who hopped, skipped, and jumped without a second thought until the day I couldn't anymore. Maybe he would've seen me and wondered why my hair looked like I stuck my finger in a light socket. But maybe he wouldn't have. Maybe he had blinders on for everyone around him. One of those people who did his thing, stayed in his lane, and didn't care how his presence affected those sharing space with him.
But it was just as likely that the blinders were because I was in a chair. If I'd been at my full standing height (somewhere around five feet ten), he might have shifted to give me more room with a polite smile on his face. I would've smiled back because if I was at my full standing height, it meant I could stand, and I probably would've taken that for granted too.
"Dick," Levi muttered, jogging forward so he could walk next to my chair instead of behind it.
"It's fine."
"It's not fine. He saw you. He could've moved his fat ass over six inches."
Because I couldn't reach his shoulders, given that his full standing height was around six feet one, I patted his leg condescendingly. "Aww, my little advocate warrior princess."
Levi sighed heavily because it was also not the first time, or seventh time, he'd been called that by me. He hated The Blinders. For me, it was a toss-up which was worse, depending on the day.
The Pitiers got this look in their eye that I roughly equated to, "Oh, you poor thing." They saw me in the chair and instantly made a lot of sweeping generalizations about what life must be like for me. When I took the time to think about what they saw when they looked at me, I imagined they saw a barren wasteland of not being able to have sex (false, not that anyone other than my vibrator knew that), never being able to have kids (also false, my doctor assured me), and always needing to ask for help to reach the top shelves at the grocery store (true, unfortunately).
Sometimes, The Pitiers spoke to me like I couldn't understand them. Like the chair somehow reflected a cognitive impairment as well. Only occasionally would I mess with them.
I never claimed to be a saint. Losing the function of your legs did not automatically make you a virtuous person. In fact, I'd met some real assholes who spent their lives on two wheels. Personally, I found myself somewhere in the middle. I just ... liked to keep some of my cynicism tightly wrapped unless I really trusted you.
Poor Levi.
He got the brunt of my opinions.
My mom probably would've listened if I unloaded them on her, but that never ended well.
"Who's training you?" Levi asked as we passed the entrance of the lodge. I could see the striped awning of Donner Bakery across the parking lot. Afternoon guests sat at the wrought-iron tables and chairs in front of the building, drinking sweet tea and eating whatever confections had been whipped up that day.
"I think it's Jennifer Winston, but I don't know for sure," I told him. My hands gripped the metal ring mounted just outside my wheels as I pushed down harder than necessary. He cut me a sideways look when I sped up, which I ignored because if he asked me if I was nervous, I'd ram his shins.
Hopefully, they had some cream puffs left over because ever since Levi brought me the last lemon lavender cream puff, I'd been trying desperately to recreate it at home to no avail.
"Jennifer Donner Winston," he corrected. “Can’t forget that middle name. It’s important around here.”
I rolled my eyes.
"Hey, it's a woman's right to have as many names as she wants."
"I know, I know." I knew what her name was; Levi just liked to rub it in my face that I was, as he called it, Green Valley Lite. I knew people. Sort of. But even after five years of living here, I didn't know everyone by name. I didn't know their family trees or who lost their dog last week or who got pulled over after a jam session or whose daddy was in the Iron Wraiths.
"And the kitchen is fully accessible?" he asked.
"She told me it was. That’s why I’m working at this location and not the one downtown."
He scoffed. "And what does she know about accessible kitchens?"
"Oh, probably nothing," I drawled.
"Right?" Levi shook his head. "Because unless those openings have at least thirty-six inches of clearance,