Page 15 of Property of Max
“Bring pizza.”
The therapist bursts out laughing, shaking his head. “I know your sister blends food smooth enough to fit through your tube. Has she been depriving you of pizza?”
I roll my eyes and step closer, watching as Micah’s eyes dart over the grid. Squares blink in rapid succession, words forming almost faster than I can follow.
“Not enough. I need that cheesy goodness every day.”
The therapist chuckles, but I’m somewhere else…back in the beginning, when Micah first got his eye-tracking machine. Back when it took him minutes to peck out a single word, frustration tightening his face until I thought he’d shatter.
But now… now he flies through sentences, whole conversations spilling out in a voice that is his again. He’s even saved paragraphs, jokes, and stories he can pull up with a blink.
I love that. I love that I can talk to my brother again. Reallytalkto him.
Because of this screen, this technology, he has his voice back.
And now?
Now, he’s unstoppable.
“Sissy.”
I glance down at my brother, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks, his eyes fixed on the screen. “Yeah?”
…
“Bree’s game?”
“Right,” I laugh, though the sound comes out more like a sigh. “We’ve got to get moving. She’s already at the field practicing. You’d never forgive me if I made you late.”
His eyes flick upward…his version of you know it…and my chest aches with love.
We say our goodbyes to the therapist and the eager student, then I move quickly through the routine I could do half-asleep by now. Hook up the feeding pump. Check the lines. Administer the meds. Make sure nothing’s tangled.
By the time I’ve wrestled his chair into the van and climbed behind the wheel, my arms feel like lead. My head throbs. All I want is a long nap, ten hours of dreamless dark.
But in the rearview mirror, I catch Micah’s eyes shining with anticipation. Bree’s game. That’s what matters to him right now. That’s what has his eyes so alive.
So, I turn the key, swallow my weariness, and drive.
***
“Mama, we totally kicked butt.”
Bree barrels into my arms, dusty and flushed, her ponytail coming loose as I scoop her up. She smells like sunshine, grass, and sweat, and I press my face into her hair anyway, breathing her in.
“Yes, youtotallydid,” I laugh, squeezing her tight. “You were amazing out there. How about we celebrate? What do you want to do?”
“Go to the movies!” she cheers as I set her back on her feet. She spins toward Micah, eyes sparkling. “Uncle Micah, want to see that new shark movie?”
His screen lights up with deliberate blinks.
“Yes.”
“Of course you do,” I murmur, smiling as I help Bree into her seat and buckle her in. She’s still talking a mile a minute, reliving every play, every cheer, every laugh with her teammates. I secure Micah and his chair, the movements biting into my already aching shoulders as I lean and tug the straps tight.
For the next ten minutes, the two of them chatter about how awesome her team was, their words and voices bubbling with joy and excitement, filling the van with warmth.
I grip the wheel, my eyelids heavy, my bones begging for rest. The thought of a dark, quiet theater almost feels like a blessing.
