CHAPTER 13
Cher Papa,
J’ai récemment souffert de paralysie. Je n’ai pas été vacciné contre la poliomyélite. Je réfléchis à ma nouvelle condition.
Cordialement,
Alex Trebek
Puddles of the rain sparkle on the archery field in the morning. It’s already hot, and the fact that I have my bathing suit on under my clothes isn’t helping. I wipe beads of sweat from my forehead and wave a mosquito off of my skin.
Hayes hands me a plastic bow and arrow set, and I run my hand over the suction cup end. I don’t know if Grover will come to archery today, and I haven’t decided if I care.
“You’re here early,” Hayes says.
“I skipped breakfast.”
“That’s not good, Durga,” he says. “If you want to feed your mind, you need to feed your body. Warriors need energy.”
“Why do you think I’m a warrior?” I say. I leave out the part in my head that screams that I don’t feel like a warrior.
Hayes smiles a slow grin. “We’re all warriors in our own internal battles. Durga exists in you here.” Hayes points at my heart. “But you need food.”
He proceeds to tell me about Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, which he learned about while getting his childhood development degree. How, if we don’t have food and water, we can’t feel safe, and if we can’t feel safe then we can’t feel loved, and if we can’t feel loved then we can’t have self-esteem, and if we can’t feel self-esteem then we can never have full self-actualization.
“All of that stuff starts with food and water?” I ask.
“That’s why everyone needs a healthy breakfast, Durga.” Hayes pulls a granola bar out of his pocket. “Eat this.”
So I do because if Hayes stops calling me Durga, I’ll be upset and—realizing that I’ll be upset—feeling that I’ll be upset doesn’t bother me so much anymore. If Maslow is right, I’m working my way up the hierarchy, and I don’t want to come tumbling down now.
As I eat, someone comes up behind me, and when I turn around, I come face to face with Grover. I practically choke. Maybe I will come tumbling down.
“You weren’t at breakfast. Big party last night?” he asks. Grover smiles the type of grin I can’t read. Not that I can usually tell what’s going to come out of his mouth. Whenever I think I know, I’m reminded I have no idea.
I hold up the granola bar. “Did you know that food is the doorway to self-actualization?”
“And all this time I thought I was eating because of my heightened mental and emotional state.”
I don’t laugh even though the inside of me wants to. It wants to feel better, which is something so new and different I’m not sure what to do. I press the feeling down with a breath and look at the ground.
“How’s your foot?” he asks.
I consciously even out my weight. The pressure pinches my ankle just a little, but soaking it in the cold water last night seems to have helped.
“I’ll survive.”
“Yes, you will.” Grover steps close to me, drawing my attention back up. Part of me wants to punch him in his cute nose and part of me wants to touch his lips so I can feel his smile. Either way, I don’t like it. “I brought you something,” he says, digging in his pocket.
“You didn’t need to . . .” I take a step back from Grover but he grabs me. I cross my arms over my chest as he holds up a bottle.
“Antiseptic. For your knee.” He digs deeper. “Neosporin and a Band-Aid. I want you to remember me for the rest of your life but not because I gave you a scar.”
“Thanks.” I hold out my hand.
“Let me.” He kneels down in front of me and touches the tip of his finger to the scab forming on my knee. “It doesn’t look too bad.”
“Don’t.” I pull away from his touch.
Grover looks up at me with his big eyes. For the first time, he doesn’t look like the confident Grover I’ve seen every day. He looks like a little boy with problems. Real problems, the kind you don’t want any kid to have. I know the look well.
“Fine.” I step forward slowly.
“I’m sorry about yesterday.” He sprays the antiseptic on my skin. It burns and I grit my teeth. Grover lightly blows on my scrape, his breath making the pain go away. He dabs the Neosporin on my skin. I bite my lower lip, tears welling in my eyes. It’s like everything inside of me hurts and feels euphoric at the same time. And I don’t know how to control it. I don’t know how to feel like this. It was easy with Coop because he made me feel nothing. I’m a rag doll with him. But with Grover, it’s as if every one of my senses lights up. Like I’m on fire and covered in water and floating in the air all at the same time.
“Almost done,” he says as he unwraps the Band-Aid. “To protect it, so it doesn’t break open.”
Break open.
That’s how this feels.
When I can’t take it anymore, I pull back. “Grover, you don’t need to save me.”
He stands up, putting the first aid stuff back in his pocket. “I want to.”
“But you didn’t need to,” I say. I’m my own warrior. I don’t need someone else fighting my battles.
“Okay,” he says.
“You have . . .” I point at his knees. They’re covered in dirt from kneeling on the ground. Without any more words, I bend down in front of Grover, my hand shaking as I reach for him. But I take a deep breath and know what I have to do. I touch him. My skin connects with Grover’s skin, and I brush the dirt off of his knee. It’s simple and yet not. It’s everything.
“Maybe I’m the one who needs saving,” he says. When I stand up, he’s smiling, the confidence back in his eyes.
“I know you were there last night,” I say. “You’re there every night, aren’t you?”
He nods. “Just in case.”
“In case of what?”
“In case she ever decides to jump in,” Grover says.
The air in my lungs falls to the ground in a cascade of reality, and I feel like I’m breaking all over again. Grover watches Cassie so he can save her.
“Grover, I didn’t see you get here.” Hayes comes up next to us.
I take a step back, my cheeks on fire, and hand Hayes my granola bar wrapper. “Thanks for the food.”
“You’re on your way to self-actualization, Durga.”
“Something like that,” I say.