Page 47 of Death of the Author

By the time Hugo dropped her off at the hotel’s entrance, she was exhausted, having spent all she had to give.

“You all right?” he asked just before she wheeled to her room.

She looked up at him and told the truth. “I don’t know.”

He nodded with respect. “Better answer than ‘I’m fine.’ Always be honest with me. Because this is going to be weird. No one is going to be able to understand it when you tell them about it.”

Well, I don’t have anyone to tell about it, so that’s not a problem, she thought. “It’s scary.”

“It is.” He grinned knowingly. “See you tomorrow, though?”

“Yeah.”

He held out a fist and she gave it a pound. “See ya, Zelu.”

She watched him walk away, his hands casually in his pockets. A man with no lower legs. Hugo was pretty amazing.

She wheeled to her room, showered, brushed her teeth, and got into bed. She pulled the covers over her head and waited. She held very still, trying to indulge in that comforting blend of warmth and silence she loved so much. It was something she’d learned while in the hospital so many years ago, how to really be within herself.

Stillness. She calmed and rejoined and solidified. She exhaled. She laughed, hugging herself. “Wow,” she whispered. Today had been ahellof a day. But the main thing was, she had her answer. She had her path. And that night she barely slept, because she could notwaitto get back into her exos.

20

Interview

Hugo

There was a conversation I had with Zelu one night, back when she was learning to use her exos. It gave me a glimpse into what made her tick. We’d finished a long day of training. It was just me, because Marcy needed the day off and Uchenna had to run home for something. We went late that night, to nearly 8 p.m., because Zelu wanted to beat her ten-minute record of standing unassisted.

When we were done, neither of us had anywhere to be that evening, so we went to the balcony to gaze at the stars. It was a cool, clear night, and we both put on jackets. I pushed Zelu in her wheelchair toward the railing and then sat beside her at the patio table. She pulled a small joint out of her jacket’s pocket. “I’m always prepared,” she said, then produced a lighter from inside her jacket, too. “Join me?”

“Sure,” I said. My wife is more of a pothead than I am, but sometimes, during quiet times like this, I will indulge. Zelu lit up, took a puff, and handed the blunt to me.

I inhaled, held it, and waited. The high rolled over me like a soft wave of sparkles. “Smooth,” I said, exhaling the smoke. I took another puff.

She held her hand out to take the joint back from me. “Today was tough,” she said.

“You did good, though.”

She slowly exhaled smoke through her nose. “I can do better.”

“And you will.”

We sat there quietly for a while, passing the joint between us. The stars looked brighter now. The cold air felt amazing. I leaned back farther in my chair so I could look down at myself, my prosthetics, my own creations. I chuckled. “I am awesome.”

“Yep,” Zelu said. She cocked her head toward me. “So how did... how did it happen to you?”

“How did what?” I asked.

“It.”

I frowned. It wasn’t that I hate the question. It’s a crazy story, and I never get tired of telling the tale. It was just that at this moment, I was feeling so open. I was tired from a long but good day, proud that the technology I’d invented was working; it was a beautiful night; and I was high.

“You don’t know?” I asked her. “You never read up on me?”

“Of course I did, Hugo,” she said. “But I’ve never heard the story fromyou.”

Her question traveled deep into my mind, and the answer that bubbled up was super vivid, way more detailed than the version I’ve become so practiced at delivering to investors, students, and those who use the exos. I told her about that day in Colorado when I was eighteen. High up in the Rockies. When I’d jumped off a cliff in a beautiful yellow hang glider on a beautiful yellow day after hiking up there solo. How I was confident, how I moved with the ease of the athlete I was, with a stomach that was mostly empty because that’s when I felt the greatest. In the open sky, I saw a large owl flying beside me, and it stared right at me with aglowing yellow eye as I passed it. I thought nothing of it then. If I’d been with my climbing buddy Pat, he’d have called it a bad omen. He was superstitious like that and thought the sighting of an owl meant something was about to die.

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