“What’s your first impression of him?” asked Hong. I remembered my first meeting with him on New Year’s party and replied, “Proud.” He turned his wheelchair back, stared at me and exclaimed, “Why everyone thinks so? I’m easy-going from head to toe. ” I nodded, “Indeed the first impression doesn’t count. I’ve seen you different.”

Naïve is he as a child. On entering my home, he stuck his eyes on my tortoise in the fishbowl and whispered, “Will the creature jump, you guess, if I drop a bit of pepper oil into the water?” I shouted, “I’ll jump at anger if you do such a child play!”

Sincere is he as a friend. In the rainy afternoon, he picked up Old Zhang who’s paraplegic in a wheelchair, Hong and me to visit another disabled friend Lan. On our way back, the back-seat of his new car was found wet and smelly. He said, “Doesn’t matter. Old Zhang couldn’t control his urine, just as me.” He insisted on inviting Hong and me to supper and drove a long way to seek a vivipara stall. Later I learnt it was because Hong is fond of eating hot vivipara while drinking beer.

I never feel fear for him in spite that he’s used to talking in a lofty and crusty tone. On the journey, Hong and I kept finding fault with him as a fresh driver. I smirked, “Though we’re both younger than you, here it seems you have two elder sisters to guide your way.” He shouted, “Get out of it!” we two women laughed heartedly, “OK, we’ll get out with your wheelchair.”

Proud is he, still. He’s the only C5-license car driver of high paraplegia in our county. He dwells with his daughter in a cheap-renting public house, living on a civil minimum pension as well as his income of running the unlicensed-cab. Once he bought a bowl of dumpling and asked it to be delivered. The waiter thought he was too conceited to walk out of the car; he disliked the waiter’s impoliteness, and so explained nothing.

An ambitious man as before, He often talks of investing real-estate or running a barbecue stall. “Here’s my past territory…There live my past fellows…” he said, pointing out of the car window, as if he was looking back into the distant “past”.

He’s deeply sad under his pride, I know. He showed us the long scar from his waist to back. Already 11 years since the terrible accident, he’s been suffering of anorexia. I can tell how huge a blow he’s got mentally and physically.

Friends advise him to take a regular diet and rearrange his home. I told him, “You know, I admired you so much when you told me on QQ that you can do all housework on your own. Now the independent and confident role model in my heart is ruined.”  He laughed, “Of course I could do those, but sometimes I wouldn’t do. I’m never meant to be a model. I’m just myself.”

“Anyway I keep firmly in mind what you said: people should live in full spirits even if disabled.” I smiled.