Chapter 11 - Do Not Grab the Chair
The hallway felt too small once we were all in it. I hadn't realized how much noise the chair made until Dad was right there hearing it. The joystick clicked under my thumb and the motor hummed low, and the front wheels turned toward the bedroom door where the rug bunched up against the frame.
Mom used to just kick that rug flat. I knew the bump was there. I had it mapped out.
I slowed down and lined up straight. My hands were sweating a little. I held Bear tight against my stomach with my left arm so he wouldn't slide when I went over.
The woman walked on my right side. Not touching. Just close enough I could see her beige pants moving. She didn't say watch out or let me help. She just waited.
Dad was on my left, a step behind. I could hear him breathing. He smelled like coffee and the soap from the other room, that warm dim room with the lights behind him. Now he was out here in the daylight and he looked paler.
I pushed the joystick forward a little more.
The front wheels hit the bunched rug and caught. The chair jerked and stopped. My shoulders tipped forward and then the headrest caught me. Bear slipped down my shirt.
It wasn't a big deal. It happened sometimes. I knew to back up an inch and go at it straighter.
I pulled my thumb back to reverse.
That was when Dad moved.
I saw his hand come over my shoulder from behind. Big and fast. He grabbed the headrest handle, right behind my head, his wristwatch cold near my ear. The whole chair shifted when he pulled back.
I froze.
Everything in me went tight. My thumb locked on the joystick. I couldn't think about the rug anymore. All I could feel was his hand on my chair, steering me like I wasn't in it.
"Stop," I said. My voice came out louder than I meant. "Don't grab my chair."
He didn't let go right away. His fingers were still curled around the handle. I could feel him wanting to pull me all the way back into the hallway, away from the bump, like that would fix it.
I pressed Bear hard into my chest. "I'm driving," I said. "Don't touch it."
The hallway went quiet. The motor was still humming because my thumb was still pushed a little. I made myself let go. The hum stopped.
The woman crouched down on my right so her face was level with mine. She didn't touch the chair either. She didn't touch Dad. She just looked at me first, then at him.
"Ask first," she said quietly. Not mad. Just steady. "Remember? We ask first."
Dad looked at her, then at me. His face went red around his neck. He lifted his hand off the headrest slow, like it was heavier now.
"Sorry," he said. His voice was rough. "I saw you tip and I — sorry, buddy."
He stepped back and put his hands in his pockets. Then he took them out again because he didn't know what to do with them. He rubbed his chin where his stubble was.
I hated that my heart was beating so fast. I was eight. I knew how to get over a rug. But my hands were shaking and I didn't want them to see.
I fixed Bear, pulling him back up where he belonged. His fur was warm from where I'd been squeezing him.
The woman stayed crouched. The light from the bedroom was behind her, same bright daylight through the white curtains. I could see the little gold necklace at her neck move when she breathed.
"You okay?" she asked me. "Do you want to try again, or want a flat spot first?"
I liked that she asked two real choices. I thought about it.
"Flat spot," I said.
She nodded and stood up. She looked at Dad. Not to blame him. Just to wait.
Dad cleared his throat. "Can I — can I fix the rug for you?" he asked. He kept his hands where I could see them.
I looked at the rug. Then at him.
"Yes," I said. "You can fix the rug."
He bent down fast, like he was glad to have something to do. He pulled the edge of the rug flat with both hands and smoothed it against the wood. He stayed kneeling there a second longer, out of the way by the wall.
I put my thumb back on the joystick. The chair rolled forward smooth this time over the flat rug and into the bedroom doorway. No bump. No hands on my head.
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Nobody clapped or said good job like I was a baby. The woman just walked beside me. Dad stood up behind us and didn't follow too close.
But I could still feel where his hand had been on the headrest, like a hot spot. And I knew he felt it too.
