Although the names have been changed and this is a slightly fictionalized story, it is dedicated to my daughter who has persevered with courage, hope and love to become the wonderful woman she is today.
Cindy could hear the music drifting down the hall and into the room where she waited. She could not quite make out the words her friend Pam was singing, but she knew the words by heart. It was a beautiful melody, one she had been humming for weeks. Shifting her gaze from the clear blue sky outside the window, she could see the autumn colors taking hold on the surrounding trees, red and gold, yellow and brown. And yes, still some green holding on as though unable to admit that summer was gone and winter white not far away.
There had been a lot of color in her life...a lot of red anger, frustration, misunderstanding all a part of being a prisoner of this wheelchair, of this malformed body, of having to depend on others for so much. Someone else must get her up each morning, care for her personal needs, get her dressed; must reach for things she could not reach; must retrieve things she dropped; must lift things she could not lift and must provide transportation hither and yon for every occasion. Some people were more dependable than others, some more understanding, but there were always those days when tempers flared and communication failed and it would have been so much easier to end it all with a razor and a flow of dark red blood (had she the courage to do so) and free all of them of the burden of her existence.
And there had been a ton of brown dull, listless days, heavy endless stretches of empty hours, each one following on the heels of the next like elephants plodding slowly, trunk to tail, heavy with the weight of ennui, great tiresome brown beasts plodding on and on. But, thinking back on it now, it was the contrast of color which had made her life a real and vibrant entity, for there had been days of brilliant gold and sunny yellow as well true golden friendships which had outlasted all exterior forces; and good times, sun-bright with laughter and gaiety and camaraderie. Yes, there had been golden nuggets to treasure, and she smiled at the memory of those cherished times and friends.
Blue yes, she had been blue. Friends had come and friends had gone, both male and female. "Time and tide waits for not man..." or woman. Their lives had met and joined and passed as each one moved on to other commitments, marriage, family, and careers. She missed them all, some more than others. There had been a lot of male friends... but no boyfriends throughout the years... not really, well, maybe one. There had been Jim of course dear, sweet Jim dirty rotten son of a b....! Well, maybe not that bad. He had, after all, asked her to marry him...then promptly disappeared, never to be seen again. If she could just get her hands around his skinny little neck (and had the strength to twist it)...Yes, buckets of tears had been shed in the darkness for dear old Jim. Blue, she had been blue for months after Jim.
And then there was Bill. Chance alone had brought them together. A brother with a penchant for computers who had the number of a computer dating bulletin board. Why not, she had thought, a computer was a rather anonymous way of meeting someone. They couldn't see what you looked like on the other end of a computer and she didn't have to meet anyone if she didn't want to, just be electronic pen pals and never tell them what she looked like or what she was. She had sent in the $5.00 membership fee and personality profile and found it fun to check the computer each day for e-mail. She had several fellows writing regularly, asking for more details or wanting to meet her. She enjoyed the game of keeping them at bay, and never revealing the "real" Cindy.
And then there was Bill. Bill, who left a letter one day and two the next and three the next. Bill, who somehow got under her skin and into the depths of her soul. Bill, who managed to get her to reveal her secret self, the inner woman, the outer woman, the whole life story -- the good, the bad and the unspeakable. She didn't know why she told him. She only knew he was easy to talk to and their conversations moved from computer to telephone and their calls lasted for hours, several times each week...and Bill lived 500 miles away...hours and hours talking, touching, connected only by miles and miles of cables...but touching nonetheless. Her cheeks blushed pink at the thought of all the ways they had touched. When they weren't on the phone they wrote letters and exchanged photos. And, he wasn't shocked at her appearance for the phone calls didn't lessen after he knew the shape of her body and the extent of her handicap.
And then there was Bill. Bill, who began to visit on weekends and learned to drive the van she used so they could go out alone to dinner, or a movie, or to the park, or just go strolling through the shopping malls.
So deep in thoughts of Bill had she become that she was startled when her father slipped quietly into the room and touched her gently on the shoulder. His black tuxedo complimented his dark hair and the cummerbund helped to disguise the slight paunch of middle-age. Looking into his eyes, she asked, "Is it time?"
He nodded...and she could see the moisture glistening like quicksilver in his eyes. Turning her wheelchair, she took his hand and they left the room together. The soft whirr of its motor echoed in the empty hallway.
She stopped briefly at the double doors, just long enough to adjust the long white skirt and assure herself that it wouldn't get caught in her wheels, and then, with her father at her side, began the long walk down the aisle, holding a bouquet of lavender roses and delicate baby's breath.
And then there was Bill, ...waiting at the alter for his bride.
