My Disabled Boyfriend

My cure-all for writer’s block is going to an afternoon movie by myself. I sneak in a corndog and strawberry milkshake, sit near the very top and wonder why the hell the other people in this theatre aren’t at work. After being inspired by the screenwriter’s ability to finish his/her job, I usually walk home confident that I can knock out at least another two or three paragraphs of my own.

So the other day I was in need of motivation and I  headed down to the clean theatres at the Bloomingdales mall. It’s chick flick season and I’m in heaven over my choices. I settle on something starring Jennifer…. Paltrow …..Roberts and look forward to not running in to any one I know. Just as I sink in to my seat I hear it.  

“Hey Olivia!”

 When I was 8 years old my mother told me she named me Olivia because it would sound romantic when my husband would call for me. At the time I thought ewww. These days I just wished it didn’t sound like a castration.  

The scream is coming from the lower part of the theatre. The lights are dimmed so I thought if I put my head down I could pretend to be blind and deaf…at the movies.

 “Olivia, I’m right here!”  

I feel bad and acknowledge the wailer. It’s Mike. Mike is a short Philippino guy, probably around my age who happens to be disabled. He lives in my building. He uses a walker, the kind that you see some elderly people using with tennis balls on the front feet. He’s innocent enough, with one beige front tooth and all,  but he’s constantly popping up, nervously flirting with me.

 “Hey Mike,” I say while throwing a wave. I’m totally embarrassed. Yes, there are only 6 other people in the theatre but that’s not the point.  

“Your hair looks different!” he roars.

“Does it now?”

“Maybe you washed it?”

“Maybe.”

“I’m mean with something different.”

“Ahh,… maybe.” Great! Now the whole theatre thinks I don’t wash my hair. What’s Mike doing in a Sarah… Jessica…. Biel movie anyway!

I’m quickly saved by previews. “I’ll catch up to you after,” he screams.  

I couldn’t relax the whole movie. There was no way I was going to get out of there without having to talk to Mike again….and having him point out an incoming pimple. So I play nice and just walk out with him.

“So you like tootsie roll pops, huh?”

“I do. They are a handy little treat,” I say while innocently twirling a grape one in my mouth.

“ I do too. Chocolate is my favorite.”

A little creeped out by that comment, I reach down in my bag and pretend my phone is vibrating and tell him I gotta jam.

 I leave feeling bad for not feeling bad about being kinda mean to disabled Mike. I can’t help it, he gives me the willies.  

Later that week Pete, the friendly ex, sends me a text about a party he wants me to attend with him that night. It’s one of those ‘I don’t like him/her but maybe you will ’ parties. Always up for another excuse to make fun of strangers, I agree to go with him. On the way to the party I tell Pete about disabled Mike.

 “You know the guy probably never talks to girls. He just gets nervous ‘cause he likes you.  You better be nice.”

“I know and I am. It’s just hard to be nice when he kinda makes fun of me.”

“He’s not making fun of you. He just doesn’t know what to say.”

“And he pops up everywhere. Or I’ll hear him screaming my name from a distance and then I have to wait for him to kind of scoot over and catch-up to me.”

“You’re terrible.”

“You know I don’t mean to be mean. It’s just whenever I’m around him it feels like I’m in one of those horror movies where the killer moves slowly and no matter how fast you run he’s always just over your shoulder.”

So we make it into the party and it doesn’t take us long to realize the place is filled with losers.  

“So this is what you think of me, huh?” I ask laughingly.

 We decide to make the most of it and challenge each other to find the saddest story in the room. We separate and eaves drop on the conversations. I over-hear discussions about Dancing with the Stars, mittens for kittens and favorite karaoke songs. And just when I thought it couldn’t get worse… it doesn’t. I meet Dylan, a hot younger than I bartender. We chat about music and what we want to be when we grow-up. I give him my number and we make plans to have dinner next week.  

“So I think I’m the winner tonight,” Pete says. “ I talked to a girl who said she if she could any one in the world she’d be the lead singer of the Pussy Cat Dolls.”

“Wow that’s unbelievable. I’ll give you that round.”

“What, you didn’t come up with anything?.”

“Actually, I think I got a date.”

“No way. Who’s the guy?”

“His name is Dylan and…. he’s a bartender.”

“Uh-huh. Did he promise you free drinks for life or something?”

“Shoot, I forgot to ask. There is one catch though. He wants to be a professional wrestler.”

“Shut-up!”

“I’m serious. He said he’s training to be a pro wrestler like Macho Man Randy Savage.”

“And you’re going to go out with him?”

“He’s cute! And maybe he’ll body slam me…or pile drive me.”

“Or throw you from the top of the ropes.”

The next day on my way out I stopped to check my mail. There was a note on the box that said  that I had a package at the concierge’s desk. I go by and Victor, the concierge guy, has a snide smile on his face.  

“Whatcha got for me?” I ask.

“Some sweeties for the sweetie!”

It’s a giant bag of tootsie roll pops with a note from Mike. Embarrassed, I grab it and rush out the door. As I stuff the treats into my bag, while at the same time trying to read this note and answer my phone, Mike pops up.

“You got my present!” he exclaims.

Freaked by his surprise entrance I drop my phone and pieces go a flying.

“Ya, thanks. That’s super nice of you.”

I scooch around collecting parts and put my phone back together.  When I look up I see Mike twirling a tootsie pop in his mouth.

“Chocolate is my favorite.”

“Yaaa. I prefer grape. I think there are actual nutrients in grape. Thanks again Mike. I gotta jam.”

After a weekend full of higher than usual amounts of Mike sightings and screamings (Safeway, the lingerie department at Nordstrom and Cold Stone) Tuesday finally arrives. I’m meeting Dylan for dinner at the Salt House. I’m totally cute. I’ve got on a new dress from Saks that I couldn’t afford,  high-high heels and tons of make-up to hide underneath. I catch a cab with ease and tip big. Feeling pretty good about myself, I slink into a seat at the bar, order a glass of champagne and wait for Dylan.   

After a few minutes I check my phone. It’s fully charged and there are no missed calls or text messages. I wait some more. I call Melissa, my best friend who lives in Pennsylvania so I don’t look like a loser.  They’re 3 hours ahead in PA. so if she’s out she’s buzzed by now and probably has a good story she could tell me while I wait.  But she doesn’t answer. He’s 20 minutes late. I order another glass and give him 10 more minutes and try to not look like a hooker waiting to get picked up on.

Times up. I’m both shocked and appalled. Not just because I now can’t wear this dress for at least another two weeks but because I also realize that there would be no pile driving or suplexes in my immediate future. I look around the room and everyone’s in twozees or fourzees. I begin to feel low. And just then I hear a clankity clank sound coming from behind me. It’s disabled Mike. For some reason I’m glad to see him.  

“Hey Olivia!” God the yelling.

“Hey, how’s it going?” I ask him.

“Good. I just finished eating here with my grandma. We’re sitting right over there.”

I wave to grandma.

“It’s really good,” he continues. “Are you here by yourself?”

I’m tempted to lie to avoid an awkward insult but I decide to tell a half truth. “Ya. I just stopped in for a quick drink and now I’m going to meet my girls out.”

“Well you look amazing.”

I’m touched. “Thanks!” I’m glad somebody noticed.

“You do have a lot of make-up on but it looks good.”

And there it is. “Right. Thanks Mike. I’ll see you around, alright?”

“Have a good time with your friends.”

“I will. You have a good night too.”

During my cab ride home I call Pete to help me sort out my feelings.  

“Macho Man Randy Savage just stood you up?!”

“Shut-up, man. I’m vulnerable.”

“I’m sorry pookie. I hate to say it but I could see that coming. Wrestlers are notoriously flakey.”

“Only I would accept the invitation of, and then be stood up by a guy training to be a pro wrestler. Disabled Mike was there though, having dinner with his grandma. He came over and said I looked amazing but had too much make-up on.”

“Gotta love his honesty.”

“I know. Maybe I should just settle for Mike. He could be my disabled boyfriend. We’d get great parking spaces…but we’d have to sit close to the movie screen.”

“You’re just thinking out loud now, aren’t you?”

“Ya, I was just picturing our lives together. I think I’d probably get annoyed at the clank sound sooner or later though, you know.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“But what if he’s like that disabled guy from ‘There’s Something About Mary’ and this is all a hoax?!”

 I change out of my clothes and wash off my layers of pretty. I didn’t have dinner but being stood up has left me without much of an appetite. I could, however, always use a little dessert pick me up though. I remember my gift from Mike. In his honor I pull out a chocolate tootsie roll pop, lie out on the couch and prepare for a new episode of Nip Tuck.