Most of all, Leon knows that he's my big brother and that he has to take care of me. When he finished college and was ready to move out, our parents told him that he had to take care of me now. Leon didn't ask to, and they didn't ask if he wanted to. They just pulled him aside, talked to him for a long time, and told him, “You take care of your sister now.” When Leon moved to this small rental house in Tanager, I went with him. Since then, he's been taking care of me even though he knows that I can hold my own just fine.
Leon knows me more than most brothers know about their sisters. He helps me dress and bathe because I can't reach my arms far enough to do it all on my own, and because my muscles seize and my body spasms and I can't stand up for a shower. All my life, Leon's been right there while my mother ran the warm soapy water over my back and down my neck and shoulders. He watched as she washed my hair and scrubbed my feet, under my arms, and the back of my legs. When we got older, she started sending him out of the room because “Vera needs her privacy right now.” She'd hand me the sponge and say, “You need to wash your under-theres on your own.” Then she'd leave the room. I knew that my “under-theres” meant private parts.
When I was ten and Leon was thirteen, he started combing my hair instead of my mother doing it. Back then, I had long hair that went all the way down my back. But after a while, I felt too bad that Leon had to comb out all that hair, which could get very tangled when it wanted to. When I was fourteen, I asked for a short cut, and I've worn it ever since.
Going to the bathroom is the worst, because of the nasty looks we get. He stands outside the bathroom door to wait for me, but then he has to go in to carry me back to my chair after I'm done. Security cops have gone up to Leon before and asked him why he's going with me to the ladies' bathroom. They see me in my chair, they see that my arms seize and my head lolls to the side, and yet they still have to ask! Because I can't go by myself, that's why! Do you want to know what I do in there, too?! Instead of yelling that out, I just show them my medical bracelet, and Leon shows them his own bracelet that says he is my brother and legal caregiver. They let us go, but it doesn't stop the looks. I wondered if I should just start wearing diapers to spare us both the humiliation.
“You don't think shitting in a diaper will be even more humiliating?” Leon asked me. “And I bet you think I'd just love to change a grown woman's diaper.”
“Okay, okay,” I said, “I see your point.” We both laughed, because if you don't laugh, you cry.
There's still so much about me that Leon doesn't know. He doesn't know how bad I feel for him—not for me, but for him—because he didn't get to choose whether or not he wanted to take care of me. I wonder if he wanted to get married or have children, and if my parents did give him the choice, would he have said no? I've never asked him because I'm scared of the answer. If I had the choice, I wouldn't want to take a grown woman to the bathroom, or button her jeans, or drop everything and run to her when she has a seizure. Leon doesn't know that I cry because I wish he had a different sister.
Out in the world, people look at us with sad eyes. Oh, you poor crippled girl, their eyes say, and you poor man, taking care of her for the rest of your life! When they don't say that, they say that Leon must be a creep for being so close to a crippled woman that they have no idea is his sister. Somehow, in their messed-up heads, he's the creep for doing what he's supposed to do, and they're not the creeps for minding our businesses and watching after us as we go down the street. They're not the creeps for going up to me when I'm alone and asking, “Miss, do you know that man?”
“No,” I say. “He just popped outta nowhere. I think he may be an alien and he's trying to abduct me for his experiments...of course I know him, he's my brother.” They walk away without asking anymore nosy questions, looking at me like I'm the crazy one. Leon doesn't know how much I wish I could pluck their all-seeing eyeballs out and crush them under my wheels. He doesn't know how much I wish their watching eyes would bug so far out that they pop off and go rolling down the street. He has no idea about all the tears that I swallow every time things like this happen, because I want to be his little sister who holds her own just fine.
It's things like this that made me decide one day that I'd had enough. I wasn't going to be crippled anymore. Why did it matter that I was born with no air? What difference should that make now?
Leon had to run out to get pizza; Kali and Zatch were coming over and we were playing Red Dead Redemption 2. “If they come by,” Leon had told me, “just let 'em in and tell ‘em I'll be right back.”
“You got it, dude,” I said, giving him a thumbs-up and imitating Michelle Tanner from Full House. He gave me a thumbs-up back. You hold your own just fine, Vera, his eyes said.
“Buzz me if you need me,” he said just before he grabbed his keys and left. “Buzz” meant to hit the button on my chair that told him if I was in trouble. I've had to use it when I felt a seizure coming on, and the one time I pitched forward and fell out of my chair. Please, I pleaded, don't let me need that button today. It would ruin everything that I had planned.
My walking cane was leaning up against the wall. I used it during PT and when I had to walk for exercise. Usually, Leon held my other arm when I used it. I wheeled over there and reached for it. My hands shook and my heart pounded wildly; what would Leon do when he came back and saw that his sister wasn't crippled anymore. What would he say? He might cry, and I'd take a picture with my phone and save it to my Insta-story. I tapped the cane around on the floor for a few minutes. Then the doorbell rang. I knew that it was time.
I pressed down hard on the cane, as if I was pushing away a mountain. With my other hand, I pressed down hard on my left armrest. You can do it, I told myself. You can stand. You've done it before. I'd done it plenty of times with Leon, a friend, or a nurse at my side. Billions of people in the world stand every day, and I was one of those billions of people. I pretended to be a phoenix, rising from the ashes. My body rose from the chair. The doorbell rang again, longer and louder.
“Coming!” I hollered. I tapped the floor with my cane again, refusing to think about falling forward or backward no matter how much my whole body shook. Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot; I sang myself the little song that my parents had taught Leon to sing me when we were kids and he took me out walking. Now I only sang it when I wanted to annoy him. I wouldn't think about what would happen if I put down a right foot instead of a left foot, or a left foot instead of a right foot...
The doorknob was right there. My hand shook and I ignored it. I turned the knob and chucked my cane against the wall. Quickly, I held on to the knob with both hands and pulled the door open, still holding on when I faced Kali and Zatch.
“Hey, Zatch,” I said. “Hey, Kali.”
“Vera, you're...” Kali's mouth was half-open. She didn't know what to say. She looked at me like I was flying instead of just standing.
“Hi, Kali,” I said again. “Come on in. Leon's picking up some pizza.”
They came inside. Kali couldn't take her eyes off of me. Zatch looked over at my cane lying on the ground, like he wasn't sure if he should go pick it up or not. So when Leon came back with the pizzas, he saw me standing there against the doorframe, my whole body pitching and wobbling but really standing, talking about Red Dead Redemption 2 with Kali and Zatch.
“Vera!” Leon sounded like he did the day I fell out of my chair and he found me face-down on the floor. I looked at him. “Hi, Leon.” My smile was too big for my face.
It didn't last. My body finally gave out and I reached out for my chair. Leon almost threw the pizzas down before he took me in both of his hands and guided me into the seat. But he looked right at me, and his eyes told me that he had never been more proud to have me for a little sister.
