The Chair

Chapter 2

“How's the salad?” he asked when I was about halfway through it.  “It's good,” I answered, glancing at his fries for about the tenth time.  “Would you like one?” he asked.  One!  I wanted to shove my face down in them and chow down like a dog.  “Here,” he handed me one, “one isn't going to make you fat.”  I snatched it and sucked it down as if it were air.  I watched him as he took a bite of that greasy cheeseburger.  “Would you like a bite?” he asked.  A bite!  Ha!  “Here,” he said, holding it up to my mouth.  I took the biggest bite that I could, which wasn't really that big.  The burger was to thick for my mouth.

“You're so bad for me,” I joked, wiping my mouth with a napkin.  I instantly regretted saying it when I saw his face fall, “I’m so sorry, Jess.”  “It's okay.  I was joking,” I stopped him, putting my hand on his.  He relaxed a little.  “Listen, Dave.  We have to talk,” I kept my hand on his.  He stared at me intently.  “We can't go on like this.  You can't,” I told him.  “What do you mean?” he asked.  “Dave, I forgave you long ago.  You need to forgive yourself.  I can't stand to watch you like this.  You're miserable,” I told him.  “I’m not either,” he lied.  “Yes you are,” I told him, “but I’m going to help you.”  He looked at me warily.

“I’m not going with you tonight unless you agree to mingle.  I want you to actively look for someone.  A date,” I told him.  “It's not that easy,” he got up from the table and went to stare out of the kitchen window.  “Sure it is,” I started.  “No it's not,” he growled, causing me to jump.  “I’m sorry,” he rushed back to the table and took my hand in his, “It's just wrong to leave you sitting by yourself while I run around and try to pick up women.”  “No, it's not.  I want you to,” I told him, “If you're not back by ten, I’ll assume that you got lucky and I’ll call a cab.”  He looked at me strangely, “Okay.  If that's what you want,” he said with trepidation.  “It's what I want,” I squeezed his hand with a smile.  He nodded his head in agreement.  He almost looked relieved.

“Well, look at the time,” I said glancing at the clock.  It was right after seven.  “We better get going,” he said.  He got up from the table and helped me get ready, which consisted of my purse, my phone, my backpack containing an extra set of clothes and a blanket.  I like to be prepared.  He pushed me out of the house, down the ramp and to his car.  He lifted me out of my chair and put me in the front passenger seat of his car.  He put my wheelchair in the trunk then got in the driver's seat.

“Are you excited about this?” he asked as we pulled away from the curb.  “I don't know,” I told him, “Angelique really is Jen's favorite actress.  I just like her movies.”  “Yeah, but, you might get to meet her,” Dave prodded.  Jen had got us VIP passes.  It was rumored that sometimes Angelique would go into the VIP lounge and choose certain ones to go into a special viewing room to watch the movie with her.  We were going to a special viewing of her most recent movie.  “Maybe,” I said, not really expecting it.  What would Angelique want with a girl in a wheelchair.  “I wouldn't mind meeting her,” I was surprised to hear Dave say.  He doesn't even care to watch movies.

We arrived at the theater.  Dave parked in a handicapped parking spot and I hung the placard from his rearview mirror.  He got my chair out of the back, then lifted me out of the car and into it.  He helped me spread the blanket on my lap, hung my backpack on the back of the chair and handed me my purse.

He pushed me into line.  There were only about ten people in front of us.  I was a little excited and I got more excited the closer that we got.  I handed Dave Jen's VIP pass.  “I don't think they'll let me use this.  You have to show ID,” Dave said.  “Just try,” I told him.

Finally, it was our turn.  “I’m sorry, but no,” the doorman told Dave, “passes are non-transferrable.”  “How about general admission?  Can I buy a ticket?” Dave asked.  “Sorry, sir, but we are all sold out,” the man responded.

I looked at Dave, at a loss, “Let's go.  We can do this some other time.”  “Don't be silly,” he said, “You go.  I’ll be fine.”  “But,” I started.  “But nothing,” he cut me off, “You have a good time.  Call me if you need anything.  Call me when you're ready to go home.”  I smiled, “I’ll just call a cab when I’m ready to go home.  You have fun.”  “I’m just going home,” he told me.  “You better not,” I wagged my finger at him.  He flashed me the first genuine smile in months.  That killer smile that I originally fell for.  “We'll see,” he said.  “Don't wait up for me,” I told him.  “Have fun,” he told me as the usher took hold of my chair and whisked me away.

I was wheeled into a large room with several rows of plush red seats, black carpet and red walls trimmed in gold.  “Miss, would you like to stay in your wheelchair, or would you like for me to transfer you to your assigned seat?” the usher asked.  “My wheelchair is fine,” I told him.  He nodded and left me.  I checked my phone.  Fifteen minutes left.  I turned down the ringer on my phone, then watched as others were seated.

Someone came and sat next to me.  I was too busy looking around at all of the commotion to pay attention to the person.  “It's quite busy, isn't it?” a woman with a soft voice stated next to me.  “It sure is,” I answered.  Then I started noticing that the people I was watching were looking my way.  Then I looked at her.