So Long, Chester Wheeler(16)

“You want coffee?” I asked him.

“Of course I want coffee,” he said. “I’m not a savage.”

I didn’t question why he associated coffee with civilization. I took the conversation in an entirely different direction.

“You have a great-grandchild,” I said.

“And?”

“Just thought you’d want to know.”

“I’ve already got five,” he said. “What’s one more?”

He didn’t ask if it was a boy or a girl, or how much it weighed. He didn’t even ask if it was healthy. All he asked was if I would hurry up and make the damned coffee.



After breakfast he said the dreaded words—the sentence we both knew was coming sooner or later, though I’m sure we had both wished hard for later.

“You gotta help me onto the can.”

“Okay,” I said.

Then I just sat there with my face tingling, saying nothing.

We were still at the breakfast table, and he was looking down at his lap to avoid my eyes. At least, I assumed that was why.

“I guess we should get started,” I said.

I found myself wanting to put the whole uncomfortable mess behind us.

“I want you to wear a blindfold,” he said.

I was feeling pretty unfiltered, so I said the first thing that jumped into my mind.

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

“It’s not stupid. I don’t want you looking at me.”

“I’m not going to be looking at you.”

“Oh, you’re gonna be looking.”

“I’m not attracted to every man on the planet, Chester. I’m twenty-four. You’re, like, seventy. Do you honestly think I’m interested in you?”

“I’m only sixty-nine,” he said, still looking at his lap.

“That final question still stands.”

“You’re a man. Marginally, anyway.”

“I’m going to let that go by because we have important matters at hand. Here’s a question. Did you make Agostina and the others wear a blindfold?”

“No, of course not. Agostina was a woman. Women don’t have that lust thing going on. But if you’re a man, you look. If I was taking care of a woman, even one who was that much older than me . . .”

“She’d have to be like a hundred and fifteen,” I said in the pause.

“Anyway, the point is . . . I wouldn’t be after her. But I’d look. How can you not look?”

“That’s disgusting,” I said. “Oh my God, Chester. You just hit a new low even for you.”

I pushed away from the table. I was acting like I was going to get up and stomp away. But I didn’t, because there was this . . . situation. This problem that needed solving.

Chester seemed unmoved by my disgust.

“It’s just how men are,” he said.

“This man isn’t like that.”

“Maybe if you really were a man, you’d understand.” He allowed a pause for me to take the bait. When I didn’t bite, he added, “But I’m supposed to believe a fairy has less lust than a straight guy? I’m having trouble believing that.”

“I’m sure you have trouble believing all kinds of things that are true,” I said. “And I’m sure you believe all kinds of things that are obviously fiction.” I stood. Sighed deeply. “But come on. We need to get this over with.”

I walked around behind him and grabbed the handles of his wheelchair. Started to pull him backward into the bathroom.

“Where did we land on the blindfold?” he asked, sounding a little off kilter.

“We landed on ‘That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard in my life.’ But if it makes you feel better, I’ll look up at the ceiling and close my eyes.”

“You better keep ’em closed,” he said as I wheeled him in.

“Oh, Chester. If only you knew how much I don’t want to see.”

When we had managed to squeeze into the bathroom, I gave him my arm and we tried to pull him up out of the chair. It was harder than it had been helping him into bed the night before, maybe because in that case we were just swinging him over to a soft, safe place he could drop. This time I had to get him onto his feet and fairly steady. That was the first moment I realized, all the way down into my gut, how deeply weak and helpless he was.

When we had him pretty well balanced on his feet, still holding my arm, I carefully turned him around so his back was facing the toilet.

“Okay, this is the bad part,” he said. “You have to hold me up while I get my pants down.”

“Hold you up how?”

“You have to put your arms around me, under my armpits.”

“While looking up at the ceiling with my eyes closed.”

“Exactly.”

There was no way not to think of it as a bear hug. I wrapped Chester Wheeler in a bear hug. While looking up at the ceiling. With my eyes closed.

I could feel him fumbling with his zipper down below my grasp. It was probably the most deeply awkward and uncomfortable moment of my life to that date.

Finally I heard the soft sound of his pants falling down around his knees.

“Now lower me down,” he said.