Am I a Disney princess?!
I’m out in my wheelchair, the Rocinante, on my usual 5k route. This route pushes me past a river on which folks frequently feed the ducks and geese that periodically swim by. I push my way past this river, graced with dappled sunshine searching through the leaves above, and up to a bridge that spans it. It is here that I find a pleasant gentleman.
A man is crossing the bridge as I approach. He sees me, smiles, and gestures to me vaguely invitingly.
I slow down and take off my headphones. He’s wearing a herringbone cap and waistcoat that give him the aesthetic of an Edwardian gentleman. He is almost apologetic as he starts speaking. He tells me with some assertion that I am beautiful. I hesitate to agree, unsure of how to respond really. Mercifully he continues on, filling the awkward silence.
‘It’s just that, it’s not easy…’ He gestures widely toward the wheelchair.
I nod sombrely, not wanting to dispel his deferential illusion. I realise now that the compliment might be a reflection of his pity, but it’s a long workout, my hair has burst into long winding trails like a premature firework, and I’m effusing an aroma that I’m pretty sure killed two bluetits and a curious squirrel on the last bend. So I can use the pick me up.
I tap the wheelchair softly, with gentle lamentation. Of course in reality I move the Rocinante with all the concentration it takes to break wind, with similar habituation, familiarity, and satisfaction. And I anthropomorphise her enough that I’ll take time to apologise to her later for this offence, tell her I’m proud of her.
He continues…
‘You’re just very beautiful’
It becomes clear to me that this gentleman is slightly the worse for drink, not least because I’m not absolutely certain he is fully able to focus on the subject of his adoration. His eyes periodically meet mine before wandering off, making me want to lean to remain in view, though I’d need to choose which one to follow, they left cooperation behind a few pints ago. He’s so deep in his cups that he looks close to unlocking the secrets of the universe. Or of making significant mistakes, among which this may very well be.
‘You’re just, so brave’
I reply: ‘Well… I’m no Disney princess!’
It is at this moment that a group of pigeons sees us in their favourite feeding spot and flock in a circle around us. Music starts playing in my mind as this spiral of wings and feathers slowly comes to rest at our feet. One of these pigeons swoops up toward me and lands squarely on my knee.
I and my admirer both look at the pigeon and at one another. The pigeon blankly returns our stares. I quietly proclaim ‘maybe I am a Disney princess…!’
This, of course, prompts my admirer to begin to move in circles in what can only broadly be described as a dance. He twirls in a rather loose pirouette and finishes with a flourishing bow in my direction. I look at the pigeon, who looks at me in return, understanding passing between us that this rather generously imbibed gentleman likely has no bread and thus offers few prospects for either of us.
I bid him farewell as he doffs his cap, and push over the bridge on my way, barely resisting the temptation to softly sing to summon my flock to my side.
I could, though.