Sometimes in life we must just shut up and be thankful for what we've got. We must stop fighting and kicking back, quit trying to improve that which can get a whole lot worse. In brief, we must stop trying to grow seedless tomatoes. It's just not the way it's supposed to be. We must enjoy the world for how it is; not for how we'd ideally like it to be.

And those were something of my thoughts last night as I reclined in the green armchair keeping vigil over John and praying that he'd make a full return to health. Scrubbed clean, his clothes changed, and his chair disinfected, I placed him facing me, and under a low standing lamplight, I sat staring at the full horror of what I had done.

As the night wore on the room acquired a strange atmosphere. Oblique shadows jutted out from places and a canape of darkness settled just above our heads. Sometimes the giant shape of Jaws moving around in his bowl would be cast around the walls. That only made the atmosphere even more nightmarish and surreal. I can't quite explain how it felt under that low light, with 3am chiming on the clock and John thrashing and spazzing out in his chair. Sometimes his entire body would kind of spring open as if electricity were shooting through it. Then he'd slump back down into a trembling hulk of dribbling meat, making painful groaning noises and tensing up in agony every now and again. I honestly thought that it would never stop. That I had ruined a mans life for the economy of an ounce of pride.

Thankfully, this time I was wrong. As the night ticked on the bad spirits seemed to tire and stopped dancing their light show around the room. Shadows retracted back into themselves and the dark that lingered above lifted. Almost immediately John began to make significant and visible improvements. First his right arm stopped shaking, then his face relaxed, then his body fell into an almost natural position. His brain seemed to catch onto  itself and regained proper control of his mouth. He stopped dribbling. Soon all was quiet and more than anything John just appeared to be sleeping. Still, at times he'd grimace, as if fighting off the last of the demons that had tried so desperately to pull him from us.

When John opened his eyes, just before first light, even I got a shock. They were clear and sober and registered everything. It was like the most wonderful sunrise one could ever hope to see. “Oh, John!” I blurted out “You're back!” Then I handed him a little plate of 'recovery goodies' I had prepared. There was a long glass of milk, two chocolate digestive biscuits, a peeled tangerine, one cigarette, and a little note with “sorry” scrawled on it in my sweetest handwriting.

John cast a look over the plate, took the cigarette and waved the rest away. He struck a match and looked like the Devil in the flame. “So, d'you believe me now?” he asked, blowing a jet of smoke my way.
  “Huh? in what way? Believe what?”
  “My paralysis! My legs. That I can't fucking walk!” he screeched.
  “Oh, that. God, YES! Fuck, what man who could walk would put himself through the ordeal you have? Of course I believe you... now.”
  “Good. Then you won't mind passing me the rest of the cigarettes? You'll agree that leaving things I need up high where I can't reach them is an act of barbarous cruelty?”
  “Ok, lets not rub it in, hey? You can have the cigarettes. It wasn't out of meanness or some sadistic streak I put...”
  “An' what about toilet assistance?” John butted in. “And helping me out of bed? Getting me dressed and undressed? Charging my batteries? Snipping my toenails? The whole shebang!”
  “Oh, everything!!! I'll even hold your cock while you piss in old Lemonade bottles... just like before. We'll go back to how it used to be. No more games, no more chess, no more fucking Battleship. Oh, I want that!” I cried
  “And what about the top latch on the door?. Will you leave it off so as I can get out in the mornings... give my Flamingo plant a bit of fresh air?”
I fell silent. John's words were deja vu. It seemed that everything had been leading to this point, to this question... Exactly as I had forseen it.
  “The top latch, NO! I'll do everything but that. I cannot, John. I cannot. I will suffer a lifetime of insults, humiliation and abuse, but I will not suffer the torture of wheeling my man out to another... watching each morning as some ginger-headed queen presses his cock through the gate and you sit eyeing it up and blowing smoke-rings into his hard-on. No! You can't ask that of me... you just can't.  I'm not being mean, but the door remains locked each morning. That's the only concession I won't give in to. No way!”

John gave me a glare that advertised just how mentally unstable he really was. “And that's your final answer?” he asked, sounding out of breath. I nodded.

At that, John took one last killing drag of his cigarette then scrunched the butt out on the left lens of his Elvis Costello type glasses. “So be it!” he said, flicking the dog-end across the room. “Fuck Christ, so be it!”


  1. 'Sometimes the giant shape of Jaws moving around in his bowl would be cast around the walls'.

    The demon has entered the fish!

    I say you should give John a break from the wheelchair and do what I did with my nephew -

    Trail him about in a shopping trolley.

    The wheelchair suddenly looks so much more inviting...

  2. Oh god the man sends shivers up my spine, I still cant trust him and I think he like sitting in his own shit... sorry but he is playing you ... sending strength Tristy xx

  3. Abigail: He'll get a break from the wheelchair soon... it must be killing his poor legs sitting in that thing all day.

    John in a shopping trolley and into the canal??? Could look like an accident I suppose... or revenge. Fly tipping a paraplegic. I wonder if there's a law against that? X

    Wildernesschic: Oh, he does like sitting in his own shit... he freely admits that. For two years it made up quite a dair bit of our sex life, but now he wants to do it alone and I just can't accept that. It's selfish. Love is about sharing.

    I need some strength. You know, I even thought of suicide last night. That maybe it just be better to get the hell outta here. X


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