Page 63 of How to Walk Away

“False. That’s Mom talking.”

I squinted at her like she was nuts. “Mom doesn’t talk about singing.”

“That’s right. Or encourage it or value it. Or recognize your talent.”

“I am not a talented singer. I’m just a normal person.”

Kit nodded, and added, “With perfect pitch.”

“I don’t have perfect pitch.”

“You can harmonize toanything. Anything at all! Do you think everybody can do that?”

I shrugged.

“No.Nobodycan do that.”

“Big deal.”

“It is a big deal. You never should have left it behind. Now, are you going to start singing, or should I?”

But she didn’t even wait for an answer. She just moved fast, so I couldn’t shut her down, and then when she finally ran out of ammunition, without even pausing, she tapped her phone, where she had “Let It Be” already cued up, and hitPLAY.

She knew I couldn’t resist that song.

She started singing along while I watched her, with my mouth clamped closed and my arms crossed over my chest. Then she started deliberately getting the words wrong, singing things like “And when the broke and hardened people…”

“Broken-hearted people!” I couldn’t help but correct.

She went on, “For though they may be partying—”

“Parted!” I shouted. “They’re notpartying. This isnota song about partying.”

But she was having fun now. She mutilated the whole rest of the song, changing “whisper” to “whistle,” “cloudy” to “crowded,” and “light” to “blight,” while I shouted out protest after protest. Finally, we neared the end.

“You know I’ve got it on repeat, right?”

And so, when it started up again, those deep and soulful piano chords we remembered from my dad’s old records, I leaned my head back against the pillow, fixed my gaze on the ceiling, and let myself give in. Idid love that song. It was the comfort food of Beatles tunes. Would it really kill me, I decided, to take a little bite?

“Fine,” I said, “but sing it right this time.”

“You’re the boss.”

So we did.

And, yes, I harmonized a little bit.

Did it make me happy? It didn’t make me miserable, I’ll give it that.

When the song ended, we sang it again.

Fifteen

AFTER THAT, WEfell into a schedule.

My official first order of business every morning was to try to wiggle my toes—which I never could. After that, it was: sponge bath, bandage changing, Silvadene application, and OT with Priya, who was very pleased with my progress in the areas of chair transfer, tooth-brushing, toileting, putting on sneakers and tying them, putting on and taking off socks, and wriggling into yoga pants. I was progressing well in the wheelchair obstacle course next door to the therapy gym. I could navigate both tight turns and cobblestones without tipping, and Priya was starting to eyeball the final frontier—curbs and steps. Next, she wanted to take me to the OT kitchen so we could bake a batch of cookies for practice.

Also, she insisted that I take up knitting.

---