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yell on wheels

2004-06-04 - 5:39 p.m.

My younger brother today never responded to my email weeks ago but he did send this today.

IM ALIVE AND WORKING AFTER 30 DAYS OF HUSTLING ON THE STREET

Well it's good you made it. I suspect he's hustling even when he sleeps, but that's another thing all together.

I got caught up in a relay conversation today on the phone, kind of accidentally. This is where a deaf or hard to hear person speaks through a complex typing system and then the relay counselor tells you what they said. Then you talk, and say "go ahead", meaning send. All my other relays in the past came flooding back today.

The call was actually for Angie, who is extremely good at speaking to her niece, who is the person who called. You always know when she's speaking to her because she speaks in like a code, kind of like "Me go. Today. Yes. Me go WITH him pick up car. Car not go good today. " Or sometimes it's "Me know what you did smoke drink. Now everyone mad."

I had two other relays in the past, I relayzed today. They were both a long time ago when I was out frequenting sordid spots to drink at. This one guy Mark was one of five Cassetti brothers in my area and they were all wrestlers, but small kind of Ju Jitsu looking wrestlers. Mark was the oldest of the Cassettis and probably the one that had all the looks. Then he got into an accident which didn't change his looks, but it did change the way he spoke, I'd like you to know.

I met him while a bunch of us were out and I just thought he was really drunk, which may have explained the slurring and random incoherent thoughts and ramblings. I didn't know he didn't drink. He seemed to really take to me, and I guess I gave him my number although I can't say I remember it. He knew one of my brothers from High School and I figured, hey they need a reunion. Talk about the old wrestling days maybe.

I do remember my brother saying "who the fuck did you give our number to?" as he handed me the phone. And I remember the sense of dread that went through me as I realized this guy was not as he used to be, say , when I was in Junior High. But still, I said to myself, can't judge a book by its cover. And I imagined me giving him speech classes, and laughing with my head thrown back as he confused his r's and his t's with garbled car wrecks of sounds. Till I got to the phone.

"Hello?"

"Arrr orrr uuu? EEmmberf me?

"Hello?"

"Aye! Arr orr uuu?"

"I'm good! How are you Mark?"

"Arr hhe kij ksl fjj rru. JJu rhho sjsf sasdjf gl cats glkjg jgfor kkgkgj I but ajksfdjh fjir't rhubarb tigk and hfuinspi fuckin jeuowilp w rjuh shauit aaar. Bruhn?"

"Oh. Well that's cool."

I was scared of him and his sounds, because he wasn't making sense like he did at the bar, and mostly because I didn't want to be putting a wrap on the conversation while he was maybe recalling the accident or some other such horrific childhood trauma. Who knew what the hell he was saying? Did he? I mean he got himself to the bar that night, so something in his head clearly said "thirst". Or "girls". Just like supposed mentally ill homeless people are 'so crazy' but when you see them crossing complex intersections all the time, and they wait for the light - well who's so crazy?

I didn't end the conversation there, I listened to him for at least 25 more minutes, and I really listened. I didn't have much of a sense of gratitude in those days, but if I had half a brain (sorry) I would listen to him at least for a little while, knowing that most people didn't. Maybe it was 45 minutes. In any case, I did the wrap up and never took his calls again. Our heads were just in too different places.

********

The other relay I remember was with a guy that I used see when I played foosball, and whenever I went to this one bar to play foosball he and his pro foosball player friends were there. He had Cerebral Palsy I think, and he was confined to a wheelchair, but I swear to you if he scored a goal he'd stand right up in that chair and yell, although he couldn't stand up otherwise. He couldn't talk so well, no - actually not at all, and he drooled a lot, but he could still drink soda with a straw out of a glass, as long as someone held it for him. He had this orange flag erecting from the wheelchair which I assume was so the cars could see him when he was out. He was a pretty good foosball player, and I never let his handicap stop me from beating him. It was still a challenge to win him, mainly because he could make fun of you with his eyes.

He was always at this bar. Always. One could say he lived for this bar. And whenever I was on this one street, driving past the bar, you could see his wheelchair zipping along side of you with that fucking little orange flag flying in the air.

Anyway he had this little machine that looked like a laptop, but laptops weren't invented yet. Since he couldn't speak very well, ie: at all, he would take this thing out with his gnarled hands and grunt and squeak until he managed to set it on his lap. Then all you'd hear was breathing, as he typed what he wanted to say, which was usually at the most inopportune times. During the game. During a good song. He would stop the game and summon you over and type away, then hit some button and you'd lean over to hear this faint male computer voice:

"Do. You. Live. Near. Here. "

You'd try to answer quickly and get back to your activity, but that never mattered. He'd keep typing, and he put so much effort in, you couldn't help but listen. Oftentimes, some nice sucker who was new to the bar or didn't know better, could be seen leaning over to him in the wheelchair, yelling over the music, "Yeah buddy. I hear you. No. A few miles away. Oh is that right? Yeah, Zeppelin's cool."

Just to hear the fucking computer voice sometimes you'd have to go outside on the deck and he'd hit the send button again. I would always try to give one word answers in the hopes of boring him to tears, never mind the drooling. But he never gave up.

"I. Think. That. Guy. Likes. You."

Then the two year wait. Grunting.

"What guy?"

"That. One. In. The. Black."

I couldn't believe we were even having this conversation when there was a good game going on.

"Yeah I know, I used to date him for a year. He should."

More grunts, typing.

"Do. You. Want. Him. Back?"

I told him we're gonna have to talk about this some other time, as I really felt like beating his ass at the game, ha ha. And I helped wheel his ass back in.

His friends were telling me, "Come on, let him call you, he never talks to girls." I told them absolutley not. I remembered Mark and the uproar that created in my house. Absolutely not to Kit and the Knight Rider. But they asked me every week. "Just let him call you, what you have no soft spot for a lonely guy who wants to be your friend?"

"Hello?"

"You have a relay call from Daniel on the line, would you like to accept the call?"

"No, but then I'm not that healthy yet."

"Excuse me maam?"

"Sure, put him through."

And we spoke for at least an hour. Or he spoke I listened. Turns out he had a lot to say. I was really curious how he ended up in this condition, and he must've read my mind, because he told me to ask him any questions I had about the accident. Which I did. Basically he had an accident. Now he had to have help for all the physical things.He had a woman dress him every day, I think she was the main helper or aide I think they're calling them now.

He was a very smart guy, and I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if he eventually met a woman that he could hang with romantically. He was much more motivated than 3/4 of my friends at the time, even the ones on coke. Plus he didn't do drugs. I wasn't even driving yet, and he had wheels! I'd say someone was ahead of the game. Although it was a very enlightening conversation, I knew it would be our last on the phone. It took forever to hear him formulate his thoughts, and I was not very stable for friendship anyway, in all honesty, I think he was too balanced to be one of my friends. That was actually the last time I ever saw him or spoke to him, although if I ever decide to have a relapse, I'm sure he'll be right at the bar.

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