Chapter 15 - Treat Me Like I Am Eight
The curtains were gray at the edges. Not dark yet, but getting there. The light through the white sheer ones made the room soft. My bear was on my lap. My chair was beside my bed, where I had parked it myself.
Mom — no, not Mom. The woman. She was sitting on the floor by the bookshelf. Dad was in the chair by the window. Not the other room. Not on the screen. The screen was off. I could see my face a little in it, dark.
My name is Danny. I was eight. That evening, the truck book fell.
It was not a big thing. I had driven too close to the shelf trying to show I could turn around by myself. My joystick hand was good. I did the turn. But my elbow hit the shelf and the truck book slid off the top and landed under my bed, back near the wall where I couldn't reach it.
I stared at it. I felt hot in my face. I could have left it there. Nobody would have said anything.
She saw it. She didn't move. He saw it. He didn't move either. His hand was on his knee, not near his chin. His watch ticked. I heard it because the room was that quiet.
I breathed in. My bear's ear was flat from where I'd been holding it. I fixed it.
"Can you get that?" I said. My voice sounded small, so I cleared my throat. "The truck book. Under the bed."
She looked at me. "Do you want my help?" she asked.
That was what she said that first morning. Do you want my help? I remembered the monitor light and her kneeling down and me thinking she would just grab my chair like everyone does.
"Yes," I said. "But don't move my chair."
"I won't," she said.
She got up on her knees. She didn't touch my wheel. She lay down flat to see under the bed. Her ponytail dragged on the rug. Her gold necklace swung forward.
"It's way back," she said. "Can I reach in for it?"
I nodded. Then I remembered to use words because Dad said words help people know. "Yes. You can get it."
She reached in. Her shirt pulled a little. She grabbed it and slid it out. She didn't hand it to my lap right away. She held it out to the side.
"Where do you want it?" she asked.
"On the bed," I said. "Near the pillow."
She put it there. Exactly there. Not on my lap like I was a baby. I drove forward just a little with my joystick to show I was still in control. The chair beeped soft. Nobody grabbed it.
"Thanks," I said.
"You're welcome," she said.
Dad let out a breath. He rubbed his hands together. He looked at me.
"Can I sit on the floor too?" he asked. "Closer?"
I thought about it. Usually he watched from far away. Now he was asking. That was different.
"Okay," I said. "But leave room for my turn."
He smiled a little. He got out of the window chair and sat on the rug. His knees cracked. He left a big space in front of me. I checked it with my eyes. Enough to turn.
She sat back down by the shelf. She folded her hands. She wasn't staring. She was just there.
"What page were you on?" Dad asked.
I picked up the control and drove a half-circle to face the bed so I could see the book. I did it slow so I wouldn't hit anything. The headrest pressed behind my head.
"Thirty-one," I said. "The dump truck."
"Can I look with you?" he asked. "If you say it's okay."
I held my bear tighter for a second. Then I nodded. "You can look. Don't turn the pages."
"I won't," he said. "You drive the pages."
I almost laughed at that because books don't drive. But I knew what he meant.
She stood up and got the book from the bed and put it on my lap tray, straight, not crooked. "Is this good?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
I opened it with one hand. My bear tucked under my arm so he wouldn't fall. Page thirty-one. The big yellow truck.
We looked at it. Nobody talked for a while. The curtains moved a little. The room got a little grayer, but not dark. The screen stayed off.
After a minute, my arm got tired from holding the book open. That happens sometimes and I hate it. I didn't want to stop.
I looked at her. "Can you hold it open?" I asked. "Just hold it. I’ll tell you when to turn."
She came and kneeled beside my chair. Not behind it. Beside it. She held the bottom of the book with two fingers, light.
"Like this?" she asked.
"A little higher," I said.
She moved it up. "Good?"
"Good."
Dad didn't reach in. He just looked at the picture from where he sat. His hands stayed on his knees.
We stayed like that until the light went thin across the rug. I turned the page when I wanted to. I said, "Turn," and she helped turn. I kept my hand on my joystick the whole time, even though I wasn't driving. It felt right there.
When I was done, I closed the book. "Put it back on the shelf," I said. "Low shelf. So I can get it myself next time."
May you like
She put it on the low shelf. Dad nodded at me.
I parked my chair by the bed for night. By myself. The wheels locked with a click I made happen. My bear was still with me. Everything was where I put it.
