Someone is knocking on the door and my wheelchair is stuck on the wicker basket of the ficus tree Jimmy left behind. That Jimmy, sure matched me one-on-one for poor taste and cheap decorating. This whole neighborhood is filled with leopard-skinned rugs and sheet sets and other fake symbols of the jungle we live in and Jimmy and I sure topped the charts. Whatever craze hit South Buffalo, Jimmy and I were right on top of it. Right down to the purple pleather couch and matching cowboy boots. The boots went so well with Jordache jeans.

Some girls are still wearing them, along with their Farrah Fawcett flip-do’s, but me and Jimmy, we moved on. One time in the late eighties we both had red, strawed-out permed hair and you couldn’t tell who was who from behind. I think if either one of us could sing we would have formed a great glam band. Can’t beat the decorating, though. That’ll never die. Too bad all the decorating is happening downstairs now that I’m a handicap. They say I’ll never walk again, but I have full intentions of making it back up the stairs. Ma and Pa didn’t leave me no big two-story for me to wheel around on just the first floor. Damn, I don’t care who it is, anyway. Give me a break, I just need to be alone. Maybe Rhonda is right, maybe I have been spending too much time socializing.

"Go away. I’m busy!" But the knocking keeps coming. Just like Jimmy knocking. Jimmy didn’t let up, he knew I was in bed with Marty Sheers. I was falling for Marty, too, dammit, the first real thing since Jimmy left me. I yelled, "go away!" that night, but Jimmy was relentless. Come on, baby, it’s me, open up! Marty was in the shower; he didn’t hear Jimmy yelling through the door. I thought maybe if I could just talk to Jimmy again I could know for sure we were done.

"Okay, okay, I’m coming, stop your knockin’," I whisper-yelled that night, listening to the water change pitch as Marty’s shower finally got hot enough. My heart started racing as it always did when Jimmy was near. I reached for my satin robe on the bedpost and wrapped it around myself. I closed the door almost all the way (I wanted to hear the water stop) and hurried to the top of the stairs, where I could see the front door. Marty was singing his favorite artist-formerly-known-as-Prince song and he kept dropping the soap. I hoped he was singing the long version.

"I’m coming, I’m coming, don’t go nowheres," I said to Jimmy, but couldn’t say no more as my right foot caught the satin tie of my purple robe and kicked way behind me. It was almost unnatural how far behind me my leg went. But I didn’t have time to think about that, or that that kick was the last one I’d ever have. That kick sent me from the top of the stairs to the bottom of the stairs. And I lay there while Jimmy let himself in with the key he still had and said "hey, dude," to Marty who was drenching naked wet at the top of stairs.

They were best friends, so close that they nearly forgot that I was crippled on the floor between them. Jimmy looked at Marty and I could see that he was not surprised to see him naked at the top of my stairs. These boys did everything together, including girls, so I wasn’t surprised. They never did me together – I’m a one-man woman, though the one-man thing usually doesn’t last very long before another one-man comes into the picture.

My stairs! I remembered these stairs being blocked off when I was a baby, and now they were blocked off because I was debilitated. But I didn’t know that then, I only knew that my ex-boyfriend and his best friend, my new boyfriend, were staring face to face at one another over my tasseled body.

"Hey, you and Norette, huh? Just like that?"

"Dude, you left two weeks ago!"

"Yeah, but she’s my Norette, you know that!" Normally I would have been taken aback by how sweet Jimmy was, would have seen that he still cares. Instead it was at this point that I thought I’d interrupt their pleasantries with my screams. I just broke a lot of bones and they needed to be reminded of that.

"Knock it off, would’ja? Gimme a freekin’ hand here! I’m down!" And when they each grabbed for the closest arm and tried to drag me in opposite directions, I just plain passed out.

They stayed by my side through the whole thing, bless those boys! Jimmy moved back in but of course he had other girlfriends so he’d take off, and Marty would take over comforting me. But after awhile Marty took off, too, and it would be just me. Soon I got a little restless with neither of my boys nearby, so I’d call Rhonda to wheel me around. We’d stop in at Warren’s Place on 3rd street and I’d show the regulars that I could still play pool. Well, got to be where I could get around all right by myself, and would head out without Rhonda. It didn’t matter to them that I’d lie and say I’d be able to walk again, that the wheelchair was temporary. They were only there for one-timing anyway.

So yeah, my head is hurting pretty bad from this routine of going out every night. I got a few friends to come over for cards last night and of course one of them stayed. Al, I think – he left his jacket here. Shit, maybe that’s even him at the door, knocking, relentless, why won’t he just give up, and go away?

"Go away, Al! I’ll bring the jacket out later. I’m kind of in the middle of something here!" This damn wheelchair, six weeks and I’m still not used to it. But I refuse to move to one of them places built for people like me. I’ll get the hang of it, I’m not gonna stop living just ‘cause I’ve stopped dancing.

Finally the wheel came loose and I whipped myself around into the coffee table in the process. But that’s okay, I don’t feel nuthin’ anyway. Jeez, what will it take for this person to stop knocking on my door?

"Hold on a minute, I’m COMING!" And I did come to the door, finally – full speed ahead, like a projectile after being stuck between the coffee table and the stupid plastic tree-plant. Hit my knees on the door, but that’s okay, too – won’t feel that ever again, either.

"Knock knock knock," came the door for the fifth time. So persistent, this better be good!

"Yeah, what the hell do you WANT?" I ripped open the door and there she was, the cutest little Girl Scout you ever did see. I still had "Al’s" jacket in my hand, and I asked her, want to trade, your shoes for mine?  

Copyright ©2001 Erin Shannon.  All Rights Reserved