The windy days were perfect for his rescues. He only went out to the hill which led to the main campus when the wind was strong and wild. Everyone had to go up that hill to get to the classrooms. No one but him would have called them rescues but he did not care. All he cared about was being there, being available to help, when the winds blew.
Some would have called him a stalker. But that could not be right. Stalkers were out for themselves. They stalked the objects they wanted, the people they were obsessed with for their own evil purposes. That was not true of him. He just wanted to help, to be available to those who could not run up the hill like he could. To those in wheelchairs.
There were a lot of them. He did not know why this particular campus had an abundance, but felt himself lucky he had chosen this school. His father had told him that it was an excellent school for pre-law, but he did not think about that much. He thought being a lawyer would be fine or a teacher or a mechanical engineer. He did not much care what field he chose. He had no fear of anything he put his mind to. His only fear was of being not wanted, not able to help.
He did not like summer. Only occasionally did summer have much wind. He was often bored then and saw no use at all in waiting behind the stand of trees at the bottom of the hill as he delightedly did on windy days in the Spring, Fall, and, sometimes, even in the winter. A heavy snow, though, could spoil those days because no one tried to go out during a blizzard so he just stayed in his room and studied and read the lives of saints and martyrs.
Today was perfect. The wind whipped without mercy and it was a Wednesday so most everyone had classes. They would all come out, walking and wheeling their way up the hill, past the auditorium to class. Of course, there were disadvantages when there was a lot of wind and cause for jealousy. Who would not help someone up the hill when she was pushing her chair against the wind? He admitted to a bit of jealousy when another “helper” passed his hiding place pushing someone up the hill and even more so when they were happily chatting and the whipping wind would throw their words toward him.
Of course, sometimes when it was his “turn,” some he pushed were silent which really bothered him a lot. The conversations were the best thing about it. Not only were you pushing and helping but you were penetrating the loneliness. Why would someone not just jabber away? That confounded him. In the evenings sometimes, he would think of lines to say, topics to bring up. You had to be interesting. Of course, you did not HAVE to be that witty because all the sitters were always grateful no matter what was said. When he was done pushing them up the hill, all of them always thanked him profusely. Sometimes he thought it was a bit embarrassing to him when he would say: “No, big deal!” Or, “Who would not help against this wind?” Or “ I am sure you would push me if I were in your place.” Things like that.
So this day he waited in the stand as he always did and watched for her. He did not admit it to himself, but he was always partial to women and especially the ones he thought were beautiful. It had started in middle school when Sheila had moved into town, wheelchair and all and he had been asked, actually asked, by his teacher to wheel her down the hall to the Health class and they had had such lively conversations until the stupid disease that she had took her away.
After that, he didn’t think about helping much, but he did think about her. High school was uneventful though he did push a few chairs, but he did not think about it much and he did not plan for it much. It just kind of happened naturally though, after a time, he found himself thinking of how nice it would be to be thanked like that and really help these people.
When he got to college though, things exploded. How could he have been so lucky to have a hill right in the middle of his campus, which had open plains all around the area, allowing the wind to play havoc right into his hands. There were few trees and they were planted to give some variety to the landscape and the stand he hid in was conveniently at the bottom of the hill so no one could see him and he could pick out anyone to push he wanted, which meant he did not have to come out and push anyone he did not want to. Very convenient he said and ignored the touch on his conscience about being discriminatory about who he chose to push because, he often self-talked, his main goal was to help whomever came along, even though, deep down, he knew he did not either believe that or do that.
But that made him very content as he pushed as many people as he could whenever he could. He would push one person up the hill as convivially as he could, then sprint down the hill to the bottom, his descent conveniently hidden by the tree stand making it easy for him to emerge as if this were the first person he had decided to push up the hill. He did not want to appear weird because he knew one push of a person up the hill would be enough good for the day for most people who would just go onto class, usually walking beside the chair they had just pushed because the handicapped were very proud and always wanted to push themselves whenever they could. But that would not do for him so he raced to the bottom and helped again, as many times as he could. One day he pushed ten different people, including one of his professors, and it made him feel like a giant.
But in the second year, things changed. Looking out from the stand one particularly windy day with the goal, if possible, of pushing someone new or someone he had not pushed in a long time, he spied a red head, one with jewel green eyes. He asked to push her up the hill and she readily agreed and shone her stunning smile on him that day and everything changed.
He did not think of his ethic blowing away in the wind, but he knew deep down that something critical had changed. When he was pushing her up the hill, he was beside himself and did not want to push anyone else. His pride about making sure he helped a variety of people flew away.
Each day, he found her eager to see him and eager to talk and they had some good conversations about the weather, mostly the strength of the wind. Sometimes, to his chagrin, when it was just a light breeze she would ask that he not push her so she could maintain the strength in her wrists, but she was glad for him to walk alongside. But that always be-fuddled him and tied his tongue so he mostly declined, especially after the first time she asked and he could not think of a word to say to his embarrassment. It was as if he had to push her up the hill to have anything to say. It bothered him, but it was his reality so on the days when he decided that she would want to push herself, he did not appear, but stayed in the stand until she was up the hill and then he pushed as many others as he could because some would let him in the light breeze. He still loved to push anyone he could as long as she was not available and he felt too that it would show that he was not there just to push her even though he did not really ask himself why that would matter.
He was very happy the whole time he pushed her, the whole time he was her Sir Galahad, a name she ironically gave him, not knowing that it was the name, steeped in the Classics, he had given to himself. He pushed her up the hill every windy day and chattered away. He was really good at making her laugh. It seemed she laughed at everything he said. It made him feel ten feet tall and made him believe he could push all the chairs up the hill at the same time when he felt that elated.
In the late Fall of their sophomore year, something happened that made him nearly keel over and lean against the tree he was standing behind to keep from falling. He had just started to step out, for he knew exactly when she would be rolling up to the bottom of the hill, flashing that charming smile his way, stop rolling herself until he came over to her and they started their windy trek. But this time someone else was pushing her and he also had red-hair and was very tall and strong and had a nice smile and she was obviously enjoying their conversation, too much to his liking. It was a bad day. He pushed no one, but went home and sulked telling himself how silly he was and how inevitable this was. Sally was very pretty and the guy probably just saw her rolling up and who wouldn’t help roll someone up a hill on a windy day?
But it got worse. His rival came every windy day. In fact, he must have met her at her dorm because “Hunk” (what he named him) was already pushing her when they arrived at the bottom of the hill. Then they were holding hands and giving each other looks and sometimes Hunk bent down and whispered something in her ear and it made her smile and kind of jiggle in her chair and so he realized that Hunk was her boyfriend. And one time he kissed her.
He went home and climbed into bed and pulled the covers over his head and decided being a lawyer was probably the best thing after all.
He graduated from college and went on with his life and never pushed another person in a wheelchair. He ascribed that time in college to youthful idealism, the desire the young have to help others. He felt a vague air of sickness inside him all of his days, even when he thought he was happy.
When he was old, he was able to pay for a place in a nice Home but was confined to a wheelchair. He was rude to the staff and no one wanted to push him anywhere unless the nurses were obligated.
He died dreaming of the Hill and Sally and the Hunk with seldom a thought about anything or anyone else in his life. When he got to Heaven, none were in wheelchairs, no one in any pain at all and he had nothing to do. When asked how he got there, he would always say: “ I just really, really wanted to do good.” He searched everywhere for Sally and the Hunk, but he couldn’t find them. He never gave up for all Eternity.
Originally published in Mobius Magazine