me down. After all, this is the only life I’ve been given. There are no second chances, so I might as well learn to work with what I have.

  I become very close to Kathy Johnson, one of the faculty members. As time passes, we hang out more frequently. We eventually become close enough that I even allow her to help me with my needs. If we go out to eat together, Kathy feeds me. She learns about my wheelchair and my communication device. A few times, she even helps me to the bathroom. It doesn’t seem to bother her. She simply says, “Girlfriends pee in front of each other all the time.”

  As I become more independent, I think about moving out and living on my own. I find a facility that is set up as an apartment complex, but it’s also more like an assistive living place. Most people there need some help, whether it’s total care or people like me who just need help with basic care due to physical limitations. There are twenty-four-hour nurses there in case anybody needs them. They provide their own aides to help the residents. Also, they have vans that would provide me with transportation. From my calculations, I know I can afford the rent there. The more I research it, the more I like it. I’m twenty-four years old already; it’s about time I move out of my parents’ home.

  All hell breaks loose when I discuss my plans with my parents.

  “Have you lost your mind, Lily? No way! I forbid it!” D
ad yells as soon as his mind processes what I’m saying to them.

  “Lily, aren’t you happy with us? Why would you want to leave your home?” Mom asks, confused by my request.

  “I need my own life,” I say with my device. I’ve been expecting the resistance from my parents, so I’m prepared for this fight.

  “We give you all of the freedom you want, Lily,” Dad insists, pacing the floor.

  “It’s not far from here. You can come see me every night if you want. I need to meet new people and be on my own. Please, I’m an adult now.”

  “Lily, what is this about? Where is this even coming from?” Mom sits down in the chair next to me.

  “I need my own life. Please, let me live it. I don’t want to be a twenty-four-year-old adult still living with my parents. You have to understand that just because I’m in a wheelchair doesn’t mean I’m a child. I know you are scared because you love me, but please, let me at least try this. If it doesn’t work, I’ll move back home. I promise to come home every weekend. I don’t want my disabilities to stop me from living my life. I need your support on this.” I had programmed this into my device the night before to make sure I didn’t miss saying anything.

  Mom and Dad look at each other. Finally, taking a deep breath, Dad says, “Let us go see the place first, Lily. Please give me time to think about it. This is very hard.”

  It doesn’t matter how much he thinks about it. I’ve already made up my mind, so whether he likes it or not, I will be moving out. I don’t say that to him, though, because I know it’s not the right timing. Instead, I nod my head.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Although living on my own is scary at first, I’m proud of myself for facing my fears. Soon, I become accustomed to my life on my own. The staff is great, and they soon realize that I’m probably the smartest resident there. The other residents also get to know me pretty quickly and respect me for working full time and attending school at the same time.

  Kathy comes to visit me a few times a week and so do my parents. Life is suddenly even busier for me. I travel to and from work with the transportation provided by the facility. The staff there also makes sure to bathe, toilet, and feed me. I train them well on my routine and exactly how I like things done. I’m glad that it’s usually the regular caretakers who come to help me.

  Every weekend, as promised, I visit my parents. Every Friday evening, Dad is right in the front, waiting to pick me up. I don’t mind, though. I enjoy going home and sleeping in my bedroom. They also take me to my therapy sessions on the weekends. Keeping up with my therapy is imperative so the right muscles stay strong and the tight muscles stay loose.

  Although the staff is nice at my new place, some things still bother me. There are other residents who also drive their power wheelchairs, but require supervision when they’re driving. Many times, I see their wheelchairs turned off, parked in front of the television in the common room for hours. I can’t even imagine sitting in front of the TV that long, without having the freedom to move about or a choice to not watch it any longer. They can’t communicate, so this is how their day passes most of the time.

  Jen is the one resident who is parked in front of the television almost all day. She can’t talk or move her wheelchair, so she just sits there, staring at the screen. I find out that she used to be married, but her husband was abusive. One day, he beat her to a point of leaving her with a severe head injury. Since then, she’s basically been unresponsive and immobile.

  Curious about her, I drive my wheelchair next to her and sit with her one evening after work.

  “Big Bang Theory is on, huh? I like that show a lot. Do you?” I start a conversation to get a reaction out of her.

  Jen ignores me.

  I continue to talk with her with my device as if I’m talking to any other person. I make an effort to spend some time with her every evening, watching whatever she’s watching. She never really acknowledges me, except for one fateful day.

  As I’m talking about nothing important, just to give her companionship, she suddenly reaches with her hand and touches my cheek. Shocked—because I’ve never seen her move any part of her body—I simply stare at her in awe. She flashes me a quick smile, takes her hand back, and resumes staring at the television once again.

  Overcome with emotion, I remain frozen for a few moments. Realizing that it was her way of being grateful for being there for her, I turn my attention back to watching TV again, smiling silently. I take joy in knowing that I’ve made some sort of difference in Jen’s life.

  Staying with others with disabilities also gives me another advantage. Everything I observe, I bring back to Professor Bailey. He’s basically my boss regarding the research on adapted technology. From any information I share, we try to invent a technology that would help not only the individual but also the caretakers.

  I’ve been lucky. My assistive device that I use to communicate also controls the television in my room, accesses the internet, and can receive and send texts. Both, my power wheelchair and my communication device, have not only provided me with independence but have improved my quality of life significantly. I can’t even imagine my life without technology to help me.

  Unfortunately, technology can sometimes fail. I find myself in a jam when one stormy day, I’m driving my wheelchair from one building to another at the college. The blizzard has me speeding up my wheelchair so I can reach my next destination quickly.

  With no warning at all, the wheelchair stops. It completely shuts down on the sidewalk in this bitter, cold temperature.

  Confused, I turn my wheelchair on and off. I know the battery has been charged all night, so I’m not sure why it’s not turning back on. I purposefully have my communication device covered in its case because I didn’t want it to get wet outside. Now, I regret that decision because I have no access to it and can’t even ask for help.

  While I continue to play around with the wheelchair, I watch helplessly as the students fly by me. Don’t they wonder why I’m just sitting out here in the middle of a blizzard? Not one turns to me to see if I need help. After five minutes of turning the wheelchair on and off with no success, I contemplate whether I should start yelling to get people’s attention. My toes and fingers are freezing by now and the wind is really picking up. Everybody is scurrying about me, not even giving me a second glance. It feels like I’m going back to my childhood when nobody would stop by to talk to me in school. At first, I resist the urge to scream because I don’t want to cause a scene. As desperation sets in, though, I know I have no choice. Pretty soon, the passing period will be over, and nobody will be out here.

  Just as I’m about to start yelling for attention, I suddenly hear, “Lily? Lily, what are you doing out here?”

  I turn around to see my savior, Mark Stockton. A smile of relief spreads over me when I recognize my fellow colleague and friend.

  I look down at the wheels to show him to change the wheelchair into the manual mode so he can push me. Knowing immediately that something is wrong with the wheelchair, Mark quickly starts playing with it. Unfortunately, he has no idea what to do, and when he attempts to push the wheelchair, it doesn’t budge. By now, I can’t even feel my fingers and toes, and I’m completely covered with snow.

  “I have no idea how to work this thing. Lily, but you have to get inside. I’m going to carry you in, okay? I’ll send somebody for your wheelchair later.”

  At this point, I’m desperate to be inside somewhere warm, so I don’t even resist. Mark quickly unstraps me and picks me up. Cradling me in his arms, he runs toward the building. I bury my face into his chest, hoping that I’ll eventually be able to feel my hands and feet.

  Once inside, he takes me to the teacher’s lounge to avoid unnecessary attention. Placing me on the sofa, he swiftly pulls my gloves and shoes off. While rubbing my hands and feet, he calls Kathy to come immediately. He knows we’re good friends, and she would know what to do.

  Kathy comes running and immediately falls next
to me. “Oh my god, Lily! What the hell happened?”

  “I saw her stuck outside. Her wheelchair wasn’t working. I left it outside and carried her in. I knew she needed to get somewhere warm,” Mark explains.

  I can’t talk since I don’t have my communication device. At this point though, I’m so cold and shaking like crazy that I would fail miserably if I try to use my device.

  “I’m calling 911. She may have frostbite or hypothermia. Do we even know how long she was out there?” Kathy asks.

  Mark shakes his head, pulling me into his arms to stop my tremors.

  Through the emotional ordeal, somehow, I make a mental note to tell Professor Bailey that there needs to be a backup battery for power wheelchairs.

  By the time the paramedics arrive, I’m already back to myself, and Kathy has brought my wheelchair back inside. Luckily, my vitals are normal and my toes and fingers look good, so they don’t force me to go to the hospital.

  Although the entire scene is quite embarrassing, I’m grateful to Mark for finding me. Once I’m in my wheelchair with my device on, I thank him properly.

  “Wow, that was close. Thank you, Mark!”

  “I’m just glad I happened to be there at that time. Hey, since I rescued you, does that make me a hero now?” Mark teases.

  I look up to see his blue eyes twinkling and his dimples on both cheeks as he smiles. I’ve known Mark for the last couple of years, and we’ve always gotten along well. Mark appears to be in his early thirties, and I now notice how handsome he is with his blond hair, blue eyes, and those killer dimples.

  “Well, you’re at least my hero,” I reply.

  “I’ll take it!” We both laugh, partly because the scary ordeal is over and partly because we know that this is a start of a good friendship.

  Once in a while, I still find myself checking on Chance’s Facebook page, just to make sure that he’s doing well. When I’m satisfied that he still looks healthy, I purposefully avoid looking him up again for a while.