Since the campus was smack in the middle of downtown, there was a bar within walking distance. Well… for me, anyway. The rain had stopped a few hours earlier but it was still cool outside, for the South in the springtime. There were blooming dogwoods in every direction and peach blossoms floating in the gutters.
As we made our way off campus I watched him, confident that he couldn’t see my eyes. I watched his legs bounce gently with every bump in the sidewalk, and how his feet never moved. I watched the muscles in his forearms flex as he pushed himself in the chair. It wasn’t ever something I’d thought about much, my little fascination; it had just always been there. I’d never been in close contact with a guy in a wheelchair before, but I’d certainly thought about it. And now here was my chance, and I knew I’d take it.
As we waited to cross Tenth Avenue Zach looked up at me. His face was damp around the hairline from the exertion of pushing himself four blocks. “Most of the Department likes Dan’s, but I don’t think you can carry me up the steps.” He looked me up and down, as if he were trying to discern how much I could lift.
“They don’t have a…” There I panicked. Was it “handicapped entrance”? “Wheelchair entrance”? I had no idea what the proper terminology was and was scared of being offensive.
“No,” he said. “But The Tavern does, and it’s only half a block away from Dan’s.”
I nodded, “Sure. I’m familiar with it.” I didn’t ask him if he realized that half a block was straight uphill. He seemed confident, and I was still worried about being offensive. I imagined him being carried up the red brick steps into Dan’s, flushed and tried to think about something else.
“Do you really want a critique?” He asked as we crossed the street.
“Oh, um, no. No, not really. I haven’t written anything in years.”
“That’s too bad.”
I shrugged. “It wasn’t going anywhere. I think it’s best if I leave it to the professionals.”
Zach laughed. “The professionals are generally the least qualified where the arts are concerned, darling.”
That darling caught me off guard. Off-step, actually. I stumbled over a crack in the sidewalk and almost fell on my face. I caught myself by grabbing his shoulder, which was sinewy and hard under my fingers and made me all the more disconcerted. He grinned up at me as I righted myself.
“Do you need a ride?”
I blushed. “I think I’m okay now, actually. But thanks.”
I was relieved when we reached the bar without any further incident. There were no steps barring the way and the doors were propped open in an attempt to lure in fresh air and clientele. Zach gestured for me to go first and then wheeled in behind me. It was dim and slightly dirty inside. Nearly all the tables were empty. I chose one close to the bar, walked over and pulled one chair out of the way before sitting down in another.
He looked at me with his head cocked as he wheeled up to the now open place at the table. “Thank you.”
I nodded. “I’m going to the ladies’ room; would you get me a Bud Light, please?”
As I leaned against the wall of the bathroom trying to compose myself I felt a vibration in my jeans pocket. Pulling out my cell phone I saw a text message from Bijendra. Piari, double shift tonight. Sorry. Love BJ.
That was my husband’s method for letting me know I wouldn’t see him yet again. Calling me darling in Nepali because I thought the language was beautiful, and telling me he loved me without calling and giving me a chance to contradict him. Normally I would have pouted, or had a tantrum, or at the very least responded. But it didn’t seem so dire that afternoon. I turned my phone off, ran my fingers through my hair, took a deep breath and went back out to the table to join Zach.
He asked me about my wedding ring as soon as I sat down. Immediately becoming self-conscious, I turned it around with my thumb a few times and then gulped at my beer.
“You think it’s gaudy?” I asked, feeling the metal of it suddenly very cold against my skin.
“No.” He took a sip from his glass and shook his head. “It’s… impressive. I thought maybe it was an heirloom.”
“No, it’s just… my husband is a surgeon.”
“Really?” Zach grinned. “Not by any chance a neurosurgeon? Because I may be in the market for one at any moment.”
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. “He, he is. A neurosurgeon. He works at St. Vincent’s.”
He took another sip of the drink in front of him. “Well, that explains the diamond, doesn’t it? Don’t worry, Katy, I don’t really need another doctor. You can start breathing again.”
We were quiet for a moment before he asked me why I was so nervous.
“I imagine you make most people nervous,” I said. It was true.
“Why would you think that?” His eyes were glittering as he pressed me into complimenting him. I decided he was devious and I was probably getting myself into a lot of trouble.
“Because, you’re…” Brilliant was on the tip of my tongue, of course; I was a fan. But I didn’t want to play the fawning fan girl just then. “You’re unnerving.”
He laughed loudly. “That’s good, Katy. Unnerving.”
“It’s true. You stare. And you’re very intense, more so than anyone I’ve ever met. It’s very unusual.”
He nodded and gestured to the wheels of his chair. “And there’s this. It’s unusual, too; and unnerving.”
The red flooded back into my face. “Well, I mean, I didn’t know, if that’s what you mean. But that’s not what I was talking about.”
He smiled around the lip of his glass. “I know. Most of the people I meet who know me from my books don’t know, if that makes you feel better. I avoid interviewers who ask about my disability, and my agent has stock photos of me, from before… it’s easier to work around than you’d think.”
“Why do you…”
“Avoid the subject? Because I don’t want to be a ‘disabled writer’. I don’t want people reading my work because they’re crippled too, when it has no other meaning for them.”
I nodded. “That makes sense.” I paused for a few seconds, weighing the possible repercussions of my next question. “When did you, um… you said your agent uses pictures from before…”
“It’s been a year.” He finished his drink in a long swallow and set the glass on the table. Thinking I had upset him, I looked down at my lap, uncomfortable. He waved at the bartender for another round. Then he touched my arm lightly. I felt the cal louses on his hand from the wheels of his chair.
“It’s okay,” he said. “You can ask. I’d ask, if I were you.”
“Yeah, but I don’t even know you. It’s none of my business.” I was intensely disappointed with myself and I wanted to run away from him, not ever see him again.
He shrugged. “I asked you about your ring. This is how people get to know each other. I invited you for a drink, I invited you to talk. I’m enjoying it. Although you have an uncanny ability to avoid answering my questions the way I want you to.”
I smiled at him. “You wanted me to tell you I was nervous because of your work, of how much I love it and how long I’ve thought about meeting you. But you don’t need me to tell you that.”
Four rounds later, as he was scribbling something on a cocktail napkin and I was coming back from one of my many trips to the ladies’ room he caught a glimpse of the clock behind the bar.
“Shit,” he muttered.
“What?”
He motioned to the fat guy at the bar again, this time for the tab. “Is it really seven o’clock?”
“I think so, why?”
He laughed. “I have a six forty-five class Tuesday and Thursday.”
I giggled. “Oops. You’re not thinking about going, are you?”
“Why not?” The bartender came over and Zach thrust a credit card at him. “Would you go grab a cab for us?”
“You’ve had like five scotches.” I pointed out.
“I teach creative writing, not organic chemistry. Are you going to get that cab?”
“Sure. I think this is a great idea.” I stood up, only slightly wobbly and went outside to hail a cab.
It only took a few moments. The car was waiting at the curb when Zach wheeled out to us. Seeing him, the driver popped the trunk and got out of the car.
My internal organs went into a frenzy instantly. I tired to tell him thank you for the drinks but he wasn’t letting me go.
“This works better if you get in first,” he said, looking at me rather sternly. “I’m not finished talking to you, so you’re not off the hook yet.”
Defeated and very nervous, I hopped into the car and slid down to the other window. I could see Zach’s reflection in it, as he put the brake on his wheelchair, reached over for the seat of the car and pulled himself out of the wheelchair. He reached for his paralyzed legs with his hands and brought them into the car, then closed the door as the driver took the chair to the trunk.
Zach looked earnestly at me as the driver, having asked our destination, took off. It was a look I hadn’t seen yet on him, but would come to know very well in the next several months. I almost expected him to reach for my hand when he opened his mouth to speak to me.
“Katy, I’m leaving tomorrow for a conference in Chicago. But when I get back on Monday I want to talk to you, okay? Can you come by my office around three?”
Of course he wasn’t really giving me any choice. And he knew it. So I nodded.
He smiled. “Good. I had fun today, we should do this again. How often does your other half let you out of his sight?”
I snorted. “Generally during his waking hours,” I said snidely.
Zach cocked his head, a few stray curls tumbled over his right ear. “Silly man. What’s his name?”
“Bijendra.”
“Hmm. That’s pretty, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Don’t let it suck you in.”
When the taxi pulled up at the English building Zach shook my hand very warmly, smiled and slid into his chair and was gone.