Taken for a Ride
I expected nothing, and probably anything. But when she arrived in a wheelchair, I realized I wasn’t expecting anything. Nor nothing. To show up like that, unannounced, unprepared. I instantly felt betrayed. But I put on a brave face, or at least I try to: as we make our way to the bar of her choice, I awkwardly offer to push her - well, the chair. She declines and murmurs into the long blonde hair framing her face: I know how to do it, you know. First impressions are important and now I don’t know what to say, what to do, what to show, how to address her. I don’t know if first impressions are important anymore. Now I have to look as if I haven’t seen the thing that’s been seen. Feign the face of a regular. A face that first accepts the lie of omission, then hides, in the gymnastics of its wrinkles, the embarrassment of having to seduce a woman with a visible handicap. I keep my cool. Two big men emerge from the shadows in the back of the bar. They walk towards us, ignore me, lift her up from her wheelchair with such ease and benevolence I feel humiliated on the spot. Only her eyes seek mine, in this captive moment, as they place her on the chair. The pink of her lips confuses me. Her tongue flicks towards me and her bum is finally planted. Finally, we are on the same level, face-to-face, the four legs of each of our chairs facing symmetrically each other. I see her, and she’s a woman, a beautiful woman. Suddenly, her eyes appear to me for the first time since the terrifying vision of the chair. Bright, piercing blue. Much more beautiful and vivid than her profile pictures on the app. Her gaze reaches out like a pole, like a mouth already sucking at my eyes. Her delicate hands, her polished nails, rest for a moment on my tie, which she adjusts as if we’ve known each other for a long time. The two lads return and serve us drinks. All around us, the territory becomes blurred.
I drink quickly. But not without pleasure because she talks the same way she lies, taking on a strange, human form as the words from her mouth form a face, then a head, then a brain. No legs, but two hemispheres.
I try a:
It’s an unusual bar.
That’s a mild adjective to describe what you want to describe, she replies.
I mean, there’s something very special about this place.
Individuals strive to stand out, while remaining surprisingly conformative.
Her intelligent words put my apprehension on hold for a moment. Part of me wants to prove to myself that I’m not a bad guy, that I can make love to a disabled woman. A sort of debt to society. And then, I’ve fucked some much worse ones, I’ve fucked some ugly ones, some stupid ones, some brainless ones. I encourage myself to have one more beer. I’ll duck out nicely, politely. I’ll pretend I’ve got a headache. But Anna anticipates my intentions and confidently asks, eye to eye: Shall we go to my place?