New shoes

With unmarked soles

Worn every day

Yet never used

This afternoon, I picked up a pair of shoes to go with the tux we ordered for Bennett's wedding. I put them on in the store and then promptly forgot about them. When I got home, I still had them on. I was about to take them off to save them for the wedding when I discovered that, even though I had been wearing them for several hours, they still looked brand new. There wasn't a single scuff on them, nor a spec of dirt on the soles. I realized that even if I wear them all night, or all day tomorrow, or all week, or all month, they will still be brand new. I hadn't thought about that before. I will never wear out a pair of shoes again.

Bennett asked me to be best man for his wedding, hence the tux and the new shoes. He could have asked any one of his brothers, but he asked me. He had that evil glint in his eye when he did it. He loves to stick it to his dad, and what better way to do it than to have me beside him at the end of the aisle. I can go along with that. I have no problem with making Jonas squirm. Still, I'm not sure I want to subject myself to that crowd because, the truth is, they make me squirm as well. I told Bennett I would think about it. The wedding is months away, so it's not as if he can't find somebody else. He said I'm the man until I say no. So as ‘the man’, I spent the afternoon with him getting fitted for tuxedos.

Even in this post pulse world, you can find anything you want if you are willing to spend the money. The staff at the tailor's was very professional and didn't even blink an eye at me rolling in there in a wheelchair. I'm used to clerks in stores looking down on me, seeing through me, talking over me, but never talking to me directly. My favorite clerk, though, is the one that thinks I am deaf and dumb. He completely ignores me and asks whoever is with me what I want. Bling, of course, always sets him straight. "I don't know. Why don't you ask him?" he retorts with barely restrained anger. I think he gets more irritated than I do. In fact, responses like that are so absurd that they are almost amusing.

But today, there was none of that. Today, the staff acknowledged me. I tried to tell myself that they were just acknowledging the cash in my pocket, but it was more than that. They were more than professional, they were kind. They easily accommodated the chair, as if they see paraplegic clients on a regular basis. A wheelchair? No big deal. Some customers have them and some customers don't. Some customers wear hats, some customers don't. They treated me like a regular client, no condescension, no pity, just a professional demeanor. That was not at all what I expected today. It has caught me off guard and has completely shaken me. It would have been easier if they had treated me like all the clerks out there. That I could have understood, because I don't feel like a regular customer. I realize that now more than ever. I'm not regular. I'm not normal.

Playing basketball these last few weeks has opened my eyes to what life as a paraplegic really is. I had truly been isolated before, not understanding what was possible and what was not. I don't even know how most of these guys survived their injuries in the first place. None of them has a Bling in their lives to make things easier for them, or the cash to pay for professional help. They have had to rely on a broken medical system and family and friends to help them through. They spend hours after the game talking about their lives, their challenges with work and unemployment. They talk about their families and about the responsibilities that are more difficult than ever to meet. They talk about the lack of accessibility in this city as the infrastructure continues to crumble around us. Yet they somehow remain positive. They support each other in finding solutions and then they apply them in their lives. They have accepted their limitations and made a life in spite of them.

And, of course, they play basketball. They play this game for a few hours each week, seeking a diversion, a fleeting moment of strength and speed and power. I am just like them in this. In our daily lives, we lack power, we lack strength. No matter how independent we are, we are never completely free. So we play against each other on an equal playing field. We compete and win and lose. We feel normal for a few minutes. But when the game is over, reality rushes back in. I am not normal. I am not equal.

Despite what Bling says, and the hope he tries to give me, I know my legs don't work and probably never will. Now I know the facts. I know that, barring a miracle, I will never walk again. Up to this point, I somehow felt that my paralysis and this wheelchair, and all the frustration that goes with them, were somehow temporary. But now I realize that they are not. I have realized that I am trapped in this chair. No amount of upper body strength will compensate for legs that don't work. No amount of rehab or basketball or adaptations will change that. They are just momentary diversions. They just take my life from unbearable to barely tolerable. This is my new reality. I'm just like Jack and Derek and George on that basketball court. They have been in their chairs one year, five years, ten years, and they are not getting out. Neither am I.

In a few years, I could be in Jack's position, strong, fit, athletic, seemingly well adjusted, but still in that chair. I could be running a basketball league and training new players. I could even be playing at the national level. And my legs will be like Jacks, completely atrophied, just skin and bone. But in one area, I doubt I will ever be like Jack. I have barely made it through these last six months by focusing on work, Max, basketball, anything to get my mind off my situation. I have been so focused on surviving each day that I have not even considered the future. Now I have realized that I have come essentially as far as I can. I am already living in my future. There will be no dramatic changes. Tomorrow will be like today, and so will next month, and next year, and the year after that. I doubt that I have the endurance to live like this for one year, let alone a few years, or the rest of my life. How will I ever be able to accept this life?