STOPPED

A carer drove me to the shops yesterday. She drove me to Chinatown so I could buy all my fruit and vegetables. There were no mud crabs. After driving into the city we went to Westfield to buy all the dry goods I needed. I shop at Coles but I don’t know why. We had to drive three levels down before we could find a wheelchair spot. We waited for a lift. We always wait for a lift. Nobody likes to walk these days. The lift finally brought us to level one (or is it level two?) and the celebration of light. I pushed my wheelchair into the star spangled lane. I had to get some booze first so I looked around trying to remember where the liquor store was. I found it, turned around and started pushing towards it. As my eyes narrowed I saw a man in his eighties sitting hunched in a wheelchair outside the pet-shop. He was sitting by himself. His head hung down on his chest. His hands sat folded upon his lap. People were walking past him like he didn’t exist. I wheeled up to where he sat and asked how he was? He looked up to face me and said, nmw nmw nmw nmw. I asked him what he had just said? He said, nmw nmw nmw nmw… Nmw. Yeah, I said. He said, nmw nmw nmw nmw nmwa. Yeah, I said, it gets like that doesn’t it? He said, nmw nmw nmw nmw. I said, you should roll it into little balls and try and push them back in. His face darkened. I told him I would turn my wheelchair around so I would be listening from my good ear. When I could hear him properly all I could make out was more of the same. I told him I was deaf in one ear and pointed to the hearing aide in my good ear. I leaned my body towards him. He spoke into my good ear. I couldn’t make out what he was trying to say. I told him, no it’s the medicine that will do that to you. I looked back up at him. His face darkened. I said, either that or wring it out on a Tuesday night. He smiled at me. He fingers went to his pursed lips. I said, no you’re not allowed to in the supermarket. I told him, they have security. He smiled. I told him I had tobacco at home but had overcome the urge to carry it with me. He shook his head and leaned in towards me. He smiled and I thought I heard him inhale. I told him no, no, not me. I smiled and told him that I didn’t carry a crack-pipe. He smiled and said, nmw nmw nmw nmw nw.

You wouldn’t believe me but I was felt-up by a lady senior citizen today. It’s not that I minded so much but I would’ve preferred to have been felt-up by someone born closer to the same decade. She stopped me on Bondi rd. She told me I was a credit to myself as I pushed up the hill. She’d asked so I told her how I wound up being in a wheelchair. I smiled as I talked to her. She liked that. Little white pieces of dried saliva collected at the corners of her mouth as she licked her lips. She couldn’t stop licking her lips. She kept saying, ooh you’re so handsome. I said, no I’m not. She talked about my arms and shoulders and reached out and felt them. She licked her lips again as she told me how developed they were. I told her I had no choice. She licked her lips. I could see a fire in her eyes as she asked me where I lived. I am a dumb man so I told her. Ooh, I live close to you, she said. My face dropped as I realised what I’d done. She asked, so what happened to your legs? I told her about the fall. I told her I was incomplete. I told her my legs were weak. My legs are not as weak as she thought. She bent down and ran her hand, firmly, over my left knee. She started rubbing the inside of my knee and then started travelling up the inside of my leg until she was half a centimetre away from Mr Jolly. I looked up to see her staring at my crotch and licking her lips. It’s a good thing she stopped short of him. If she hadn’t you would have probably have seen me on Sixty Minutes revealing this tale. You would have seen me crying. I am actually ugly.

Andrew Stuart Buchanan