I couldn’t wheel through the narrow entry, so I crawled toward the trouble. Indeed, I crawled through seemingly endless corridors (passing a Beatrix Potter statue garden three times). Eventually, I found a tin dog on his side, having a fit, in a forest.

I backed from the frantic nose laser, sympathizing with this kindred creature. I’d fallen many times on unsteady wheels. “Easy there, duppy pog,” I cooed. “You’re not alone.”

My wordplay distracted him. “You have employed a spoonerism, an error in speech in which the initial sounds or letters of two or more words are accidentally transposed, often to humorous effect. First attributed to the Reverend William A. Spooner, 1844 through 1930, warden of New College, Oxford, England, Earth.”

“You’re certainly a pedantic little thing, aren’t you,” I said.

“Negative,” replied the dog. “I am not a little thing. I am K-9.”

”I’m May Jarrow,” I said, stroking his muzzle.

“Greetings,” replied K-9. “Please assist me restore to vertical mode.”

I knew I’d need both hands, so I moved from all fours to stomach, using upper body strength to push him upright. Back on all fours, I tried to clear the path ahead of him, but no progress. The ground too littered, K-9 fell.

“It’s no good, Sweetie,” I said. “We have to get help. Do you have some sort of homing beacon?”

“It was damaged when I first fell,” replied K-9. “You will have to ascend to the top of the pyramid to reach the signal relay for this quadrant.”

“Where?,” I asked.

“It is two kilometers south,” responded K-9.

“No good,” I said. “Cerebral Palsy affects my spatial perception. I have trouble judging distance and direction.”

“Follow the stream upon your right until the pyramid is within visual range,” replied K-9. “I must recharge; my batteries are failing.”

K-9 silent, I rested. Legs outstretched, with my back against a lavender weeping willow, I fell asleep listening to the sighing, rustling, amethyst trees.

I dreamed…

I’m ten, recovering after hip surgery in a body cast. I’m scared. I’m trapped. I hear a palmetto, Arizona’s flying cockroach, scurrying on the light above my bed. I see its shadowed wings lifting. It will fly. It will land on me. I can’t move! Slowly, dark shadow changes color. Black becomes pearly lavender. One lavender shadow multiplies, becoming dozens. They fly!

I woke screaming to discover it wasn’t entirely a dream. I was covered in pearly lavender hissing roaches (between my fingers, on my clothes, in my hair). I froze, fighting to keep bile down. One inquisitive hisser, standing on my nose, peered through my glasses.

Roaches descended from peaceful willow camouflage. Trees made me think of birds, of the pigeons of Trafalgar Square. I parked my wheelchair; pigeons flocked to me. That’s it! If I could move covered in seed-squabbling pigeons, I could move covered in hiss-jewel bugs.

Unfrozen, I crawled toward the stream. I brushed remaining roaches into the water. I drank, swallowing bite-sized, three-eyed, pinwheel-shaped fish. With each sip and morsel, I wondered how I would climb that pyramid. I flashed on the Globe. I couldn’t see past standing groundlings. Lacking elevator, staff carry wheelchair and all upstairs for Henry V. “We would not seek a battle as we are. Yet as we are, we say we will not shun it.” I crawled forward.

Unbelievable! At stream’s end, I beheld peach-colored rubble. The relay hung from decaying wires, close to the ground. My knees aching, I pressed the button. A scarfed scarecrow, all hair and teeth, appeared.

He shut the pyramid’s side door, muttering: “Entropy. I should be running a tighter ship.”

“You got the signal,” I said, wearily.

He noticed me. “Did you send a signal?,” he asked. “I was looking for my dog, went off after an insect. Who are you by the way?”

Introductions made, the Doctor carried me through the pyramid-heap into a sitting room. A wheelchair gliding in, he seated me. “I’m sorry about the doors. I’ve been meaning to fix the chameleon circuit. Stephen Hawking complained bitterly about it.”

The Doctor’s companion, Leela, had tea with us, defiantly putting three sugars in her cup. Afterward, she took me on a labyrinthine trek. We sought the accessible bathroom the Doctor designed with my input.

“You’re very quiet,” I noted.

“I do not know what to say to you,” Leela replied. “Among my people, cripples are put to death.” Pensive, she decided: “Thank you for helping K-9.”

“You’re welcome,” I said.

They attended Henry V with me that afternoon. The Doctor beamed at Leela. “A little bit of Agincourt, my girl.”

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