Consensus, Day 1-2: Wheelchair

Violet rubbed her tired eyes before gazing lovingly at the small four-by-three Zoom image of her boyfriend, Zach. They had been long-distance for years, having met on a multiplayer FPS game one fateful night. He apologized profusely for making her wake up at five in the morning just so they could have a video chat to prepare for his move, but she was just happy to see his face.

He was from New Zealand and she was from America. Thanks to the advent of the internet, the two of them were able to have a face-to-face conversation every single day. As if looking into a window, the two of them were able to view a perfectly curated image of what the other looked like. It did wonders for their love, but it also had some self inflicted drawbacks.

For example, Zach didn’t know that Violet had severe fatigue and needed a wheelchair to go most anywhere.

It wasn’t like he’d be offended if she told him, she was just nervous that such a factoid would change how he viewed her. All her life, Violet was either babied or ridiculed for her wheelchaired status. People always offered to move her around or got confused when she could stand up for brief moments, able to walk about.

Not only that, but her carefully positioned video camera allowed her to hide another glaring “flaw”: her body. Or, according to Violet, her lack of one.

Being wheelchair-bound and also easily fatigued meant that physical fitness was a luxury she couldn’t afford. Spindly didn’t even begin to describe her. Of course, the logical side of her brain ensured her that Zach would love her for her personality, not her stick figure-like proportions, but the social media poisoned side ensured her that she’d never look like any of those Instagram models she always fawned over.

Worst of all, she couldn’t keep up the act forever. Zach was coming to visit her soon. As in, within a few days. He was calling her early to ensure that all the flight information was in order. Despite her diminutive size, she was often the one who took charge in the relationship. While Zach was no dummy, Violet’s mind was well-traveled. She was a quick thinker and quite intelligent, able to think fast and make the most of any situation. Well, almost any situation. When she was online—away from the prying eyes who could potentially peer at her unimpressive body—she was in her element.

“Right, so it looks like here you’re going to want to get on flight 36,” Violet spoke, writing everything down to send to Zach later. Don’t worry about not knowing the terminal number, they’ll tell you what it is when you arrive. Make sure to bring at least two carry-on bags, considering the plane company you’re flying with allows that.”

“Heehee! I can’t wait to finally meet up with you, Violet!” Zach exclaimed through his shoddy microphone. “Just three days away, aren’t you excited!?”

“You bet your ass I am!” she said outwardly, yet inwardly, she felt almost… choked. What if he doesn’t like me for who I am? What if he’s upset I never told him? I mean, lying by omission is still lying, right? I feel like the wheelchair ramp in front of my house is a dead giveaway!

But as her intrusive thoughts silently consumed her, Zach’s cheery optimism and adorable accent returned Violet to the realm of sanity.

“Righty-o then! I’ll let you get back to your beauty sleep, my little angel!”

Violet gave him a tired smile. She was already too self-anxious to get back to sleep, but she wasn’t about to worry Zach with that news.

“Of course, my love, I’ll talk to you later, after I wake up, okay?”

“Okay!” He exclaimed, as cheery as ever. They then did a minor back and forth goofily debating over who would hand up first, with Violet’s signature control eventually winning over and Zach being the one to concede and hang up first.

And then there was silence. An uncomfortable amount of it. Silence that would leave a person completely alone with their own thoughts, to become consumed by them.

“Time for breakfast!” Violet dutifully exclaimed. She might’ve been the first person to write a whole essay of solutions to a random person on the internet’s emotional baggage, but when it came to herself, distractions were the only problem solving she could muster.

She immediately made a B-line to the restroom to freshen up, only to be given a face full of her own reflection. Her vistage was always visible on the right side of the screen, but Zach’s ruggedly handsome looks weren’t here to distract her anymore.

Her blonde hair was thin and tangly, always generating a rat’s nest on the top of her head no matter how much care she put towards it. An errant strand always dangled in front of her face, often distracting her from whatever work she needed to get done.

Optimistically, one could say she had a cute, almost babydoll-like appearance. Violet would agree—her large eyes and tiny nose reinforced that idea—but she would still hate her form all the same. She didn’t want to be weak and meager! She wanted to be as strong and resilient as the online persona she had crafted for herself.

Sitting down in her all-to-familiar wheelchair, she donned some headphones and started jamming to some tunes. Already feeling the wave of fatigue set in, she reached only for the lightweight breakfast items in the lower pantry.

Pouring herself a bowl of dry cereal, she knew that the convenient sustenance was worth the bland, arid flavor. She turned the volume knob of her ancient music device clockwise, hoping that the stimulation of one sense would help mask the tepidness of the other.

With the sound of her music cranked to high, she couldn’t hear the commotion that was occurring next door—a scuffle between the mailwoman and her neighbor. Her head bobbed to the ebbs and flows of the slow, calming music, blissfully unaware of the outside world. It was already rather challenging for her to disassociate from the intrusive thoughts her brain would throw at her, but now, she was fully at peace.

Violet instinctively checked her weather app, only to be pleasantly surprised that the crisp, fall weather was finally returning. Her favorite weather, no contest.

Seizing the moment, she wheeled herself out the door, ready to bask in the serene chill that was the comforting oranges and reds of autumn. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. A smile couldn’t help but break out through her tired face. The gentle breeze of a season in transition was an unmatched feeling. She was so within her element, she didn’t even notice one Howard Grove angrily approaching her position.

“You! Harlot! You were sitting there watching that mailbitch lay into me and you did nothing!”

Not only was Howard mistaken with Violet’s location during the prior altercation with Mae, but he didn’t seem to realize that Violet physically couldn’t hear him. Even though her headphones were an older model, Howard was so old he wasn’t aware that such a newfangled device like earbuds blocked most sound.

“Oh, and now you’re ignoring me, you little trollop? Why I oughta tip you out of the very chair you sit on!”

Even if Howard possessed some semblance of intelligence that would have told him every insult he threw at a woman would only make them more powerful and grant their every desire, and that it was smart to insult Violet now since she couldn’t hear him, it wouldn’t have mattered. The curse didn’t care about whether or not what he had to say fell on deaf ears. As Violet bobbed her head along to the invisible tempo only she could hear, a power was brewing deep within her.

It started small, a subtle warmth with her tummy that made her feel comfortable and snug, as if a soothing saké had been injected directly into her stomach. It spread outwards, surrounding her frail body in an ocean of comfort, like the fluffiest of winter coats had been wrapped around her tiny frame. She closed her eyes, a full smile spreading across her entire face as the warmth reached her mind. It was as if the clouds had parted in her gray matter, where there was once a constant haze of discomfort, there was now clarity.

She took a full breath in, feeling no resistance or hesitation from her lungs as she did so. She finally felt as though, after years of constant fatigue, she had achieved a sense of normalcy she had always desired but never thought achievable. Even with years of physical therapy, Violet had never felt as comfortable in her own skin as she did now.

Still, was “normal” supposed to feel this good? It was as if Violet had unlocked her final chakra. She was awake, aware of the world around her. She immediately detected the unbearable sound of Howard’s ramblings—yet just as soon as they had entered her consciousness, she had moved beyond them. They were too petty to be worthy of her consideration.

There were so many possibilities she once thought to be impossible, now free-range for her to experiment with to her leisure. Her reflexes, once dull and pathetic, could now reach the potential she always truly desired. Whenever Zach and her would team up to play a video game or any sort of reaction-based activity, Violet’s frequent headaches prevented herself from being able to hone her reaction speed.

Tired of being ignored, Howard reached out to obtain Violet’s attention. His intention was to grab her shoulder and give her a little shake. Now, this shoulder shake would’ve likely been unnecessarily forceful given her diminutive stature, except her stature was now anything but, and Howard never got the chance to reach his hand anywhere close to her.

Before even Violet could quite comprehend what had just happened, her free hand had leaped up from her lap and wrapped its firm fingers around Howard’s wrist, locking it in place like a steel trap.

“Augh! Urg! Let go of me, you bitch!” Howard demanded, grunting in pain.

Violet watched as her strange neighbor twisted and contorted his body, desperately attempting to escape her iron grip. His pleas fell on deaf ears, not because her headphones were in, but because she simply did not want to hear what he had to say. Too long had she attempted to tune out the words of her disruptive neighbor, and now, she finally could. She didn’t care if those words amounted to mockery of her wheelchair or a man begging for his life, she was done with him.

She waited until the precise moment where he’d tug the hardest before releasing her grip. Howard, with all his build-up momentum still intact, was sent stumbling backward until he lost his balance, falling off the porch and into a bush.

Then, as if her body was in a sort of autopilot, Violet stood up from her wheelchair without any effort expelled before waltzing over casually to the edge of her porch, her surprising tall stature gazing down upon the pathetic man tangled within her front lawn’s shrubbery.

“Don’t you have work to go to?” was all she said. It was all she needed to say. Howard was left speechless in response as she gathered all of her belongings in a professionally efficient fashion and sauntered back into her house. The sound of a lock clicking was audible from where Howard lay.

Once inside, Violet marveled at her new body. Gone was the timid, hunched stature, replaced with a beautiful hourglass figure with sizable breasts and delectable thighs. Not only that, but she was standing. Actually standing in the middle of her living room without any sense of fatigue or vertigo.

Her wheelchair was nowhere to be found, and for the first time in her entire life, she did not mind one bit.

~

Defeated and humiliated for a second time that very day, Howard Grove slowly and painfully un-hooked himself from the various bushes he was trapped within. His aging body made the process no less troublesome, once he checked his watch, he cursed silently to himself about his no-good, horrid neighbor. She had made him late for work for nothing. All he wanted to do was rightfully complain, and she proved that her wheelchair-usage was truly falsified once and for all, with how easy she overpowered him.

Returning to his car, his anger was quickly reaching a boiling point.

It was only 6:30 in the morning.

He still had the entire work day ahead of him.