A Las Vegas Bachelor Party

Nathan is screaming, clapping, and laughing. The thirty year-old’s wheelchair is tilted on it’s hind quarters, the crowd in front of him scrambling to get out of the way – women spilling their drinks, bumping into slot machines, alcohol splashing onto the carpet.
Nate’s brother Ben is at the helm, the handlebars of the chair in his grip – or whatever grip Ben can manage with a beer in one hand.
I’m following them, the wooden tip of a lit Black and Mild cigar dangling between my lips. Ben pushes harder, Nate’s wheels gain speed. Ben pops Nate into another wheelie. I run up in front of them to protect the crowd, ashing my cigar on the casino’s carpet. Ben spins Nate in circles and again Nate claps, laughs, yells “faster!” and probably becomes very dizzy. People are watching, some of them smiling. Others are just confused.
Nate isn’t the first person they’ve seen in the casino in a wheelchair. After all, there are throngs of mid-fifties overweight gentlemen riding rascal scooters from slot machine to slot machine. Sometimes I even see gangs of them – a herd of rascals five or six strong and carrying maybe fifteen or sixteen hundred pounds collectively.
But Nate isn’t a three hundred pounder. He isn’t sitting idly, staring into a video screen. In fact, Nate just rolled out of a nightclub. We were there too – Me, Ben, and the handful of Ben’s college wrestling buddies who, one month from now, will serve as the groomsmen in his wedding.
We were drinking, shouting conversation to one another above the loud music while attempting to meet women. Only marginally did we succeed, meeting two mid-forties housewives on the prowl with their similarly aged divorced friend. They were stylishly dressed, two blondes and a brunette, all from California and all willing to follow us back to our hotel suite.
One by one the three women started dancing with us, one of the blondes rubbing her large breasts against my chest, grinding awkwardly to a Lil Wayne song.
As things slowed down, Nate got out of his wheelchair and walked a few feet to us, his shins straight against their braces, his steps stiff.
The single woman of the group joined Nate, took his arms. They danced on the outside patio, the bright lights of the Las Vegas strip aglow behind them.
This was night two of Ben’s bachelor party weekend, and it was night two of partying with Ben’s older brother Nathan, who, due to an accident early in his life, has faced a multitude of physical disabilities.
I’ve known Nathan ever since Ben and I met as youth league wrestlers. At the time, Nate was just an eleven year old, usually sitting with a Gameboy in his hands.. In a month, Nate would be at Ben’s wedding. Now, he is in Las Vegas, celebrating the bachelor party.
As I take over for Ben behind Nate’s chair, I’m somewhat conscious of the expressions on the faces of the crowd around me. Some people seem a little put off as they move for a wheelchair, like they don’t expect to see a crippled man enjoying the nightlife. Most people, however, exude the opposite emotion. They look fulfilled, optimistic, joyous even as if they’re watching me commit an act of charity.
Neither response is true to me. I don’t know what I feel as I do this. And I’ve done it before, while in college, with another bud of mine who doesn’t exactly walk well. I just focus on having a good time. Everything else is just too complex– disabilities, and fairness, and minor nuisances like having to find ramps instead of stairs, elevators instead of escalators… I just don’t give a damn. I’m having a good time. Nate’s having a good time. Ben’s having a good time and all our other friends are too.
And we’re not saints, hanging out this way. I have to remind myself this every time some overly cheery gambler gives me a nod like I’m doing some sort of good deed. Good deed? I’m pushing a wheelchair through a casino while smoking a cheap cigar, on our way to meet some strippers. Nate wants to come. We’ve asked him and he says he’s in.
I guide Nate’s wheelchair with my left hand as I reach for another smoke. Ben runs up to the front to clear our path. Our other friends scout for the elevator. The night continues.