Rolling with it – Kate Hazlewood

Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER

Looking out of the panes at the top of the door you would think it was a good day to go out. There is a lot of blue out there.

But it’s not.

It’s cold. There is snow and ice on the path and I’m sure to get wheelspin.

I like the chair. Don’t be shocked. You expect me to hate it – but why?

It is my freedom.

When I travel, I move with style. I have strong arms and I like to think I cut a fine figure.

But not on days like today. I can slip and slide and drift on ice. Not as fun as it sounds and I feel unaccountably feeble.

Oh, the looks I get when I struggle.

Maybe I notice it because I’m not moving with purpose.

You know I think fair weather strangers are easier to take.

I’m going anyway. I can’t be shut in, the dog needs to go out and I need to get over myself.

Plus I have work to do.

I do reception at the Doyle Hotel. The dog sleeps at my feet while I check in guests and I can sit without explanation. It is bliss.

The gravel outside the door gives a satisfying crunch. The wind is icy and the sky is clear. My cowl is pretty and feels snug against my neck. I’m up for this. I’m off.

The dog is dancing around my wheels and deftly avoiding the tyres in a way that is terrifying to the uninitiated.

She’s being a fool but will calm down. Half way down the hill and all good so far.

Into Fred’s for a long black and a pigs ear for Pup. All good.

I’m going past the grass patch so I get my bag ready on the way. I’ll pick up the shit. I can do that shit too. Ha ha!

So, turning into the motel drive, Pup is feeling relieved and I’m feeling good. And over I go….

Slam. Stars. The taste of blood in my mouth.

Tangled lead and spinning wheels.

Yelping.

At least no one saw.

Now the dog is walking on my face.

The stars recede.

A couple of kids walk past and I’m relieved they don’t stop. Then annoyed. They. Didn’t. Stop. Bahhh!

Now I’ve wedged the chair against the letterbox and I’m getting back in. God it’s hard.

But I’m doing it.

I hear footsteps and a couple of male voices.

“You ok missus?” the short one asks.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Yep, could you just hold it steady?” I ask briskly.

They do. And I’m back in.

I say thanks. One of them says “Don’t mention it.”

And then they don’t mention it. They don’t ask “Why are you in the chair?” or “What happened?” or “Do you hate it?”

God I love them for that.

Why do people think I want to start every conversation that way?

The dog is grizzling. The handsome one in the leather jacket lifts her onto my lap.

I salute them in a self-conscious faux military way. They both wink and nod and I wink and nod back as I wheel in. They go on their way, going back to their conversation.

God, that was nice. Pup is put out, but ok. I feel good.

I can do this.

 

 

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