A knock comes on the door.

It’s room service.

I am still sitting in the old wheelchair. I don’t want to get used to it. I don’t want my body to give in. The room service person is efficient and friendly. It was hard to bear.

GET OUT OF THE ROOM YOU ARE THE WRONG PERSON.

Seldom do I lose my appetite. The food looks good but I don’t want it. I pick up the phone to call the airport again when there is a sharp rap at the door.

Joe opens the door to find a smiling young man, who seems to understand the importance of what’s going on and is glad to be part of the drama. “I have one wheelchair here for you.”

The chair looked wounded.

Like it wanted to cry.

Sitting alone in the hallway.

We swapped the old chair for my chair and then, I was sitting in my own chair. 7 hours later we are reunited.

I didn’t sleep well that night. Something was bothering me.

The next day I am pushing around, going to my meetings and various events. Something still bothers me. The chair feels different. I get out and we examine it from top to bottom. It seems fine.

Then, as I’m pushing, I realize.

My wheelchair has only been sat in by people I love. Joe. Ruby. Sadie. Marissa. No one else. Not a single other person.

But now, when I sit in it, I can feel a presence.

No. I can. Really.

A presence of someone who did this to me.

I’m not sure how long it will take to go away, if it ever does. But my chair doesn’t feel quite like home anymore. It’s not quite mine anymore.

But it’s here with me now.

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