There I was, looking at the rolling hills covered in grass, scattered with tress here and there. These were not the type of rolling hills you would expect to see in Eastern Washington or Northern California, but hills nonetheless; hills that started at your feet and only sat two feet high.
See, normally I’m not disabled in my dreams; technically I was not disabled in this one either. If I walk, or run, in my dreams I don’t have the same difficulty as I do in real life.
I remember having a dream where I was running backwards with a double barrel shotguns in each hand as I showed zombies what it’s like to cease all brain activity.
I was sitting on a hill, in my wheelchair, listening to the distant sounds of live bands from every direction around me.
If you have ever been to a festival located in the Pacific Northwest, picture that.
I don’t know how or why I ended up being pushed by some dude, but there I was being pushed around, over the grass, at a fast rate of speed by a guy who I didn’t know. A drunk guy with a beard and a chubby midsection.
He was running, with me in front of him as I reached down and held onto the frame of my wheelchair with each hand while I sit in for the ride of my life.
Every wheelchair has a footrest, a place to rest your feet. This footrest typically sits in front of you, in front of the tires a few inches above the ground. High enough to allow for a 360 degree rotation of the wheels that are on the front of the chair; the ones that are three inches in diameter, the ones most people don’t think about.
Up this hill down that hill, the physics of the situation were blowing past the mind of my driver as I sit there having fun with the thought of what could happen.
Picture a line, as if you were drawing on a piece of paper. That line is four inches long, point A sits three and a half inches above the other line that has an arc to it. You’re just hoping that point B of the straight line does not crash into the line that has an arc.
Up another hill, this is like the fifth hill we have been up and the fourth hill we have been down. At the top of this hill I see two trees, one on my left and one on my right as I also see a congregation of people standing about thirty feet in front of me.
Here we go…another hill and we are going down at a speed that makes you think Forest Gump was taking me across the country and back again.
This time it didn’t work like it did the first four, at the bottom of the hill the front of my footrest impacted with the ground, bringing my chair to a complete stop as it continued to go forward on a different axis of rotation.
I was thrown from my wheelchair as my body crashes into the ground in front of me. The wheelchair is now laying on the ground with it’s left wheel kissing the ground like a grandma forcing a kiss upon her grandchild’s cheek. The right tire is spinning as fast as it can go, just in the air; spinning with whatever momentum was left.
Forest Gump is now laying on the left side of his body as he was thrown to the ground also.
A few seconds later the driver gets up and walks over to me with his arm stretched in front of him pointing all of his fingers at the ground, “Man, do you need help…I’m so sorry.”
Catching him by surprise was me looking up at him with water spilling out of my eyes as I swing my arm in his direction hoping for a high five as I’m laughing and pumping with so much adrenaline that you would think I was Hunter S. Thompson sitting on a bed in a hotel room before my lawyer turns into Satan with six boobs on his back.
“Are you okay,” he says with a smile on his face as my hand slaps into his, “Yea man, that was fun”
“Yea man, thank you for treating me like a person and showing me a good time.”