This is another thing I cannot do by myself here. Mom has to lift me naked like a baby into the tub and Velcro me into the bath chair, which is basically exactly what it sounds like—a chair I sit in in the tub, with a seat belt so I don’t slip down in the water. It runs on batteries, and I flick a switch and it lowers me in like a giant Easter egg. At home I can at least get myself into the tub, even if sometimes I need help getting the straps fastened. But one of these days we’ll get a real handicapped shower that I can roll straight into and wash myself. It’s a tiny thing no one else thinks about, the privilege to wash yourself without help.

When you’re like me, you get used to seeing your body as a separate thing. Leg one. Leg two. Muscles and hair and a heart that beats. It makes it all a little less embarrassing when people are always putting their hands on you.

Once I’m strapped in, Mom leaves me to it. I hear the floors creak when she walks back to our bedroom. She’s hiding from Mema.

I soak.

Soaking in the tub is almost my favorite thing, second only to baking. The heat and the water stop my legs from aching. You’d think my legs would never get sore, seeing how little I use them, but they do. I lean the chair back as far as it will go and let my ears sink under and my toes float up. Now the world is an ocean and I am weightless and it doesn’t matter that I can’t walk, because I can swim.

“You smell like bubble gum.”

Mema’s in the kitchen when I come in after the bath. She’s making some sort of egg casserole that is nine tenths sausage.

“It’s the only body wash you had.”

She pauses with her spatula in the air. It drips egg onto the counter.

“Did you find it under the sink? That must be from when you were a baby.” She sniffs me again. “Nice, though.”

“Thanks.”

She hands me cups to fill with orange juice.

Mom walks past us, right on through to the back door and outside.

“We came because we wanted to help, you know,” I say once the door clicks shut.

“I know, El.”

“We came because you need help.”

Mema turns her back to me. She lets out a quiet sigh. “Here. Stick this in when the oven beeps, and set it for half an hour.” She points to the casserole dish in the shape of a rooster and heads outside with two coffee cups. I peek out the curtains. I can see the back of both their heads and that’s about it. I can’t tell if they’re talking.