Page 110 of Death of the Author

Zelu laughed.

“And my name is Lesego,” the woman she didn’t know said. “I’m a sangoma. I’m from Durban and I live here in Chicago. I will officiate, if you want to do this.”

And now the moment came when they all were looking at her, including Msizi, who was holding her hands. Zelu glanced beyond him, out at the lake.Shit, she thought. Apparently, she would be doing this thing after all.

And that’s how she found herself at the back of the Adler Planetarium, facing Lake Michigan, getting married. Msizi had arranged for access tothis place. iNdonsa had made a dress for Zelu that was cyan, matching her exos. It fit her perfectly. Jackie sang songs in a language she didn’t understand, but they brought tears to Msizi’s eyes. It was warm and sunny and windy in the windy city. It was an event Zelu would remember forever, but not because it was a big, expensive affair that lasted all day. It actually took only a half hour for the ceremony and some photos, then they spent an hour giddily looking around the planetarium (not her first time there at all), and that was that. She’d remember it because, for the first time in her life, she’d done something she didn’t want to do because she loved the person who wanted to do it and it felt 100 percent right. Even when he’d sprung it on her, she hadn’t gotten angry or offended. She hadn’t felt out of control. She’d felt loved, respected, and understood. It was possible.

They later had a lawyer write the prenup that would keep their assets forever separate, went to the courthouse, had it done legally, and that was it. They both vowed to never call each other “husband” or “wife.” They werepartners. It felt good. And even as she worked through the trauma of what had happened in Nigeria, Zelu began to feel like she was coming together.

The video of her time on the run was so prevalent that the memes, spinoffs, constant references, and shoutouts were everywhere from popular TV shows to comedy skits to even a joke made by the president of the United States. Her ordeal had made her a hero, and Hugo’s exos were now in incredible demand from people with and without disabilities. Investors were showering the company with money.

Msizi worked from his laptop in their bedroom, flew around the world for business meetings when he needed to, explored and learned Chicago, and reveled in the company of the woman he adored.

Her book was still loved. The film was still popular. Zelu’s name continued to climb higher and higher in the public consciousness.

But sometimes Zelu still saw the masquerade, standing in the dark of the trees at night on the sides of highways. She had a recurring nightmare of being back in Nigeria, on the road, running and running and running, nothing but the sound of her exos on asphalt. She’d wake from this nightmare,sure that men with guns were still chasing her, trying to take her away. The sound of her exos on sidewalks or driveways triggered flashbacks. The fact that everyone close to her had warned her, that she’d gone despite those warnings and nearly paid for her audacity with her life, kept pushing her down. She didn’t know if she’d ever do anything bold or spontaneous again.

She’d been so glaringly wrong about her trip to Nigeria, and none of the good things in her life could quell this realization.

43

Nicole Simmons

Zelu couldn’t stop thinking about how people had treated her in Nigeria when she’d arrived at that hospital. They were so careful and caring... and condescending. There was a nurse who’d acted like Zelu was the most fragile, sad thing on earth. She’d just run over thirty miles, after fleeing armed and shooting kidnappers, and all this woman seemed to see was that Zelu was a “paraplegic female,” which meant she was helpless. Everyone in that hospital had looked at her with pity. It didn’t matter how rich and famous she was.

Now, in Chicago, she was in the autonomous vehicle one day when she looked left and saw a large converted warehouse building.No, she thought, staring at it.That would becrazy. And there are probably crazy people in there... behaving crazily. Nonetheless, as she drove home, the place continued to nag at her.Me, at a shooting range?she wondered and wondered. Msizi? Definitely not. Her siblings? Maybe her brother. She chuckled. But, even if Tolu went with her, she couldn’t imagine herself picking up and firing a weapon. “Nah,” she said to herself.

That night, she lay in bed looking at the ceiling. Msizi was in the otherroom working, the faint sound of his fingers flying across the keyboard soothing her. It was late, but she couldn’t sleep. Every time she shut her eyes, even before she fell into sleep, she saw the Nigerian road, where she was running and running. And she remembered the smell of gunpowder from when the men had started shooting. And that man’s face, the one who’d been sweating so much that he glistened in the dim lights of the cars as he pointed his gun.

She rolled onto her side and pressed her face into the pillow, squeezing her eyes shut. This didn’t help at all. She considered bothering Msizi. She thought of the gun range again. And just like that, her fevered flashbacks subsided. She grabbed her phone from the nightstand beside her and asked Yebo to find the place. She smiled. It was black-owned, and that owner was a woman named Mona. And Mona gave private lessons to women who wanted to learn (men had their pick of three other teachers, as did women). Zelu signed up for a lesson as “Nicole Simmons.” Then she put her phone on the nightstand and finally fell into a deep, quiet sleep.

It was snowing, a good sign that not many people would be out today. The drive was slow and jerky, her vehicle moving with caution as it tried not to slip on the road. It would normally have been about a ten-minute drive, but today it was a half hour long. And on the way, they passed five fender benders. It wasn’t a day to be outside, but nothing was going to keep Zelu from doing what she was about to do.

Mona was waiting for her at the front door when she arrived.

“Wow, seven thirty a.m., sharp,” the woman said, whistling. “Even in this weather.”

“Yep,” Zelu said, her exos stamping off the snow before entering. Mona stood back and watched her do this, and Zelu knew what she was about to ask.

“No,” Zelu said as she shrugged off her coat.

“No, what?” Mona asked.

“It’s not exactly easy; I’m just used to them.”

Mona’s eyebrows lifted. “I wasn’t going to ask that.”

Zelu frowned.

“I’m kidding,” Mona said. “Yes, I was.” Then she burst out laughing. “I just can’t understand how all that works.” She reached forward and took Zelu’s heavy coat. The snow was already melting off it.

“Youdon’t have to understand.Ido,” Zelu said. “That’s what matters.”

“Fair enough,” Mona said. “This way, then.”

She led Zelu through the empty gun shop.

“Are you here alone?” Zelu asked.

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