Chapter 2 - Joystick Rules
She didn't move. That was the first thing I noticed.
Most grown-ups say they'll wait and then they don't. They reach. Their hands go straight for my armrests or my headrest like my chair is a shopping cart they get to push. But she just stayed kneeled down on the rug next to me, her hands flat on her own knees. I could see her gold necklace move a little when she breathed.
The white curtains moved behind her. Light came through soft and made the edge of my blanket look too bright. My teddy was in my lap and I squeezed his ear without thinking about it. My chair hummed real quiet under me. It always did that when it was on.
"Okay," I said. I didn't mean it like yes. I meant it like I'm watching.
She nodded once. "Okay."
My thumb found my joystick. I've had this chair long enough that I don't have to look. I pushed it back just a little, just enough to roll me maybe six inches away from her. The motors made that low sound. The wheels turned slow on the carpet. She leaned back on her heels so my footrests wouldn't touch her.
She didn't put her hand out. She didn't even lift her fingers.
I stopped. The quiet felt bigger after the motor cut off.
"You didn't grab," I said.
"I said I wouldn't treat you like a baby," she said. "Babies get moved. Eight-year-olds drive."
My chest did something tight. I didn't like how much I wanted to believe her. I looked down at my joystick, the black ball under my thumb. Dad always called it my steering wheel. I pushed it forward again, then turned a little left so I was pointed more toward my dresser. The headrest pressed behind my head when I moved.
On top of my dresser was my water cup with the blue lid. The nurse usually handed it to me. Mom used to just hand it to me too, fast, before I asked. I stared at it.
"I can get it," I said.
She looked where I was looking. "I know."
She didn't stand up. That was good, because when people stand up they get tall and then they do things. She just turned her head to look at the dresser too, then looked back at me.
I drove forward. Carpet makes it slower. I had to push the joystick all the way and keep it steady. The chair went straight, then I had to make the little turn to get lined up. My left wheel bumped the corner of my rug and I had to back up an inch. My hands were sweating a little on teddy. I tucked him tighter between my legs so he wouldn't fall.
I kept watching her hands out of the corner of my eye. She had them still on her knees. Her nails were short. No rings, just that watch? No, that was him. She just had that little necklace and the earrings. Her hands didn't twitch.
I got up next to the dresser. The cup was on the right side, too far if I just reached straight. I stopped the chair and locked it with the button. Click. Then I leaned.
It hurt a little to stretch that way. I had to let go of teddy with one hand to reach. He slid, and I grabbed him fast with my elbow before he fell. My heart beat hard. I got my fingers around the cup and pulled it toward me slow, so it wouldn't tip. Water sloshed inside.
"I did it," I said, quiet.
"You did," she said. Not loud. Not clapping. Just like it was normal.
I drank. The straw was bent and cold. I put the cup back, but I put it closer to the edge this time, where I could get it easier next time. Then I unlocked my chair. Click.
She was still kneeling by the bed where I'd left her. She hadn't followed me. The sun from the window made her blue shirt look lighter on one shoulder.
"You can come closer," I said, "but don't push."
"I won't push," she said. "That's your job."
I drove back toward her, but not all the way. I left space. I liked the space. I put teddy back up in my lap right, both arms around him.
She smiled, just a little, and looked at my hands on him. "He gets to ride shotgun?"
I nodded. "He doesn't like the floor."
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"Got it," she said. "He stays off the floor."
We just sat there for a minute. The curtains moved. Somewhere down the hall something beeped, real faint. I wondered if the screen was still on, if he was still watching from that other room. I didn't look at it. I looked at her hands again. Still there. Still not on my chair.
