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THE MOTH’S PERFECT DATE
Being in a wheelchair for most of my life hasn’t really made meeting girls easy. Sorry. I’ll rephrase that. I meet lots of girls and they’re usually quite kind and pleasant and I help a few of them with their homework but no one has actually gone on a date with me. Truth is I have never been on one and I’m nearly seventeen. I know it must be difficult for a girl to look at me and imagine romance. But if she were to get to know me and see inside then she’d soon find out I was a caring and kind person. And I can be very witty. Or so Lucas, my best friend tells me.
If I did go on a date the girl in question wouldn’t even have to push me because I’ve got a battery powered chair and I could chug right alongside her. It’s not very loud so she wouldn’t need to shout to be heard. I sometimes try and put myself in the position of a prospective girlfriend and wonder how she’d take me home to meet her parents. They’d obviously be thinking, well this is a bit weird, but I like to think I’d win them round eventually. Most people really like me and I can talk about a wide range of subjects. It helps that people think I’m super brainy and they tend to think I know more than they do.
So assuming I have met this girl and she likes me and we agree to meet up then my perfect date would be to meet up at a train station. One with good wheelchair access and a porter with a ramp. We’d get on and we’d go into London. I really like Mexican food and I like films, so we would go to Leicester Square. We’d get a black cab there because again a lot of them have small ramps stowed away in their boots. The last thing I want is for my date to put her back out trying to shove me into a cab. So we’d get some Mexican food and then we’d go to one of those thousand seat mega cinemas with the best sound system. I wouldn’t really care too much what film was showing because I’d be too busy thinking, well this is just amazing.
She’d be blonde probably, I like blondes, and she’d be funny and intuitive and make clever comments about the film we were watching. We’d have two straws in the same drink and our eyes would meet as we sipped and we’d stop and she would lean closer and we’d kiss. In fact we’d miss half the film because we’d be kissing so much. Afterwards I would tell her to climb on the back of my wheelchair and I’d take her for a spin down to Trafalgar Square. We’d be laughing the whole time, and I’d zoom after the pigeons, and do some crazy turns and spins and we’d probably get told off but we wouldn’t care. Time would melt away and before we knew it we’d be heading for Kings Cross hoping to catch the last train home. We’d only just make it and they’d even make it wait because they’d see I was in a wheelchair. It has its advantages, such as getting on airplanes before anyone else and never getting picked for the rugby team. We’d sit in silence holding hands the whole way back and then as she waited for her parents to come and pick her up from the station she’d whisper to me that she’d had the best night ever, and that we should it again sometime. Her dad would get out of his car, come over and meet me. He’d shake my hand and say his daughter had been talking about me a lot and she’d blush and tell him off in a kind way. He’d offer me a lift but I’d tell him I’ve got my own wheels thanks. I’d watch them drive off and she would wave and I’d wave back and then I’d whirr on home smiling to myself the whole way. In truth it would feel like flying and I’d love to say my feet would never touch the ground, but they rarely ever do. Well not unless I crash into something and topple out. When I eventually climb into bed there’d already be ten text messages from her and we’d spend another few hours just texting. I wouldn’t be tired, I wouldn’t feel semi useless or unwanted. I’d feel like everyone else feels when things like this happen to them. I’d feel perfect.