food I just made and walk slowly toward the kitchen table.
“Breakfast ready?” he asks.
“Yes, and come get it while it’s hot.”
I’m almost to the table, when my ankle rolls once again. I cry out and stumble, spilling the food onto the floor.
“Are you okay?” he asks, shaking his head and chuckling quietly.
“Damn it. I just twisted it again. I’m okay,” I say, irritated with myself.
“Are you sure?” He walks over and pulls out the chair nearest to me, so I sit.
“Yeah, I’m sure.” We both look down at my carefully cooked meal now strewn all over the floor. “I guess I’ll have to start over again.”
“I didn’t feel like eating eggs anyway,” he says with a shrug.
I sit down on the floor to clean up my mess, and Daniel joins me there. We pick up what we can, then the small carpet scrubber does the rest. When we’re just about done, I look up at the chair beside me.
“Huh.”
Daniel looks at me curiously.
“What?”
“I wonder how hard it is to get up in that chair from this position on the floor.” Without using my legs to propel me, I grasp the edges and begin to pull up. Almost immediately, the chair tilts forward, halting me. I try again, this time grabbing the table too. I manage to get halfway up, before the chair decides to tip. “How can I do this?” I try one more time but ultimately, I’m forced to use my feet to push me upward. “This is harder than I thought it would be.”
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to put myself in Logan’s shoes, so to speak.”
“Nice pun.”
“Not intended.” I smirk.
“Here, let’s try this,” Daniel says, and he opens up his laptop. He searches the internet for, ways to transfer into a chair from the floor . Dozens of videos pop onto the screen, so we watch some of them.
“Let’s search some more transfers,” I say, excited and teeming with new ideas.
We spend hours typing phrases into the search engine, and experimenting with them. It’s a bit harder to try them out, with our legs in the way, and our brains, telling us to use them.
“Good morning,” I say, as I enter Logan’s house. It doesn’t take long before he appears with a smile on his face.
Well, that’s a good start.
“Good morning. How was your weekend?” he asks.
“Revelationary,” I say. “Yours?”
He smirks. “Mine was uneventful, and revelationary is not a word.”
“Maybe not, but it should be. Some new ideas have come to light and I’ve brought you something.”
“Oh? What is it?”
“It’s what I’m hiding behind my back.” I gesture over my shoulder with my head. “You can’t see it until you’ve eaten all your breakfast though.”
He smiles. It’s nice to see.
“Well, we better get cooking then.”
I grin at him and nod. He wheels himself into the kitchen, and I hide my surprise behind a potted plant in the foyer.
“What are we making today?” I ask.
“I think you should show me how to make scrambled eggs.”
“Really? Are you that culinarily challenged?”
He laughs. It’s the first time I’ve heard him laugh. It’s a great laugh. I want to make him laugh again.
“That’s not a word either,” he scolds playfully.
“I don’t care. I’m going to contact Mr. Webster and request that it become one.”
He shakes his head, smiling again.
Logan helps me gather the ingredients, and we set the griddle on the table, within his reach. I beat the eggs; he chops up the rest of the items.
“So, my brother approves of your cooking. I meant to tell you that earlier,” he says.
“Oh?”
“Yeah. He basically told me to not to let you get away, or we’ll be back to eating cereal for dinner.”
I laugh.
“Seriously?” He nods. “Well, I’ll have to make sure to teach you everything I know, in case something happens.”
His face falls. I watch his throat as he swallows reflexively.
“I hope nothing happens.” His voice is serious. We stare at each other for longer than is necessary, when I
“Breakfast ready?” he asks.
“Yes, and come get it while it’s hot.”
I’m almost to the table, when my ankle rolls once again. I cry out and stumble, spilling the food onto the floor.
“Are you okay?” he asks, shaking his head and chuckling quietly.
“Damn it. I just twisted it again. I’m okay,” I say, irritated with myself.
“Are you sure?” He walks over and pulls out the chair nearest to me, so I sit.
“Yeah, I’m sure.” We both look down at my carefully cooked meal now strewn all over the floor. “I guess I’ll have to start over again.”
“I didn’t feel like eating eggs anyway,” he says with a shrug.
I sit down on the floor to clean up my mess, and Daniel joins me there. We pick up what we can, then the small carpet scrubber does the rest. When we’re just about done, I look up at the chair beside me.
“Huh.”
Daniel looks at me curiously.
“What?”
“I wonder how hard it is to get up in that chair from this position on the floor.” Without using my legs to propel me, I grasp the edges and begin to pull up. Almost immediately, the chair tilts forward, halting me. I try again, this time grabbing the table too. I manage to get halfway up, before the chair decides to tip. “How can I do this?” I try one more time but ultimately, I’m forced to use my feet to push me upward. “This is harder than I thought it would be.”
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to put myself in Logan’s shoes, so to speak.”
“Nice pun.”
“Not intended.” I smirk.
“Here, let’s try this,” Daniel says, and he opens up his laptop. He searches the internet for, ways to transfer into a chair from the floor . Dozens of videos pop onto the screen, so we watch some of them.
“Let’s search some more transfers,” I say, excited and teeming with new ideas.
We spend hours typing phrases into the search engine, and experimenting with them. It’s a bit harder to try them out, with our legs in the way, and our brains, telling us to use them.
“Good morning,” I say, as I enter Logan’s house. It doesn’t take long before he appears with a smile on his face.
Well, that’s a good start.
“Good morning. How was your weekend?” he asks.
“Revelationary,” I say. “Yours?”
He smirks. “Mine was uneventful, and revelationary is not a word.”
“Maybe not, but it should be. Some new ideas have come to light and I’ve brought you something.”
“Oh? What is it?”
“It’s what I’m hiding behind my back.” I gesture over my shoulder with my head. “You can’t see it until you’ve eaten all your breakfast though.”
He smiles. It’s nice to see.
“Well, we better get cooking then.”
I grin at him and nod. He wheels himself into the kitchen, and I hide my surprise behind a potted plant in the foyer.
“What are we making today?” I ask.
“I think you should show me how to make scrambled eggs.”
“Really? Are you that culinarily challenged?”
He laughs. It’s the first time I’ve heard him laugh. It’s a great laugh. I want to make him laugh again.
“That’s not a word either,” he scolds playfully.
“I don’t care. I’m going to contact Mr. Webster and request that it become one.”
He shakes his head, smiling again.
Logan helps me gather the ingredients, and we set the griddle on the table, within his reach. I beat the eggs; he chops up the rest of the items.
“So, my brother approves of your cooking. I meant to tell you that earlier,” he says.
“Oh?”
“Yeah. He basically told me to not to let you get away, or we’ll be back to eating cereal for dinner.”
I laugh.
“Seriously?” He nods. “Well, I’ll have to make sure to teach you everything I know, in case something happens.”
His face falls. I watch his throat as he swallows reflexively.
“I hope nothing happens.” His voice is serious. We stare at each other for longer than is necessary, when I
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