Tales of Joe: Wheelchair Lady

Author's Note: Unlike most of the posts in this blog, the following story is true.

The memories of those days still remain in my heart, as warm as the summer sun and as fresh as the cool breeze. Those were more innocent times, and we had barely begun to see the features of adulthood forming on our awkward, teenaged bodies.

He was always a more confident youth, my friend Joe. He had a distinct walk, like a cross between a petulant waterfowl and an incontinent prostitute, but he walked with pride at all times, strutting even when he had little idea what he was showcasing, and to whom. I remember the many times we would be out walking about the campus together, with every eye on us but completely invisible at the same time.

It was a liberating feeling, to be watched but to never be seen for what one really is. And yet, on occasion, we did get noticed. So specifically I recall the times that the eyes of someone out and about on campus would momentarily catch a glimpse and take interest.

For example, I can recall the time we encountered Elizabeth. Elizabeth, ah, what a woman she was! She was 5 foot nothing, with a mustache and crispy bangs, and a voice that was permanently fixated into a grating, plaintiff whine. She always reeked of smoke and cheap perfume, and would wheel herself out in her manual wheelchair across the campus, looking for someone- if not anyone- with whom she could initiate a conversation.

This often proved to be a difficult task for her. She was a ... peculiar woman. In her adolescence, she had been diagnosed with borderline personality disorder, but she had considerable insight into her behavior, causing her many therapists to throw their hands up in frustration over the futility of her treatment. When I was 10, she had kidnapped my dog and held it hostage as a means of acquiring a neighbor's private medical information. When I was 13, she had conned Joe's younger sister into becoming a bridesmaid in a wedding she had staged merely for the gifts. Being new in town, Joe's mother was not aware that this was Elizabeth's fourth wedding of this nature. Needless to say, she was a woman who, when you met her, you addressed briefly and went on your way.

That was a thought we kept in mind when she stopped us on our walk that day. She pleaded and begged with us to help her obtain a phone card so that she could contact her sorority sisters to invite them to her bridal shower- she had only recently become engaged yet again, this time to a mentally retarded man with a hefty inheritance. Knowing Elizabeth had never been in college, let alone in a sorority, we lied to her, telling her we didn't have the time to help her out, but we would let someone at her facility know she needed some assistance.

Unfortunately, Elizabeth had become very intimate with being brushed off, and she could distinguish genuine preoccupation with a lie to avoid her with no great difficulty. This incensed her. As we walked away, she flung her cigarette at us.

"Alright, fine! Forget you... you swishy nigger!" She spat the last two words with as much force as her small body could muster, her eyes gleaming with excitement at what her verbal taunt might elicit.

Growing up as a gay man in a rural area, I had long ago become accustomed to all sorts of hateful namecalling. At this point, I barely reacted, as it had simply become part of my environment, an ambient noise like the wind or the rain. Joe, however, was not one to ignore any sort of stimulus. As he was quite prone to screaming at the wind or howling the blackest profanity at the rain merely for startling him, a direct attack such as this could be ignored as easily as one could ignore a shotgun blast.

He whirled around, his face curled in a mixture of rage and perverse amusement. I drew a sharp breath as Elizabeth and I watched him- for a split second, he paused, and blinked. Elizabeth chuckled, mistaking his reaction for shock. I grew fearful. He wasn't shocked. He was locking onto his target.

He smiled at her, giving me a chill. "Look, cripple bitch..." he said, calmly but firmly. "I'm going to give you till the count of five to take that back."

Elizabeth grinned smugly, saying nothing.

"Five..." Joe began counting. "Four... three..." He glared at her as he counted, and Elizabeth's smile grew wider and wider. "Two..." he announced, with a bit of hesitation.

Elizabeth giggled. "Make me.... nigger."

Joe went completely silent, and turned to walk away. He took three steps.

"One, bitch!" he shouted, whirling around and charging the woman like a lioness going after a gazelle. He was on her in less than a second, and the sound of a open hand striking flesh resounded with such strength that it caused a small echo. Joe stepped back, still in attack position. Elizabeth looked stunned, and her face was red with the distinct image of a palm across her left cheek. Tears welled in her eyes, but only for a moment. She snarled and produced a lighter from her purse.

"Come on, nigger, you want to fight me?" she taunted. Joe said nothing, merely leaning in again quickly and striking her quickly in the face.

"Oh, you could tell?" he replied, sarcastically. Elizabeth wheeled into his shins, causing Joe to swear. I could see the glint of red on her foot pedals where she had hit him.

"I'll have you know, I was trained in judo!" the handicapped woman cried. I bit my tongue, trying not to laugh. Joe reached in and grabbed her by her bangs with his left hand, steadying her head for a second. He drew back his right hand, made a fist, and clocked her squarely in the face.

"You fucking bitch... YOU..." he shouted, "are in... a fucking WHEELCHAIR!" He punctuated the final word with another punch, and released her. As he did, I noticed he still had a small amount of Elizabeth's hair in his hand. He threw it aside, and started to move behind her.

Elizabeth shrieked and flipped on her lighter. Joe grabbed the handles of her chair, and began to push her. She struggled against him, and eventually managed to reach behind herself and burn him with the open flame of her Zippo.

Joe howled like a wounded animal, and let go of the chair, but not before trying to knock it over on its side. Elizabeth managed to brace herself by wiggling her right leg free and catching it under the front right wheel. She swore to herself as she grabbed the arm rests and repositioned herself in her chair.

Joe backed away, and Elizabeth turned around to face him. They were both panting and red in the face. Joe's shins were bleeding openly, and his left arm was blistered from where she had burnt him. Elizabeth's hair was a mess, and there was a noticable spot in the front where Joe had ripped out part of her bangs. Both of them had tears streaming down their faces, but neither one sobbed or cried in the slightest. I merely looked on, paralyzed.

"You better hope that nigger ass of yours isn't too sensitive..." Elizabeth growled.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Joe asked, between pants.

"Because if it is, it's gonna hurt like hell when it gets raped in prison!" she cackled. Joe cocked his head, and then cracked his knuckles.

"You have a mustache," he replied, matter of factly. He then charged her again. She put her fist up in front of her, as if to try and hold him back. He hit her with a sideswipe, but while he landed the blow, she managed to reach up and punch him in the gut, and tear away part of his T-shirt.

They struggled for a few seconds, clawing at each other and screaming incoherently before they disengaged. Both of them huffed and puffed, never breaking eye contact. Elizabeth spoke first.

"I happen to be part Russian!" she snapped, and charged at him again. Joe sidestepped her this time, and rolled out of the way. As he did, he grabbed a loose piece of asphalt out of the road and picked it up. He ran up behind her before she could turn around, and bludgeoned her in the back of the head.

"Oh fuck!" Elizabeth screamed. She grabbed the back of her skull in pain, and doubled over in her wheelchair. Joe tossed the rock aside, and spat.

"Fucking lying bitch. Russian women have hairy pits, not a full on Fu-Manchu," he stated, and grabbed the handles of her wheelchair before taking off into a full on run. Elizabeth was still too stunned to fight against him, so he managed to get pretty far with her before she could do anything.

What was he planning? I wondered to myself. He pushed her to the end of the road, and turned to the left, down a path that was on a steep incline.

He stood there for a second, while Elizabeth meekly fought for control of her chair. He didn't react to her, merely chuckling sinisterly.

"Goodnight, bitch," he said sweetly, and gave her a strong push. Her chair raced to the bottom of the hill as the wounded woman tried in vain to apply her brakes. She managed to finally stop herself... but too late. There was a terrible sound and a scream as she ran off the road, across a sidewalk, through a flower bed, and into the side of a building. She sat for a few moments, crying, and trying to get herself pushed through the dirt back onto the sidewalk so she could make her way home. Joe merely stood at the top of the hill, laughing vigorously with a wild look in his eyes.

It was one of those moments of our adolescence I will remember forever.