i am not worthy

the name tag pinned to his standard issue royal blue polo shirt said 'Cameron' and he was doing his best to maintain some semblance of normalcy while scrunched awkwardly in his wheelchair. they placed him strategically at the entrance of the automatic doors so you couldn't help but confront him in all his deformed and handicapped glory.  before the doors even swooshed shut behind me he was stuttering hello. had i failed to give him the courtesy of acknowledgement he deserved then i should just start drowning kittens and stealing from the blind. "how...hhhh...hh...how are yyy...yyou?" he stammered, his head bobbling wildly like a dashboard jesus. 

in the nanosecond that it took for me to respond i noticed that he was young and good looking, almost movie star good looking even and that he seemed genuinely interested in doing his job well. 

i smiled at him and said "i'm fine, how are you?"  but i didn't stop, just kept walking slowly towards the big neon yellow smiley faces announcing the  rolled-back price cuts. the sound of his reply faded as i looked back over my shoulder and saw him attempting to turn his head and look at me. in that moment i felt like shit.  i walked zombie like to the women's clothing section and wandered through sales and colors and prices i should probably care about. as usual i had no idea which section, if any, was meant for me. i lethargically pulled a cute-ish looking flimsy pale yellow and green hippie skirt from the rack and shuffled around aimlessly, wishing i had the courage to go back and talk to him.  my kid calls from his cell and asks where i am. i ask if they saw the dude in the wheelchair when they came in.  i walk closer to the entrance but make sure to lay low behind the plus size tent dresses so i'm not spotted. there is a cute young brunette girl standing behind the wheelchair, her hands rest casually on his shoulders. they seem to be conversing and i love her so much. another guy comes in from outside sporting the same droid blue polo and the three of them laugh and talk.  i'm confused because there doesn't seem to be any pity. i don't see some manager forcing them to spend time with him, it's almost as if...he's normal.

and who the fuck knows what normal is anyway? 

the kids find me and gabe's got that "let's get the hell out of here now" face nearly everyone gets after more than 10 minutes in any SuperStore but babyone wants to show me every single skateboard, bike, plasma tv and board game in the place. they're fighting and whining and i notice it's 8 p.m. and we haven't had dinner. we decide on operation 'cuz i haven't played since i was 11. 

i tell gabe how sad i am and he puts his arm around me. i notice that he's almost like an adult 'cuz he's maybe half an inch away from looking me eye to eye. i tell him that ever since i was very young i've felt extreme compassion for people with disabilities. how i feel almost guilty that cameron's in a wheelchair and i'm not. i wonder if he's happier than me. i wonder what happiness really is. 

gabe listens kindly then gives me the requisite scolding for spending money on crap we don't need and i tell him  it's a goddamned game and a goddamned skirt. i tell him i appreciate his concern but that i'm the parent and he's the kid and i've got it covered. "you don't even have a job" he says.

zach is quiet, as usual and we read each others' minds. we let gabe try to tell us we suck but we know he's only trying to help. 

i glance over at cameron once more as we exit the store i hate but get magnetically sucked into on a semi-regular basis and send him love. 

maybe he's the one who's got it all figured out and i'm the one who needs help.

we walk out into the humid southern air and the smell of wet pavement rises up and fills our nostrils, enriches our brains. 

i try to be here now, for the gazillionth time. this moment, this feeling, this plastic blue bag in my hand. i look at my two beautiful boys and i think of cameron's mom. all is bliss. all is bliss.