I went on a date with a Tinder guy, and when we met for the first time, he rejected me the moment he saw my wheelchair. However, our table was chosen for a complimentary supper, so I spent the evening with him. Little did I know, the heartbreak had only just begun.
My heart raced excitedly as I sat at table 13, preparing for my Tinder date with Alan. But when he arrived and I greeted him from my wheelchair, his smile faded to shock.
“Sally? Wow. “You didn’t mention the wheelchair,” he stammered.
“I didn’t think to,” I explained, hoping for understanding. “I wanted you to see me and not my wheelchair. Why is there a problem?
“It’s just…” “That’s a big deal not to mention,” he said, his initial enthusiasm fading. “Don’t you think?”
“I wanted us to meet without any assumptions,” I explained.
Alan suddenly pulled out his phone and scrolled through something. “Not a single picture of a wheelchair. “Lies by omission?” He glared at me. I could tell he was enraged, his eyes were crimson and his fists clenched.
“They-they were taken before the accident,” I said quietly, the memories terrible. I lost my ability to walk two years ago in an accident that killed my parents.
“Nice try to get my pity,” Alan said mockingly, his words hitting deep.
“I’m not asking for pity,” I murmured, tears in my eyes. “I am starting to accept myself again. I deserve a second opportunity in life. “Exactly like everyone else.”
“You can’t accept your impairment, but should I? “I wanted a proper date, not someone in a wheelchair!” he responded furiously.
Alan’s vicious words ached, but I kept hoping he’d understand. “I was scared you wouldn’t want to meet me if you knew,” I told you.
“You’re right,” he scoffed. “I wouldn’t have even considered coming here. “I wanted to date someone normal, not… defective!”
His dismissal was a severe blow, but his labeling of me ‘defective’ fueled a fire within me.
“You didn’t mention the wheelchair even in your bio!” He grumbled, his gaze fixed on his phone.
Alan appeared very different in person, not the guy who had charmed me with his poems and romantic chat on Tinder. He used to call me gorgeous. Perhaps he fell in love with my beautiful looks. Perhaps he wasn’t expecting to see me like this.
It wasn’t entirely his fault. I should have informed him earlier. But I was afraid. As I mentioned, I was still learning to accept myself.
“Your deception ruins this entire weekend!” Alan shouted, bringing me back to the situation. “You consider yourself normal?” “You’re only half a person at best!”
His words stung, but I held my ground. “I’m normal!” “Being in a wheelchair does not make me defective,” I stated.
“Do you know what? “Find someone as ‘defective’ as you,” he said, turning around when a server approached our table.
Alan’s rage erupted as he bumped into the waiter, who announced a surprise supper for us, celebrating us (table 13th) as the 10,000th guest and presenting a cake.
“Great, Table 13! I had just heard it so far, but now I know for certain that it brings ill luck,” Alan sneered, but I chose to embrace the moment. What if I can’t go on a date with Alan? I could still enjoy the cake! I could still pretend I was… happy.
“This is wonderful, thank you!” I exclaimed, gazing at the deliciuos cake.
To my amazement, Alan no longer wanted to go. “Okay, then. “Bring the menu, but I’ll sit elsewhere,” he instructed the server. He wanted the complimentary lunch, not me.
The waiter’s smile faltered slightly. “I’m afraid the celebration is limited for Table 13. “Are you not together?”
“Of course, we’re together!” I claimed, gripping Alan’s hand and coercing him into the ruse.
Alan, taken off guard, looked into my eyes for a second, his astonishment palpable as he grasped my meaning. I wanted us to enjoy the complementary treat. At the very least, something to remember the night by? I had fallen in love with Alan, and I loved him regardless of his imperfections. I did. Isn’t this what love is about?
“Okay, okay, absolutely. “We’ll have the menu then,” Alan said, and I smiled.
Dinner went on in silence until I attempted to start a conversation. “The food is really good, isn’t it?” I said, hoping to lighten the mood.
Alan ignored me until I mentioned basketball. “You watch basketball?” he inquired, his interest palpable.
I felt a rush of excitement. Alan spoke. He opened his mouth and began conversing with me! Finally!
“Absolutely! I love it. “I even have a jersey signed by LeBron,” I exclaimed, my voice filled with delight and my eyes full of hope.
But then Alan’s joke about LeBron signing my jersey in the emergency room ruined the moment, and I pushed back tears, refusing to let his remarks harm me any further.
As the suffocating silence threatened to devour us once more, the waiter’s voice rang out through the microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for our weekly lovebird contest! “Any couples feeling lucky tonight? Let’s see those hands!”
Despite Alan’s concerns, I immediately offered us, his reluctance clear. “Are you crazy?” Put your hand down. “I’m not doing this,” he objected.
I ignored him and kept my hand up until we were called to participate. On stage, the game entailed identifying our partner through touch and removing the clothespins pinned to their dresses. “Got you,” I yelled, attempting to remove the clothespins from Alan as soon as I discovered him.
“We can’t lose this. “You need to collect the pins quickly,” Alan whispered, wanting to assist. I was delighted he participated in the game.
But we were penalized because we moved when Alan was meant to stay stationary. Frustrated, he lashed out, calling me a “handicapped idiot.” Tears welled in my eyes as I whispered an apology, feeling completely defeated.
The waiter noticed the tension and intervened, introducing a quiz round. Wiping away tears, I firmly buzzed in with my responses. “Pacific!” I declared for the greatest ocean and “Taj Mahal!” as a symbol of eternal love.
Alan was astonished with my knowledge and questioned, “How do you know all this stuff?”
“Two degrees and a thirst for knowledge,” I said, proud but flushed.
At that juncture, his warm and sincere smile appeared to be a silent apology, recognizing my resilience and intellect in the face of the evening’s previous stress.
Excitement increased when the final quiz question was about Space Jam 2. Alan and I, now in rhythm, pressed the buzzer together and shouted, “LeBron James!” Our perfect answer brought us together in a brief, unexpected friendship.
“Sally, you are the most incredible woman I have ever encountered. “I’m sorry for being a jerk earlier,” Alan admitted, his animosity replaced by admiration.
But my heart was destroyed once more when I overheard a conversation in the corridor. Alan had excused himself after the game, and as he was walking to the restroom, he ran into his friend Karl.
Karl criticized a ‘disabled girl’s date, implying that the man was only doing it for show. My heart fell when I realized he was talking about Alan and me. What is the worst part? Alan pretended that he wasn’t the man Karl was talking about.
From our table, I could hear everything and hoped Alan would speak up for me. But, to my dismay, he joined Karl and a group of women while ignoring me.
“Sophia, ladies, meet Alan,” Karl announced, and Sophia immediately responded, “Isn’t that the guy with the disabled date? Karl, I spotted them together while I waited for you to arrive.
“There was a misunderstanding…” “She’s nobody,” Alan said, trying a smile.
I mustered my bravery and approached their table. “Alan, are you ignoring me?” I asked, only to be rejected by Karl. “Oh, you’re the girl in the wheelchair, right?! “Go away!”
Despite being hurt, I attempted to clarify, “Alan and I are on a date.”
Alan’s dismissal was harsh, with no room for hope. “There were no dates, Sally. It’s just the contest. Also, dinner is complimentary. Please go away! “I’m with my friends now,” he stated coldly, his rejection punctuated by their laughter.
I asked, “Alan, please…” But he was unyielding. “I do not want to chat. Sally, I want to be around folks that are ‘normal’. “Please go away!”
Anger and hurt drove my response: “Being ‘normal’ isn’t just about the physique; it’s about having a good heart. “And you’re… heartless!”
His final words stung deep: “I’m sorry. “You’ll have to go alone.” And then I noticed something in his eyes. Guilt? But why don’t you join me? Why just stand here and be sad? Why give me false hope?
Left in tears, I pondered leaving the café, but the announcement of the karaoke challenge drew me back. “Finalists, prepare for the grand finale—the karaoke challenge!”
On stage, with Alan gone, I questioned my participation. “My date, he… he left. Does this imply that I am disqualified?”
The server encouraged me, saying, “Not at all, Miss…” “The stage is entirely yours!”
With renewed zeal, I sang “You Are Only Mine,” pouring my heart into the performance and finding power in my vulnerability.
As I finished, Alan reappeared, mic in hand, his voice tinged with regret. “Sally,” he started, “I… I can’t explain how sorry I am. “For everything.
His surprise reappearance and apologies provided a ray of hope, an opportunity for understanding and, possibly, forgiveness.
“When I heard you sing and felt the truth in your words, I realized how wrong I was.” You, Sally, opened my eyes. You’re the most courageous person I’ve ever met. I was totally wrong.”
Could I trust Alan again?
“So, what now?” I inquired, tears pouring in my eyes.
His apologies appeared genuine, providing a ray of optimism. “I was blind to who you really are, Sally. I apologize. I want to give you and us a chance.”
As the music in the café eased, Alan offered a dance as a sign of reconciliation. I reluctantly accepted our dance, a quiet discussion of regret and understanding. The waiter declared us winners, with our shared victory representing our journey from misunderstanding to connection.
Alan and I left the café hand in hand, reflecting on the night, realizing that true handicap is defined by a lack of empathy and understanding rather than physical limits.
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