I upended a full-to-brimming bowl of Khao Soi Gai. All that delicious chicken curry and egg noodle and coconut milk and ginger and sprouts and pickled mustard greens and fried shallots. Most of it landed on my lap. Leslie gasped and leaned forward, chopsticks in hand, mid-air. But she didn’t catch a morsel, if that was her intent. She found paper towels, and I did what I could to mop up the mess. “Let’s just buy another bowl,” she suggested.

The owner met me at the door. “I’ve had a catastrophic accident,” I said, pointing to my noodle-strewn chair.

She laughed. “How many bites did you manage before the explosion?” I held up four sticky fingers. “Replacement bowl coming right up.”

Involuntary movements do disrupt my life. When triggered, both of my legs jump and my body shakes. I have stopped flinching when triggered. I have stopped worrying about others flinching, too, though I still find myself apologizing to Leslie during particularly bad bouts. I concentrate on the spasms, on riding out the wave of spasticity, on maintaining a safe position, on minimizing damage. I try not to let the fear of an episode stop me from trying new experiences. If you join me on one, the best thing to do is ask if I’m safe. I’ll holler if I need help.

“How about a culinary adventure?” That was Leslie’s lunch offer. Little Uncle had a new, permanent location. They assured her on the phone that the space could be negotiated by wheelchair. It was tight, but the sun was strong, so we decided to eat outside. I wasn’t completely steady on the paving stones, but I’m always willing to adapt. Sometimes that means moving objects and people. Sometimes that means abandoning the plan.

Leslie and I worked through my concerns about the space. Could we move the other tables and switch seats for a sturdier one? Done. Why not have Gus join us, even if that meant a higher difficulty factor? She found a corner that seemed to work for us all. I had successfully transferred to a wrought iron chair, which was tough to adjust. I believe I had gotten my legs underneath me to provide more stability. So I don’t think it was my position that lead to the spectacular spill. Maybe it was fatigue. I find myself telling Leslie that I’m tired a lot. I don’t see that as tragic, or a sign of imminent downfall, just a fact that I face. I try not to think of my body as failing me. It’s doing what all bodies do, albeit at a faster pace. And when did any of us get a promise of unlimited health and 100% optimal functioning?

The owner brought a second full-to-brimming bowl of Khao Soi Gai to our table and told us it was on the house. She mopped up the dregs of our first attempt and talked about improvements she planned to make to the patio. She repositioned the water service area. When she was finished, she surveyed the scene and looked at me. “Better?” she asked.

“Better,” I echoed.