My initiation/training session at the gym was at noon.  As I walked down the street towards the gym, my mind was filled with fear and self pity.  I moped along, thinking, “I’m sure I’m going to end up in a wheelchair.  Mom should have used a wheelchair, she could have gotten around better.  I’ll probably need a wheelchair. I wonder if I’ll be able to go to the places I want to go in a wheelchair.”

I turned the corner to walk up shady, tree-lined West Third Street.  In the distance I saw a lady in a wheelchair.  Someone was accompanying her on a bike, weaving around to keep pace.  As she moved closer, I noticed her extravagant clothes.  She wore an African tunic with a bold pattern of lime green and yellow shapes.  Her pants were a bright green and yellow checked pattern and she sported a bowler hat.

“Wait a minute, that’s a man.”

The man was smiling gleefully, charging his electric wheelchair at full speed, a huge grin on his face, as if he were enjoying the feel of the wind in his hair. As he moved closer I saw he had no hair under the bowler.  And it was Chuck Close.

I started laughing with joy.  I laughed all the way to the gym.  I learned how to use the weight machines and I lifted weights and used the treadmill for an hour and a half.

Thank you Guardian Angel. Thanks for reminding me that I’m not alone.  Thanks for reminding me that I can be an artist, even if I am disabled. Thanks for reminding me that life is as good as you make it.