THE OBSERVATORY |
By William Clarke
In her apartment, Elizabeth Ramos—her friends call her Ellie—dresses for her visit to her boyfriend. (That would be me.) She’s petite and a little shy of 5 feet tall. Her long auburn hair reaches the middle of her back. She has big brown eyes and a beautiful smile. She has scoliosis and she uses a wheelchair.
Ellie doesn’t think much about her disability; that would slow her down. I can’t get her to go to the movies; she says they’re “boring.” Once she bought me a wine cooler for Christmas. Her daughter helped her load the cooler on a handtruck with a big red bow on it onto Access-a-Ride. Then off she went to my house. My personal care attendant helped me unload it. “Merry Christmas!” she exclaimed as she wheeled off.
Ellie’s got a lot of determination; that’s the quality she possesses that I love and admire most.
Being a single mom, Ellie has a lot on her plate: managing her disease, raising her only daughter, Ashley, who is college bound, and maintaining her place with the help of her home attendants. In her spare time she tends to her two Yorkshire terriers, Romeo and Juliet.
I, like Ellie, am a parent with a disability. My only son Joseph is 12. He’s about 5 foot tall and solid with a blond crew cut. I also use a wheelchair. Sometimes Ellie and I have drag races. “I’m still a better driver,” she playfully boasts. She really is; she’s been using a wheelchair since she was a little girl. She is 46 now. I’m a novice: I’m 45 and I have only about 10 years experience since my multiple sclerosis (MS) got progressively worse.
It’s so cool when we go to the mall together and everyone else is checking us out. It doesn’t matter. I’m proud to be with Elizabeth. She means the world to me.
Ellie and I met at the mall in the spring of 2004. Her mom Marie is the one who got us together. I owe that lady a lot. Marie, Ellie, and Ashley were shopping and stopped at a small Chinese restaurant, where I also happened to be having lunch.
I noticed Ellie in a booth beyond the neon “Master Wok” sign. Her smile got my attention right away. I saw them leaving and so I left my plate of sesame chicken and casually set out toward the exit. It’s difficult to be casual using a power wheelchair; people go out of their way to make a path for you.
When I finally reached her, the butterflies flew in. I thought, “What should I say?” I never tried to pick up a girl in a wheelchair. Never mind that I was in a wheelchair too!
Quickly I managed “Do you have MS?” I hoped she would say yes— then we would have something more in common.
“No, ” she replied. “Scoliosis.”
Oh well! I thought. I contemplated for a moment and searched for my next sentence. Then I complemented her on the beautiful smile she had. I felt a little rush of blood to my face. Ellie had a new bright red Invacare power chair. “Nice chair,” I noted.
We talked for a little while then, she made her way to the Access-a-Ride pick up area. I thought, That’s it?
As Ellie boarded, her mom jogged over with a piece of paper. “Here’s my daughter’s number,” she said with a smile. “She wanted me to give it to you.”
“Thanks!” I whispered. “You made my day.”
I called Ellie later that evening and we talked for an hour. We talked about being in a wheelchair and cataloged our likes and dislikes on just about everything. As we talked, the conversation became less awkward. When I hung up the phone, I said to my father, “I’m crazy about her already.”
Weeks went by and we continued to meet at the mall. We got closer and closer. I‘ll never forget watching her get on Access-A-Ride, holding the long stem rose I just got her. The stem was bent, but she held it tight, like a personal treasure. It was then I knew I loved her.
That was 5 years ago. Today we’re still together and still love each other.
Our intimate moments are somewhat compromised, but we do our best to be aware of each other’s limitations. When I first got divorced admire most. ” from my nondisabled wife, I didn’t think anyone would want me. Then I met Ellie. A beautiful girl in a wheelchair was all I needed. Being in a relationship where your partner has a disability is different than any other. You are sympathetic to how each other feels. After all, she knows firsthand what life using a wheelchair is like.
William Clarke writes frequently for Action.
