Joseph Is Falling

Every day Enzo was at the bakery, sitting at her table with her clickster. Was nine old enough to walk to a bakery by yourself? Joseph didn’t know. He rested his hands on the tires of his wheelchair and watched her. She was a strange species of bee. A stalky long-legged Midwestern bakery bee, prone to anger and frustration. She turned to him and pointed her clickster. Click.

“Every question I ask you, you have to answer,” she said. “That is the rule.”

“Says who?”

“Says me. Question number one: how did you get hurt?”

“Who says I’m hurt?”

“You’re in a wheelchair.”

“But am I hurt?”

“You’re. In. A. Wheelchair. Of. Course. You’re. Hurt.”

“Hurt means something hurts, right? And nothing hurts. See?”

Poke. Jab. Gouge. Joseph watched his fingers stabbing at his legs. Back and forth. If thighs made music when you poked them, he could use his thighs as a piano and drums. He could travel around the country. He could have his own act, The Wheelchair Boy and His Band. They could perform under striped tents.

Zap was outside now, outside the window behind Enzo’s head, sweeping the sidewalk. Occasionally he would plaster himself against the windows as if propelled by extreme force and mush his face against the pane, eyes bugged and staring in Enzo’s direction. Now he stood with his arms looped around the broom, making face after face at Enzo, who was still unaware of his presence. Joseph kept his eyes on the blue sponge and willed himself not to look at Zap. There was no telling what Enzo might do if she saw Zap making fun of her.

Outside, Zap jerked his head around and then staggered backward on the sidewalk, pretending to be riddled with bullets. An unknown assassin had found him at the bakery, lain in wait until Zap emerged with his broom and began sweeping. Now Zap’s hands were up in the air, but still the bullets kept coming. Zap tumbled gracefully, in slow motion, to the sidewalk.

Now Zap was on his knees. Now his head was bowing forward. Zap was a dying boy and his eyes were closing for the last time.

Joseph knew that if Enzo turned and saw Zap on the sidewalk and believed that her sworn enemy was dead, that something in her would be lost. He didn’t know how he knew this, but he knew it, and he willed himself not to stare at Zap but he stared at Zap.

Enzo saw his gaze and turned her own gaze to the window beyond which lay Zap’s body splayed on the sidewalk. The clickster went flying across the room and then Enzo’s hands were over her eyes and a cry went wailing through the bakery.

Joseph was rolling toward the door. He shoved it open with one hand and shoved his tire with the other and then he was through.

Then he was out on the sidewalk.

His tire ran right over Zap’s hand. Zap’s dead eyes opened.

“Hey!” Zap said.

“Enzo thinks you’re dead,” Joseph said. He maneuvered himself again and ran over Zap’s other hand.

“Lay off,” Zap said. “It was a joke.”

Next to Zap the sidewalk heaved up, jutting up one corner of the pavement. Joseph’s chair rose halfway up the heave and then fell back again. An invisible force field rose around the two warring factions. Joseph shoved himself backward and forward with both hands on the tires.