Love on wheels

“Mom, you don’t have to do that.”

“I know, honey,” she says while she stirs in the tomato sauce. I pinch the bridge of my nose as I sigh. It’s very sweet of her that she wants to help me, but it’s been a year since I was shot.

I was a police officer back then. I was chasing a man who had stabbed someone when I heard gunshots and my partner screaming in pain behind me. So I turned around and saw a man who fired his gun again, shooting my partner in the head.

I was about to shoot him when I heard another gunshot, but it wasn’t the man who shot my partner who fired his gun. No, it was the man I chased down the street. He shot me in the back two times with bullets that could penetrate a bulletproof vest. Then they fled the scene, leaving me to die. Luckily, someone had called 911 so it didn’t take long before an ambulance arrived.

Of course, my partner died on the spot from the headshot, and I ended up paralyzed. At first, it was from my neck down but with a lot of physical therapy, it’s now only my legs I can’t feel. That’s how I ended up in a wheelchair.

At first, I was very angry and very bitter. I also felt guilty because I wasn’t quick enough to save my partner. Because I wasn’t quick enough to shoot the man before he killed him.

But with a lot of therapy, I now understand that there was nothing I could’ve done. I’m still not over the survivor’s guilt, though. It was me who should’ve died, not him. He was a good man who had a family. Yes, I have a family too, but he had kids. I don’t.

My mom, Agatha, snaps me out of my thoughts by saying, “alright, dinner is ready.” I smile at her and wheel myself over to my dinner table where she puts the food down.

“Thank you, mom. You still didn’t have to make it, though. I could’ve made it myself.”

She gives me a soft, motherly smile. “I know, honey.” Then she comes over to me, crouches down, and takes my hands. “It’s just… I’m your mom. You’re my daughter. I can’t help but want to help you and take care of you.”

I give her a grateful smile. “And I love you for that, mom, but I’m used to doing things on my own again. I’ve learned how to take care of myself again. You helped me with that. You helped pay for making my house wheelchair accessible. You made sure it was made so I could do things by myself. Cook, clean. Everything. You made sure I became independent again. You did all that and more.”

She sniffles so I give her hands a squeeze. “Please don’t cry, mom.” Sniffling again, she smiles a little, lets go of my hands, and dries her eyes before she stands up. “I promise. No more crying.”

I give her a soft smile and nod before I get settled at the dinner table. “Good. Now, this smells delicious. Did you use rosemary in the sauce?” I ask. She nods. “Yes. It’s your grandmother’s recipe.”

“Oh, that’s right. I keep forgetting how it’s made.”

Mom sits down at the dinner table and pats my hand. “I’ll write it down for you. Just don’t tell your grandma. She still thinks it’s her own secret recipe.”

I can’t help but laugh at that. She’s an amazing cook and she has a lot of secret recipes so I don’t doubt she would get a little upset if she knew mom had figured out how to make her ‘secret’ sauce.

My mom and I start to eat, and we talk until we’re done. I’m about to take the plates and take them into the kitchen when she gets up and says, “let me do th… Sorry, honey. How about you do the dishes, and I put the leftovers in the fridge.” I smile at her. “You have yourself a deal.”

I take the dishes into the kitchen and over to the sink. My whole kitchen was made wheelchair accessible after I got shot so now I can reach everything by myself, which I’m so grateful for. I want to be able to take care of myself. I’ve always been an independent woman who likes to do that and that hasn’t changed after I got shot.

I lived with my parents the first couple of months after that happened. I was so grateful for that because I, of course, couldn’t do things myself at first. I had to get used to rolling myself around in my wheelchair before I could learn how to do things again. It annoyed the hell out of me because I’m an independent woman.

When I’ve done the dishes, I make a pot of coffee before my mom and I go into the living room. She gets comfortable on the couch while I pour us both a cup. Then I ask, “so, how’s dad?”

“He’s good. He’s still working late, though.”

I give her a sad, understanding smile. My dad couldn’t handle it when I was shot. He’s a cop himself and his coping mechanism is to throw himself into work. It’s clear that he still isn’t over it because he still works too much.

Maybe it’s because I’m only twenty-nine? When it happened, he was heartbroken because he was so sad about me having to live the rest of my life in a wheelchair. So was my mom, but it was harder for dad. Maybe it’s because he’s a cop? I don’t know. All I know is that he’s working too much. I hope he stops doing that soon because or else he will work himself to death.

Mom snaps me out of my thoughts by asking, “so, when are we going to the gym again?” I chuckle because she knows I have every gym equipment I could want and more here in my house. Her and dad bought them for me for Christ’s sake. She still wants to go to the gym downtown, though, but I don’t mind because we have fun when we train together.

I know she also wants to go to the gym to set me up with guys. I’ve seen her talk to some at the gym and they always look at me while she does it. I’ve told her to stop doing it, but she won’t. She wants me to have a man in my life who loves me.

I doubt I'll ever have that. Who wants to be with a woman in a wheelchair? None of the guys at the gym do because no one has asked me out after my mom talked to them.

I’ve only been hit on two times since I ended up in a wheelchair, but they weren’t my type at all. I don’t just want to be with just any man. I’d rather be alone than settle.

“We can go to the gym tomorrow if you want? Just promise me you won’t try to set me up with anyone!”

She gives me a soft smile and says, “I just want you to have a man. To be happy.” I return her smile. “Mom, I am happy. I love my life. I still have you and dad, I have great friends, and great former colleagues who I still talk to. I have it all.”

She gives me a smile, but I can see the sadness in her eyes, and I know what she’s thinking. She’s thinking; except the use of your legs. I understand why she’s thinking it, but she shouldn’t. I truly am happy. I’m alive. I have my health. I have my amazing parents. And as I said, I have great friends and former colleagues. I couldn’t ask for more.

Mom nods and says, “I know, honey. It’s just… Don’t you want a man in your life?” I roll my eyes. “Mom, I swear to God that if you keep asking me that, I will get my gun and shoot you.”

She chuckles. “Alright, alright, I’ll stop asking. I can’t promise I won’t keep trying to find you a man, though.” I roll my eyes again but this time I can’t help but smile. “You’re impossible.” She returns my smile with a grin. “I know.”

~~~~

The next day, we’re at the gym and I’m doing every possible upper body exercise I can while I try to ignore my mom who’s talking to different guys about me. They all look at me, but you can almost see the panic in their eyes when they see my wheelchair, which makes me want to laugh every time. The look on their faces is priceless.

When I’m done training, I wheel myself over to mom who’s talking to another guy. When he sees me, his eyes slightly widen. Mom smiles and says, “Aron, this is my daughter, Skye.” He swallows before he smiles but you can see that it’s a forced one. “Uh, nice to meet you, Skye.” I hold back a chuckle. “You too, Aron.”

“Aron, Skye used to be a police officer,” mom says even though the poor guy looks more and more panicked. “Oh, uh, that must've been hard.”

Shrugging, I say, “sometimes. It was a great job, though.” He swallows again and lets out a nervous chuckle. “Uh, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go. I’m late for work.” With that, he hurries away and disappears into the men’s locker room.

I slightly narrow my eyes because he seemed to get nervous when mom told him I used to be a cop. He must be hiding something…

Alright, let it go. You’re not a cop anymore, Skye.

Sighing, I look at my mom who’s looking at me with a raised brow. “Are you alright, honey?”

“Yeah. Just my spidey sense that’s tingling.”

She gives me an understanding smile because she knows I miss my job so much. I absolutely loved being a cop. It was what I wanted to be since I was a kid. It was my dream job.

Sighing again, I look at mom before I smile and ask, “are you done trying to find me a man?” She sighs herself and shakes her head in disapproval. “No. I just need to find you the right one. The ones I’ve talked to so far are weak, scared little boys. You need a man man. One who’s strong enough.”

I give her a loving smile as I shake my head. “I doubt you’ll find one who’s interested in a woman in a wheelchair.”

“Don’t be silly. As I said, I just need to find the right one,” she says. Then she gives me a look. “If I can find one who lives up to your high standards.”

I chuckle. “Well, you know how I like them.” She chuckles herself. “Yes, I do, honey. Yes, I do.”

We make our way into the women’s locker room where we shower and get dressed. I’m wearing dark blue jeans, a white tank top, and a short, tight, leather jacket. Then I style my short, black hair and apply some mascara.

When we leave the gym, we go to our usual wheelchair accessible café where we order some food. When it’s served, we dig in and after a moment, mom asks, “are you going to the police station later?” I nod. “Mm hm. I want to see the guys again. I haven’t been there for a while.”

“And I’m guessing you’re going to take the bus?”

Nodding again, I say, “yes. You know I usually do that.” She sighs. “Why won’t you let me drive you there? It would be a lot easier for you.” I give her a soft smile. “Mom, you know I like to take the bus. Plus, you can’t drive me everywhere I want to go. I want to do this on my own. You understand that, right?”

She returns my soft smile. “I do, honey.” She’s silent for a moment before she asks, “how long will it be before you’ve saved up enough money for a car?” I think for a moment. “Well, I think I can afford it in a year.”

She slowly nods before she asks, “are you sure you don’t want me and your father to help? Then you could have it tomorrow if you want?”

Giving her another soft smile, I say, “I know, mom, but you know I want to buy it with my own money.”

My parents are what I guess you would call rich. Yes, I did let them help me rebuild my house after I got shot but that was because it had to be done quickly so I could live by myself again. So I could learn how to do things on my own.

I don’t want them to buy me a car, though. I want to do that by myself. Again, I’m an independent woman and I don’t want them to buy me everything I need. That’s why I’m paying them back for helping me rebuild my house. Thankfully, they agreed to that but that was only because they knew I would feel bad if they didn’t let me.

They did give me a trust fund, though, but I donated all of it to the police. They truly need money, and I simply wanted to help them. No, I didn’t earn much money as a cop, but I got by, and I still do.

Mom sighs. “You’re so stubborn.” I chuckle before giving her an amused look. “Well, I got that from you.” She playfully tsks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

When we’re done eating, we say goodbye and I roll over to the bus stop. When the bus comes, I wait for a moment before I frown. The bus driver usually comes out and helps me into the bus, but nothing happens, so I roll up to the front and look inside. I see that it’s not the same bus driver as usual, so I ask, “where’s Lucas?”

The bus driver looks at my wheelchair for a moment before he says, “he’s sick.”

“Oh. Would you mind helping me into the bus?”

He shakes his head. “I can’t. I have a bad back.” Sighing, I look through the windows on the bus and I see that there are five people on it but they’re looking everywhere else than at me. I sigh again and nod. “Okay.”

The bus driver is about to close the door and drive away when a big group of bikers drives past the bus and, to my surprise, one of them stops in front of the bus so it can’t drive off. Then a biker gets off his bike and comes over to me.

“Do you need any help, darlin'?”