Page 50 of Death of the Author
“Do you want me to leave?”
“Yes.”
And thensheleft, ending the conversation abruptly. She did this often, ended conversations before they were done. Maybe she wanted to give me time to think. Maybeshewanted to take time to think. I always felt glad when she left. But she always came back. And I would feel glad, then, too.
I went home to Ngozi.
22
Time
Zelu didn’t call her mother or father for weeks while at MIT. Instead, every day she met with Hugo, Uchenna, and Marcy. She learned how to put her exos on while in her wheelchair. Then she learned how to stand up from the chair on her own. When they weren’t working with the exos, she was working out. Hugo didn’t stick around for this part, since he had other meetings to attend and research to do. Uchenna had classes to teach. Marcy was the one who stayed while Zelu strengthened her abdominal muscles, back, chest, and arms. She’d never felt so sore in her life.
“You’re already in decent shape, so a lot of the soreness is from new muscle use,” Marcy said. “Drink your water, soak in your bath, and keep at it. Soon, it’ll fade away and you’ll realize you’re stronger and better with the exos.”
Zelu couldn’t wait for that part to kick in. She was in such pain now that even wheeling her chair was a struggle. After a particularly rough session, she wheeled back to her hotel room and grabbed a bag of sweet potato chips and a Gatorade from the basket of snacks Hugo had sent.
Her Yebo app was blinking with a reminder. A few weeks ago, her agenthad corralled her into agreeing to take an interview withRolling Stonemagazine. Right on time, her phone started ringing.
The reporter took too long introducing himself, and the questions were unimaginative. Zelu lay on her bed and stared at the ceiling as she parroted her prepared answers, the same ones she’d given to dozens of reporters before him.
Then he said, “So what is it you’re up to at MIT? Research for book two?”
She’d only laughed. “You know I’m not going to answer that.”
“But youareat MIT, right?” he asked. “You’re not slated for a speaking gig there. So... what are you doing? People just want to know what’s up.”
She skirted the subject by changing the topic and ended up saying too much about her family. He got his unique quote in the end. The journalist was good.
She slipped under her covers, only planning to lie down for a few minutes before she pulled herself back up to take a shower and brush her teeth. She was asleep within seconds.
Zelu had been having strange dreams where far more than her legs was robotic. And in these dreams, she wasn’t solar-powered like the robots in her book. Her battery always died. Always. And there she would remain, frozen in place in some deserted parking lot, not unlike the setting at the beginning of her novel, with no possibility of anyone finding her.
MIT had provided Zelu with a therapist during her time there, and Zelu had spilled all this to him. The therapist hmmed and aahed and gave her some feedback about facing her insecurities. Afterward, Zelu felt better, but when she went back to her hotel room that night, the nightmare returned. She awoke feeling uneasy. No therapist she’d just met was going to solve her issues. The one she’d had back home for the last three years had helped her, but she still had a long way to go.
Zelu remained in Cambridge for one month. When the time finally came to go home, she could walk pretty well with her exos, though it lefther tired after about a half hour. At least she wasn’t falling. She said a heartfelt good-bye to Hugo, Marcy, and Uchenna that left her in tears. When she got back to her hotel room, she packed her things and then looked at her phone. She hadn’t spoken to her family since the day she left home. This was the longest she’d ever gone without speaking to them. She’d be back in her parents’ house soon, so she decided to bite the bullet and call their landline number. Her mother answered.
“Zelu!”
“Hi, Mom,” Zelu said awkwardly.
There was a pause and the sound of shuffling.
“Zelunjo!” her father said. “How are you? Are you all right?”
Zelu smiled. “Yes, Dad, I really am.”
“Why haven’t you been calling?”
Zelu rolled her eyes. Just like her family to forget how this even started. “Because all everyone does is yell at me.”
She heard her mother, who must have been pressing her ear close to the phone beside her father, say, “Because you’re acting like a crazy person! You—”
“Don’t mind your mother right now,” her father said. “We are glad to hear from you.”
“And we know how you are doing!” her mother shouted. “Your teacher Dr. Wagner has been keeping us updated! You think you can just—”
“What?!” Zelu screamed. Hugo had been talking to her parents all this time? Who did he think he was? Who did he thinkshewas? An eight-year-old?
