You're Not You by Michelle Wildgen Page B

the paper. He looked poised to get up and come over, but he didn’t.
    “ ‘Ray’?” I asked. “Uh, ‘rate my . . .’”
    Kate shook her head. She seemed somewhat impatient, and I felt on the verge of impatience myself. For chrissakes, I thought, if you’re going to throw me in like this, accept the fact that I’ll be awkward. I caught a glimpse of Evan giving me an encouraging smile and I took a deep breath. Kate glanced pointedly down at her feet, which were tucked one over the other; I’d managed to make her look like a parody of a shy little girl.
    “Your feet?” I guessed. Kate nodded. “Oh, straighten them.” I set her feet neatly side by side. I realized that to straighten her hips I would have to cup either side of her buttocks. Well, I had to. As Iloomed toward her, I couldn’t shake the sense that I was about to kiss her and grab her ass like a high school boy, and I stopped and stood back.
    “I don’t think I’m . . .” I trailed off. Kate smiled and shook her head again. She swallowed carefully before she said something. I stared at her lips.
    “ ‘Just lift me up’?” I repeated. Kate nodded. Again I grasped her under the arms and lifted her into a standing position, paused to be sure the position was right, pivoted her so she was in front of the wheelchair again, and finally, finally, set her down in the chair.
    Evan applauded. “I know it’s a lot harder than it looks,” he said. “You’ll be good at this, though; I can tell. I bet you’ll be better than me.”
    He was only being nice. I knew I’d botched the very first thing I’d done for her, and I didn’t ever want to try it again. I made some sort of grimace that was meant to evoke a smile, and preceded Kate to the bathroom.
    She asked me to start by brushing her teeth. With her head tipped back, her mouth open, I set to work with an electric toothbrush, concentrating on not touching her gums with the whirring bristles. Her teeth were very straight on top, the middle bottom teeth overlapping, and the glistening peaks of her molars stippled with dark pools of fillings. I counted six. Her head trembled a little with the movement of the brush, and I put a hand at the back of her skull to steady it. Her hair was warm and a little tangled from being slept on. I watched her tongue move from side to side away from the brush and the toothpaste foam, and finally she let it lie in the center of her mouth so I could run the brush over it. I had to be careful not to use too much water or she could choke on it—Evan had told me that her throat no longer closed off efficiently.
    The dental part went well, at least. I tried to make it last a little, just as a respite from the chair and the shower that was coming, but you can only brush someone’s teeth for so long. Finally I gave up and rinsed the brush. I wiped her mouth off with my hand, but even as I did it I knew that was wrong. Of course I should have used a washcloth. I froze for a moment, and I could see in her face that she had decided to let it slide. Instead she said something else, but I didn’t get what it was—somethingabout the shower. I nodded and smiled, but I was looking at the huge walk-in shower with its sliding door and trying rather desperately to remember what Evan had told me the day before. Fine, I thought, it’s common sense. I turned on the water, the handheld attachment spraying away toward the wall, and started to put her into the plastic chair inside the shower. She looked pointedly at my leather sandals and said, moving her lips carefully for me, “You’ll want them off.” I kicked off the shoes.
    “So, remind me: I lift you to a standing position, take off your nightgown, and then move you? Or put you in the shower chair and take it from there?”
    “The chair is more stable,” she said. I repeated it after her and she nodded, so I put her into position in the white plastic lawn chair, which had suction cups attached to the feet, and then I