Chapter 7 - The Quiet I Kept to See If She Would Fill It
The morning stayed bright behind the white curtains. Light moved slow across the floor and up the side of my chair. My joystick was right where my hand liked it. Bear was tucked under my left arm where I could feel his ear against my wrist.
She sat on the edge of the little chair by my bed. Not too close. Her blue shirt had a wrinkle at the sleeve from where she had leaned on the bed rail earlier. Her ponytail was a little loose. She did not fix it.
I decided not to talk.
It was not because I was mad. Yesterday had been okay. She had let me do the ramp by myself and she had not grabbed my chair. I just wanted to see what she would do with quiet. Other grown-ups never let it sit. They filled it fast with questions or baby voices or that laugh that meant they were nervous.
I looked past her toward the window. I held Bear tighter so his fur pressed into my palm. I could hear the house hum. The air vent clicked. Somewhere down the hall a door shut soft.
She did not say my name in that sing-song way. She did not ask if I was okay. She just breathed. I could see her hands resting on her beige pants. Her gold necklace caught a little light when she shifted. Then she stopped shifting.
I counted in my head to see how long it would go. I got to twenty and then I lost count because I started listening to the curtain move. It made a thin sound when the air hit it.
Still she did not talk. That felt strange in my chest. Most people looked at Dad's friend or at Mom when I went quiet, like I was a problem to solve. She kept her eyes on me, but not hard. Just there.
I moved my thumb a little on the joystick without turning the chair on. Just a tap. The click was loud in the quiet. I waited to see if she would tell me to be careful.
She did not.
I squeezed Bear and looked down at his brown fur. One of his ears was flatter than the other from how I held him at night. I thought about telling her that, then I stopped myself. That was the test. If she asked me what I was thinking, I would stay quiet longer. If she tried to guess for me, I would stop talking for the rest of the morning.
She picked at a thread on her pants, then put her hand back flat. She glanced at the window for a second, then back at me. Her mouth moved like she was about to say something, then she did not. She nodded once, real small, like she was okay with waiting.
I had never seen a grown-up do that. Mrs. Landry at school always said, come on honey, you can tell me. The nurse at the clinic always said, we do not have all day, sweetie. Dad always looked at the floor and then tried a joke. She just sat there.
My arm started to get tired from holding Bear up high, so I lowered him to my lap. His head tipped against the armrest. I fixed him so he would not fall. I felt her watch my hands, but she did not reach to help.
The light got a little warmer on my pajama sleeve. The white trim at my cuff was bright. I rubbed Bear's ear between my fingers. I could feel my heart beat a little faster because I knew I was about to decide something.
I looked off toward the corner by the dresser. I did not look at her. I let the quiet go a little longer on purpose. It did not feel bad now. It felt like when you hold your breath under the blanket and you know you can breathe whenever you want.
Then I said it before I could think too much.
"Bear sleeps on the left."
My voice sounded scratchy from not talking. I kept my eyes on Bear. I did not explain why I said it. I just left it there.
She did not make a big deal. She did not smile too wide or say good job. She just nodded again and said, "Okay."
That was all. Okay.
I felt my shoulders drop a little. I had not known they were up. I moved my chair back two inches with the joystick, just because I could. The motor made its low sound and then stopped. The headrest pressed steady behind my head.
She stood up slow and moved the little chair back against the wall so I had more room. She did not ask if that was what I wanted. She just did it and sat down on the edge of my bed instead, farther away.
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I looked at her then, quick. Her eyes were calm. She was still waiting, but not pushing. I held Bear up a half inch so his left ear showed.
She saw it. She did not need me to say more.
