Asking for Help

I hated the buses at Disney World.

We checked into our hotel. I thought of the buses. We reserved FastPasses from our room. I wanted to go home. I was rolled down a sidewalk while my sister sang. I wanted to die.

The bus driver lowered the ramp for me. It beeped like a car in reverse. I wheeled myself up as fast as possible. I wasn’t weak. I could wheel myself really fast.

The bus driver placed straps around the arms, legs, and seat of my wheelchair. The bus doors were open. I looked out at the crowd of tourists waiting to get on. I was making everybody late.

The bus driver raised the ramp, and it was loud again. I was loud.

Sometimes, I wasn’t the only wheelchair user on the bus. I wasn’t the only one who needed help.