Handy Girl

I just reconnected with a friend from college. Her name is Samantha, and she is completely awesome. So many memories came flooding back, some you'd have to have been there, some we shall never speak of again (I swear to god I had no idea she was in Mike's bunk!), but the Handy Girl memories were bright and clear and simply must be shared.

Sam has cerebral palsy. It's integral to the story. In college she was skinny as a reed, with long, straight dark hair and big bedroom eyes. Her cerebral palsy affected her motor control, mostly her walk.

Her range of motion in her limbs was slightly limited, so she walked with her knees together, and her ass would sway from side to side as she walked. I called it her "sexy swish." It would occasionally throw her off balance, so it got automatic with everyone that whoever was walking with Sam held an arm out for her to hang on to so she wouldn't have to worry about it.

Sam held interesting conversations. I think she was an Education major and a Theatre minor (which is how she wound up slumming with the Theatre rats). Her mind was sharp and her sense of humor quirky. This is one of the many reasons we got along so well. I love sharp, quirky women.

One of the things we talked about was people's perceptions of the handicapped (disabled, differently abled, crippled, shit -- pick your PC label). We both thought it was funny that people often saw Sam's physical disability and assumed that she had limited mental capacity as well. She said she couldn't count the times some asshole spoke slowly and with small words without even bothering to listen to her first. We decided it was either ignorant, condescending, or just plain rude.

So why not have some fun and fuck with some people?

This is how Handy Girl was born. In retrospect, I wish we'd come up with a snappier or more clever name for our little game, like Cerebral Ballsy or Bowling for Fucktards. But Handy Girl is the name that stuck.

Here's how it went. We'd go to Albertson's or Winn Dixie and start cruising the aisles, me wearing my best expression of the hatred born of obligation. Totally ignoring Sam, who would clutch my arm and stagger after me, drooling and making baby talk noises. She'd occasionally stop to caress the onions or to reach out for something shiny. The conversation would then go something like this:

Me: "Jesus, what now?"

Sam: "Agaaah ahhh!" She bobs up and down, jerking my arm and pointing to something brightly colored.

Me: "Come ON! We can't stop for everything, Retard!" Flashing eyes and angry looks from me.

Sam: "I sorry..." Very slurred. She reaches up to drag her fingers down my face.

Me: "Quit it! Jesus Christ you're retarded! I fucking HATE it when Mom makes me bring you!" I jerk my arm, throwing her off balance. She falls to the floor.

Sam: "I love you! I love you!" Lispy and slurred as she grabs at me, scrambling to get up.

Me: "Shut UP! GodDAMN it! We're going!"

We never had the nerve to do it long. And I got the worst Stink Eye from people. I have never gotten dirtier looks than when playing Handy Girl. Sam and I would race as fast as she could swish back to the car, laughing our asses off.

Thinking about it now, it's a pretty fucked up thing to do. But shit, I was young and really full of myself at the time. I wonder if any of the people who saw us still remember it.

I'm so glad I'm back in touch with Sam. My favorite people have always been the ones who are creative and committed enough to match me, and unafraid to be my partner in crime.

Judge me if you will for playing mind games with people, but I take nothing back and I make nothing up.