We are men

We are men. We’re men and we are all running from something. Every man has done at least one thing in his life that he will see as inexcusable. It could be something so trivial that it would make someone else chuckle but that man will carry that thing of his like it’s armour. We have all done things that we think can’t be forgiven. If you’re a woman stare into a man’s eyes the next time you see one. Your stare will beat his every time. That’s because as men we know a woman can read our soul. That’s why I wear sunglasses. I don’t want a woman to see me before she gets the chance to know me. When I see a man with slumped shoulders carrying the shopping two and a half paces behind his wife I know that he’s told his wife his thing. Women can be kind. Women can be cruel. Women can be the kindest and the cruellest on the same day. A woman is a woman before you meet her so why bother showing up with flowers?

Men say women are talkers but men talk more than women. Most men will talk four hundred words before they say the word me. Most men would talk the leg off a chair before talking about themselves. If you’re a woman have a listen. We talk about rugby and league and cricket and cars and drinks but not about ourselves. If you’re a woman and at a party lean in close and listen to what the men are talking about. They’re talking rubbish. We talk rubbish so we won’t have to tell what we’re running from. If you are a woman wondering why your husband goes fishing all the time or is always playing some sport just try not to worry about it. He’s just doing it to get away from you so he won’t have to tell you what he’s running from. It’s not that he doesn’t want to talk to you it’s just that he’s afraid of what he might tell you. Most men only run away from one thing. I run (not really run since I’m sitting in a wheelchair) from so many ones I can’t count.

Men wish they were boys and boys wish they were men. Most of us will only have a golden dream. Very few of us are actually golden. The next time you see a man driving a sports car just be happy for him living his golden dream. Women have books about men and workshops and classes trying to figure us out. I think it’s so strange that they haven’t figured us out. They go to their classes and listen through female ears as to what a man wants. Men want to be boys and boys want to be men. We all want to be boys in men’s bodies. Sitting in a wheelchair makes me feel like a boy in a man’s body. I love women but they no longer love me. I now love women as I did when I was a boy. I masturbate and love them. I was golden once but now I’m not golden. Now I’m broken. I’m broken and still dreaming of being a man. I’ve come from dreaming of women to being with women to dreaming of women again. Most men my age are sitting around with their children. I’m sitting with my pants around my ankles.

Men run in the mind and in the physical. The proof is outside. Open your window and you’ll see a man running. Some men will run just so they don’t have to talk. I have to talk. Some men cannot run as they are. It’s hard to run when you’re always sitting. I only run in the mental. Women are always stopping me wanting to talk. I know some of them before they’ve opened their mouth. My mind runs while they tell me fifty things about themselves (revealing nothing) before asking why I’m in a wheelchair. A woman stopped me a few weeks ago and the first thing she said was asking me if I’d had an accident or a condition. I thought of how she hadn’t told me anything about herself but couldn’t help telling her the truth. I wanted to run but I am a man and she was a woman. She was trying to understand how I came to be in a wheelchair. I wondered as to what it meant to her. Women say they can’t figure us out. Well we’re even.

I’m a man. That means that every time a woman smiles or stares at me I think that she wants to have sex. That’s what most men think when a woman smiles or stares at them. That’s why the feminist’s and angry women hate us. They shouldn’t hate us for being born that way. Most men want to turn that smile into something else. That’s how it used to work for me. That’s how I was. I’ve made a lot of women squeal. Nobody wants to hear figures and everyone loves stories but tales become taller when a man is telling them so I won’t bore you. When I walked at six foot three I knew the combination to the lock. I looked down (literally) on women. I knew women as I was then. Now in a wheelchair I no longer know women. I look up (head-fuck) to see them looking down on me. I can no longer find the lock let alone figure the combination. A taxi driver the other day told me I should play up the pity. He said grope them and if they scream say, oh I’m sorry I’ve got brain damage. I opened my mouth wide, stuck my tongue out and thrashed against the seatbelt with my hands and arms gnarled. I said mamma and sucked at the air. He laughed and I laughed. I knew that I shouldn’t have laughed. We were talking rubbish.

We are men and we are all running from something. We are men and silence is golden.

Andrew Stuart Buchanan