If at Birth You Don't Succeed (32 page)

The place needed a little TLC before we could relax, so Gillian got right to work cleaning and I offered to help. While Gillian swept the floors, and made the bed, and scrubbed out the fridge, and disinfected the bathroom, and unloaded the car, and set up the wheelchair ramp, and unpacked our bags, I dusted two nightstands. Before you get to thinking that the division of labor was not equal, let it be known that I also dusted the lamps that were on top of those nightstands, or at least the parts I could reach without knocking them over. I also tried to scrub some of the rust off of the radiator, but there aren't enough trees in the rain forest to make enough paper towels for that to be achievable.
1

Gillian diligently tackled the housework like a modern-day, feminist Snow White. To complete the picture, there were also five tiny, twin-size beds in the open-floor attic upstairs, but instead of seven dwarves, she had one guy with cerebral palsy and no cheery animals to assist her. Besides, if there were any helpful critters around, they would have been lobsters, and nobody wants to see four lobsters cooperatively fold a duvet. After three hours of housework, we finally settled in.

Our next order of business was to make a grocery list and plan the menu for the week. We knew we wanted a lot of lobster, but we didn't want to get sick of it, so we had to pace ourselves. Our dinner plans were as follows:

Sunday: Lobster

Monday: Meat loaf

Tuesday: Lobster

Wednesday: Risotto and baby kale salad

Thursday: Lobster

Friday: Quinoa-stuffed bell peppers

Saturday: Leftovers, maybe jazzed up with a little lobster

Though we planned to cook most of the week, we were too exhausted from travel to make anything that evening, so we decided to dine out and celebrate our first night on the island with dinner at Salt, Vinalhaven's newest restaurant. It was an all-out swanky joint that served lobster in a molasses demi-glace. I learned two important things about Vinalhaven during my inaugural dinner there. First, the island was not the most handicap-accessible, as many of the local businesses had steps and stoops; if I was going to explore this place, I'd be doing it mostly in the manual wheelchair. Second, maple lavender ice cream is the best thing I've ever had in my mouth, and I've had a lot of great things in my mouth. (That came out disgusting, but what I'm trying to say is it was delicious.)

That dessert alone was enough for me to warm up to Vinalhaven, which was a good thing, because when we got home we realized there was no hot water. You might think that a cold shower after a long day isn't ideal, but it's not that bad. My cold bath was much worse. It was so frigid and horrible that we couldn't help but laugh.

Over the next several days, Gillian and I settled into our makeshift life together. We snuggled and talked for hours in the mornings, we sat out on the porch and wrote together during the afternoons, and my mighty girlfriend even carried me on her back down to the flooded rock quarry so we could swim.

I also learned how to pee outside without assistance, which was the most harmonious I've ever felt with nature.

As it turned out, one thing that Gillian and I were not harmonious with was lobster. Outside of Vinalhaven, you're nervous when you leave the house that people might rob you. But when you're on Vinalhaven, should someone let themselves into your home, they won't take anything, but there's a good chance they'll leave live lobsters in your fridge. When I saw that rustling plastic bag, I was determined to be chivalrous and plop those beady-eyed cockroaches into the pot so Gillian wouldn't have to do it. But no matter how noble my intentions, I was still the kid who'd been too afraid to pet his cousin's guinea pig, Butterscotch, so you can probably guess how well my manliness held up when faced with crustaceans. Gillian wasn't any less terrified by these innocent creatures we were about to boil alive; she was just braver. I tried to be her cheerleader, but there's no amount of moral support that can relieve the horror of picking up a sentient creature that looks like a miniature version of an alien Godzilla might fight, dropping it into boiling water, and scalding it to death.

After a traumatizing two-day lobster binge, we mutually decided that our next meal would be meat loaf. Meat loaf was comforting. Meat loaf didn't scream while you cooked it. Meat loaf, as it turns out, also comes in deceptively large packages that are in no way appropriately portioned for two people. When Gillian opened the oven, we had two meat loaves that were so massive, they ensured that for the rest of our trip we'd be finding creative ways to include meat loaf in all of our meals and snacks. Thus, our bell peppers were stuffed not with quinoa but meat loaf, and garnished with a side of meat loaf, and our risotto was served with meat I suspect was originally in loaf form. But in between the tender moments we shared and the brutal murders of shellfish, there was something that I didn't see.

Each day, starting from the moment I got out of bed in the morning, I set in motion a mini-cyclone of domestic chaos that I was unaware of, first pulling the sheets and blankets off the bed as I made my way down to the floor, then waiting for morning coffee and a breakfast of homemade apple turnovers, just waiting. Then, I'd play my part in the whole affair and say, “Thank you, that was delicious,” happily leaving my lovely girlfriend with the considerable pile of dirty dishes I'd abandoned, not thinking to place them in the sink. This was the routine three meals a day on the days when I didn't spill something. If I'm being generous to myself I'd say that I only spilled things half the time.

Aside from my absentminded mealtime debris, there were also stray socks and underwear that I helpfully left strewn about any number of rooms. This was an old house and obviously the bathrooms weren't accessible, so every time I had to pee I'd call Gillian in and ask her to help me onto the toilet, just so I wouldn't rip the molding off the windowsill trying to hoist myself up. If we were going into town for a meal to give Gillian a break from the kitchen, I'd often have to use my manual chair, but because I'd lost the footrests long ago, Gillian would have to tip the chair back and balance it so I didn't drag my feet on the ground. I don't care how scrawny I look and how strong Gilly is, carting around 140 pounds of me is not easy for anyone.

The only thing that is worse than being completely oblivious to everything that people do for you in order for you to live your daily life is when you first start to notice it. It's that moment when you look at someone you love and realize you're the thing that is stressing them out. This was supposed to be a fun vacation where a new couple could spend quality time together as boyfriend and girlfriend. There should have been plenty of time for doing what we loved, but instead Gillian had dropped everything in order to become a caretaker for me. Four days into the trip, her harp was still in its case. We'd found time to write a new chapter for my book, but Gillian didn't have any time to be creative with her music because the rest of her day was taken up with the seemingly endless list of things I needed help with. I began to feel like dead weight, as a body and as a boyfriend. Finally, one day as she was clearing my dishes after lunch, Gillian also decided to clear the air.

“You know, if down the line we ever decided to live together, we'd need to figure out how to do this differently.”

“Like me helping out with dishes and stuff?” I said.

“It's not so much the housework itself, but more … being aware of everything that goes on around you.”

I wasn't surprised that we were having this conversation, but I was totally unprepared for it. We talked for four hours straight. I don't remember all of what was said over the course of those four hours, but I definitely did NOT cry, if that's what you're thinking. The gist was that my girlfriend basically clued me in to the reality that I rarely paid attention to the daily tasks in my own life and so my family and friends had to pick up the slack.

From the outset, Gillian was the one responsible for being responsible. I was so out of touch with all the forethought and organization that went into our days together that I had just checked out. It wasn't that I didn't do dishes—I didn't even pack my own bag or know what was in it. If I had just refrained from activities that my disability prohibited me from doing, that would have been understandable. But every little thing from flipping off lights in the bathroom to flipping on and off the brakes of my own wheelchair, I had to be reminded about. Her point was that even though I might always be relegated to the passenger seat, that didn't give me the right to be passive.

Up until this point, everything that kept me rollin' toward my big dreams had been habitually taken care of by the people who loved me. Gillian loved me too, but she also had dreams of her own. For more than a decade she'd poured her heart and soul into making a living and a life as a musician. She'd traveled across the country and the world solo, doing everything from booking tours to self-releasing albums, and had even turned down a major label deal. She was the epitome of an independent artist and an independent person. My job as a good boyfriend was to make sure that Gillian had the tools and the time to pursue her own goals rather than dropping everything so that I could pursue mine. I'd fallen in love with a self-made woman and was inadvertently turning her into an assistant and a maid. All I wanted in the world was for her to be fulfilled both personally and professionally, but my immaturity was undermining my best intentions.

Before I started dating, I thought I'd be good in a relationship because I'd always pay attention to my significant other. But in not paying attention to myself I became my girlfriend's responsibility, and if there's a surefire way to kill your sex life, it's to slowly turn your girlfriend into your mother. That's exactly what was happening here. I'd finally found somebody who could see past my disability and because she saw past it, she didn't excuse my complacency. Her expectations for me were not built on any preconceived notions about disabled people, but were rather based on what she needed from a partner: love, freedom to pursue her own goals, and support, not just in gestures but in deeds. If this relationship was going to work I'd have to figure out how to take care of myself and become someone who another human being could count on.

Gilly felt trapped and I felt profoundly crippled. Both of us were in way over our heads. In attempting to give us some solitude, Gillian had unknowingly placed us in an environment that had set us up to fail. While she had fondly remembered Vinalhaven as a place for reading books by the fire and taking walks along the beach to search for clams, I could do neither of these things. My eyes don't track and my wheels are guaranteed to get stuck in sand. In a city, I can go outside my door and be surrounded by modern conveniences, public transportation, restaurants, elevators, and accessible bathrooms that allow me to both be a part of and contribute to society. Here, I was surrounded by rocks and the ocean. The town was more than a mile away and the road that led to it was raked with gravel and riddled with potholes. There was no dishwasher in the kitchen and no grab bar in the bathroom. That's how a charming summer home becomes a big lobster pot destined to boil over.

In her optimism and inexperience, Gillian had assumed that I was far more self-sufficient than I actually was and that any obstacle we faced would seem small in comparison to the joy of being together. Our relationship required so much work and commitment, just so that we could be on the same continent at the same time, that every incompatibility we uncovered took on the added weight of thousands of miles of distance. There was no getting around the fact that even at twenty-nine, this was my first relationship. By the end of our emotionally exhausting conversation, I didn't even know if I was capable of being a partner to anyone.

The next few days oscillated between heavy conversation contemplating our future and tender moments of love and levity. We watched
You've Got Mail
lying head to toe on a sofa together, and it took me twenty minutes just to figure out how to situate my body so that I could both cuddle and not kick my girlfriend in the face. When Gillian finally did take her harp out, I got a private concert of all my favorite songs. Seeing this incredibly talented woman perform in the living room just for me gave me the sort of luckiest-guy-in-the-world moments I'd only seen in movies.

No matter how confusing and difficult dating was turning out to be, I always knew that dating Gillian was a privilege. She'd been around the globe and landed on me as the guy she wanted to be with. So even if I couldn't get up on the toilet seat in that old house independently, there were times when I still felt pretty badass.

Time, like meat loaf, passed slowly on Vinalhaven. After a week, we were both ready to get back to some semblance of our normal lives where lobsters are too expensive to eat every day and the Internet is everywhere. We were sad to be leaving but desperate to go.