I had finished a short story writing class a few weeks ago but I had never found out what grade I had earned. Deep down, I was sure I received an A in the class but I wanted to see it in print for myself.  I was hoping that maybe my grade would be coming in that days mail and I remembered seeing the mail truck earlier when I was working on my computer.  I have cerebral palsy and can't open my mailbox so I was hoping I could find someone in the lobby to help me get my mail.

I went over to my power wheelchair to check my communication device; the cerebral palsy causes trouble with my speech too.  My communication device has a hundred and forty four messages that I can use with people who don't understand my speech.  I had to make up all of the messages and decide where to put them; my personal assistant had helped with the programming and my device contained a message that I could use to ask someone to help me get my mail.   My speech device hung down from the seat of my power chair; that was the best way for me to get to it when riding in my chair.

If my speech device didn't work, I always had my letter board.  It was a piece of plywood with letters laid out like a computer keyboard; when the high-tech world let me down, I went back to the basics!  After trying one of the buttons, I realized that the battery in my speech device wouldn’t work, so I got my letter board positioned so that I could use it.  It is nice that I have several options for communicating; but when they don't work, I have to wing it.

It was about 3:00 o’clock in the afternoon when I set out on my quest to get my grade.  I got in my power chair and hit the remote to unlock my front door, only to find that it didn’t work on the first try. The batteries were going dead and I couldn’t open the door without first using the remote to unlock it.  Sue, my personal assistant, had warned me that the batteries were low and she had told me to get more and even wrote down the size I needed on my grocery list.  I had forgotten to go to the store.  I decided that before trying to get the mail, I had better go to the store to get more batteries for the remote controlled lock on my front door.  I would be trapped in my apartment if the batteries went completely dead. After several tries and some noises, I finally was able to unlock my front door with the remote, the first step toward getting out of my apartment. Next I pulled the door open with my hand, and held my foot in front of the door to get it to open all the way. Once the door was open, I wheeled into the hall, pulled the door closed, and pushed the remote to lock the door.  Since the batteries were so low, it took three tries to lock it behind me.   
     
I made it to the door of the store and went in and looked for Jackie who is a box girl there.  I didn’t see her.  Billie, a checker, called my name and said, “Jackie is on her break.  Jimmy will help you.”  I looked at Jimmy and thought that he looked young, maybe not even out of high school.  He looked at me.  I tried to tell him where to find my grocery list but he was not able to figure out what I was trying to tell him. Billie and Jackie know that I keep it in the book in my wallet that I carry around with me in my chair.  Billie realized that Jimmy didn’t get it so she came around the counter, got my list, and showed it to Jimmy. I was all the way down the aisle before Jimmy finally realized that he needed to follow me.  I pointed to the batteries but he didn’t know what I meant; I pointed again. “Oh, batteries” he said.  I pointed down to the double A’s.  “That one” I said.

Jimmy seemed nervous; he probably had never talked to a guy in a wheelchair with a speech problem.  I pointed one more time but he picked up the wrong batteries.  I pointed to the list that had the size batteries that I needed written down on it; Jimmy still seemed confused for a minute, so I pointed to the list and then back to the batteries.  He finally got what I meant!  I was happy I didn’t want anything more than that.  He asked me, “Do you want to go pay for them?”  I nodded and smiled and put my chair in forward and wheeled towards the checkout stand where Billie was working.  She took the batteries and got my credit card out of my wallet.  She asked, “Do you want to get cash back?”  I smiled and nodded again.  “Four fives?”  she asked. I said “Yes,” nodded, and smiled in agreement.  She put the money back in my wallet and placed the batteries in the basket on the back of my chair.  I was heading out of the door when Jackie appeared and asked,  “Did he figure it out?” “Yup.” I replied. “ Great, I will see you next time. Oh, did you find out your grade?  Anything below an A and you buy me a cookie.” “Not yet. But I like chocolate chip.”  She laughed.  I waved goodbye to her. 

I decided to go directly to the college to see if I could get my grade from the teacher.  I knew it was late but sometimes the teachers stayed late correcting papers.  I went about a block before I realized I was on the street where the guy always parked his truck at the bottom of his driveway so I had to drive my chair in the street just a little ways to get around it.  As I approached that corner, I looked ahead and sure enough, the truck was there.  I turned my speed down and inched around the back of the truck.  My eyes came just to the truck’s bumper.  I made it around the truck but I would probably have to drive in the street on my way back because I couldn’t control my chair well enough to make it around the truck going the other way.  I thought then that perhaps on my way home, if it weren’t too late, I would go to a coffee shop across town so I wouldn’t have to deal with the truck.  A cup of my favorite coffee seemed like a nice way to celebrate a good grade. 

The next block was along the back part of the high school, on the left were some trees planted in holes in the sidewalk, and on my right was the chain link fence that went around the school.  There were two bus benches on this block. I had to steer around things very slowly and carefully.  I also had to take care not to hit the blue wastebaskets next to the benches.  The school kids seldom used these baskets, they just stuffed candy wrappers in their pockets or dropped them on the sidewalk.  Candy wrappers are hard to get off my wheels.  I made it around the first bench but as I was driving around the second one, I hit one of the holes that contained a tree and my wheelchair slid right into it.  What a stupid place to have a tree with cement around it, I’m sure that the tree would have been happier in Africa or a park.  Why are funds spent on making the city look better?  Why not use the money that was spent putting that tree there on programs to help people find homes?  Spending the money to help people with disabilities wouldn’t hurt either. I saw people walking by and I waved at them to stop to help me, but they just waved their hands back and said, “Hi, how are you?”  This was what they usually did when they saw me, and no one noticed that I was stuck in a hole. While I try to teach people that I like to do as much as possible on my own, that message does have its drawbacks.  I pushed my foot down on the ground and pulled my chair backwards while I pushed on the joystick and finally I rocked my chair out of the hole.  While I was doing this, I saw a police car go by and I tried to wave him down but he just nodded his head at me in greeting. I wanted the police to consider me a “regular” around town and not to be worried when seeing me; I guess I had been successful in conveying that message.
 
When I finally arrived at the college, I found that the teacher had removed everything from the bulletin board on his office door as if he didn’t want anyone to find him. Maybe he was already gone for the summer.  My former teacher’s office was right down the hall.  Since I visited him often I went over to see him.  As I drove up to his office, he heard my power chair and walked out of his door stating “All good writers should be home knocking out stories.”
“I know Mr. Holmes. Can you look and see what grade Mr. Jones gave me?”
“Sorry.  I can’t do that.”
“You helped me get permission to take that class a third time.”
“I know but I can’t look at another teacher’s grade book.”
“I was just hoping.”
“Don’t worry about it.   I am sure you did just fine.”
“You are probably right.   I was just curious.”
“Be careful driving home.”
“I will.”
“Going to hit that coffee bar on the way home?”
“No, it is getting too late.”
“E-mail me new stories.”
“I will.”

I continued on my quest. I next went to another building to ask at the admissions office.  The student assistant there had understood me pretty well when I had asked for help registering for my class.  Perhaps, I would meet up with her again.  I had wanted to give her one of my poems as a way of thanking her.  She wasn’t there and the people in the office tried to help me, but they just couldn’t understand my speech.  Next, I went upstairs to the disability service office which was closed; the sign stated that the office shut down at two o’clock on Fridays.  I had one more idea.  I went over to the media center to say hi to the guy who puts my textbooks on CD’s for me. I use the CDs so that I can have my computer program read them aloud as I read along on the screen. I was going to ask him to write a note for me to take to the admissions office explaining what I wanted, but it was his vacation since school was out of session.

I couldn’t think of anybody else to ask for help at the college, so I drove back home and decided to try to get someone in my apartment complex to help with my mail.  Pulling up to the back door of my apartment complex, I reached to push the button on the garage door remote that I carried.  I use this remote to open the outside door to the apartment complex.  I found that the checker at the market had put my wallet in the wrong way and it blocked the button; I couldn’t push it to open the door. It turned out that the door was jammed anyway.  This happened often because some people tried to come out through the door too fast.  When the door jams all people have to do is push the door to open it from the inside, but that didn’t do me any good since I was on the outside trying to get in.  The guy who lived in the end apartment became irritated when people knocked on his window to get him to open the door.  I could sympathize with him since I had lived in that same apartment for four months before transferring to another unit.  Forging ahead, I remembered that if I went to the front door, I could get in since it was not locked during the daytime.  As I approached the front of the building I saw a fire truck, an ambulance, and paramedics who had someone on a stretcher blocking the ramp up to the sidewalk in front of the building. Living around older people in this complex you saw many ambulances come and go.  I never got used to this aspect of living here and always said a silent prayer when I heard a fire truck or ambulance.  I pulled my chair to the side of the long driveway and parked until the fire truck and ambulance left.
             
I went to the office to ask for help checking the mailbox, and found that the office had closed early that afternoon for a staff meeting; everyone was gone. I knew that the resident manager would help me get my mail and headed toward his place only to find a sign on his door indicating that he was away on vacation.  He was my last hope; there was no one else around who could help me. I wheeled down to my apartment and while fighting with the automatic door lock to get back in my door, I heard the signal from my computer letting me know I had just received an e-mail.  I went to check it and discovered that it was from my teacher.  It said, “Hello Jerry, I was sorry I missed seeing you at school.  Mr. Holmes said you had come by looking for your grade.  I want to tell you that you earned an A in the class.  Are you going to take the class again?  Take care, Mr. Jones.” 

I knew Jackie would be working tomorrow and I was looking forward to my chocolate chip cookie. I shut down my computer and headed to bed for a nap before dinner.  I had no idea how hard I would have to work just to find out my grade.  I decided that if I was going to take that class again, I would take it for “credit/no credit”; trying to find out my final grade was way too much work!

 

Joe is a freelance writer and frequent contributor to the ConnSENSEBulletin.

© 2006 ConnSENSE Bulletin