Page 47 of How to Walk Away

She leaned a little forward. “That’s great news?”

“Help me out of bed.”

“Didn’t you just go right before bed?”

I snapped my fingers at her, like,Let’s go. “That was pee.”

She got up and shuffled over.

“You know what this means, don’t you?” I said, as we worked me across the board into the chair.

Kit only had one eye open. “What does this mean?”

“It means I can pee and poo on my own.”

“Does it mean you’re getting better?” she asked.

“Well, I’m not getting worse.”

“Can I Instagramthis?” she asked, as we positioned me onto the toilet.

“Say the word ‘Instagram’ one more time, and you’re on the first flight back to Brooklyn.”

“Noted,” she said.

She waited outside the door for me a long while, Googling random trivia on her phone to pass the time. “Did you know that Ben Franklin invented the catheter in 1752 when his brother John suffered from bladder stones?”

“I can’t say that I did.”

“Did you know you can use urine to make gunpowder?”

“That might come in handy.”

“Did you know that seventy-three percent of people with spinal cord injuries never void normally again?”

“Don’t tell me that! That’s depressing.”

“Not for you.”

“Where are you finding all this?”

“PeeTrivia.com.”

I took my time. Kit hinted several times that she was ready to go back to bed, but I was not rushing this miracle for anything.

Eleven

AT LUNCH THEnext day, we did not linger more than sixty seconds on the triumph of my newly returned toileting skills before my mother declared the topic “unappetizing” and got back to worrying about my relationship with Chip.

“Has he been to visit you?” she wanted to know.

My BLT suddenly lost its flavor. “Can we not talk about this?”

“I did some reading on the computer—” she said next.

I glanced at my dad. “Here we go,” he said.

She continued, “—and I think maybe he’s afraid of you.”

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