Maps and Frames

He walks barefoot from the kitchen to the living room and stands frozen amidst the supplies. Fresh boxes sit beside the couch, fighting with one another for space. Labels scattered across the floor: Idyllwild, Wrightwood, Inyokern, Mammoth Lakes, Yosemite National Park, Castella, Crater Lake, Cascade Summit, the Kracker Barrel Store. Dehydrated food sits at attention within messy chaotic stacks. Medical supplies in a row on coffee table; the short, fat, gauze leans its weary head atop the scissors. Packing made him anxious, and the anxiety made him want to create another word for the word packing actually made him.

After he reached his visual threshold he walked back into the kitchen, his feet moving from the carpet to the tile. Maps had laid claim to his kitchen table. With the warzone of his living room screaming behind him, Eugene placed his first finger on the map. He picked up his middle finger, hovered it above the red route, and took a step. His first finger took a deep bend and shot out in front of the second finger and took another step. The simplicity of pretending to walk quieted his nervous mind; the clock switched from 2:59 to 3:00.

Hours later, on a brisk morning in San Lorenzo with no clouds in the sky, Arthur sat, waiting for his legs to stop jumping; the pain of the spasm radiated from his thigh through his chest and crept into his eyes. Tucked away inside the house, he readied himself for the task. He leans his right arm on the chair beside him as his left arm pulls up on his right leg. He places his right leg to the foothold below as his right hand grips the base of the frame in front of him. Then the transfer: in a loud, dead weight motion, his body leaves his wheelchair and lands angrily into the seat of the standing frame. He pushes his lower body forward and snuggles his knees up close against the black of the knee pads. His right hand knocks one outside latch and then the other. He nestles the pads into his knee caps, and nearly feels the sensations through the act of seeing. His right arm pulls the chest plate down, soft foam covers his upper body. He breathes in deeply before operating the crank to the right of him. His dominant arm pushes the lever out and forward, with each push his body rises. He breathes in and out with each movement until he reaches the high twenties and he’s upright. The world always looks so different from the up position. He feels at peace with his legs extended below, knowing that the body was not designed to be sitting. Thirty to sixty minutes of upright bliss then back down into his chair.