Page 35 of Love Overdose: St. Louis

“And if you need another overnight, just let me know.”

“Awww shit.”

Her laughter followed us onto the porch.

Malik’s physical therapy center was inside the children’s hospital.

Bright shapes covered the walls. Colorful balls rested inside wire racks, and padded stairs occupied one corner beside a row of walkers and gait trainers. Children worked with therapists throughout the room while parents watched from chairs along the wall.

Malik’s therapist, Tasha, met us near the entrance.

“Good morning, friend.”

Malik smiled when she came closer. He knew Tasha. She had worked with him for nearly two years, long enough to recognize the meaning of most of his expressions and sounds.

“Are you ready to work?”

His smile disappeared.

I laughed. “That answer looked clear to me.”

“We’ll start easy,” Tasha promised him.

With my help, she transferred Malik from his wheelchair to a padded bench. She positioned his feet flat on the floor and supported his waist while he tried to find his balance, but he slumped forward immediately.

“Sit up, Malik.”

His shoulders rounded almost immediately. He looked at her but didn’t change his posture. She lifted her own shoulders and straightened her back to demonstrate. Malik watched her, his brow wrinkled. He heard the word. Whether it meant anything to him at that moment was different. Tasha placed one hand between his shoulder blades and the other against his chest. She gently guided him upright.

“This is sitting up.”

She released some of her support. His body folded forward again.

“That’s okay.” She smiled. “Let’s try once more.”

Malik’s lips pushed out.

“You’ve got it, baby,” I encouraged from beside him. “Sit up tall.”

He turned his face toward me. I straightened my own spine and raised my head. “Like Mama.”

His eyes followed the movement, but he didn’t imitate it. Tasha guided him upright again. This time, she kept one hand on his lower back and asked him to hold the position.

“One, two…”

His stomach tightened, and his arms moved away from his sides.

“Three…”

His balance wavered, even sitting.

Tasha grabbed him before he fell sideways.

A small unhappy sound left his throat.

“I know,” she soothed. “That was hard.”

Malik’s eyes lowered. His mouth remained turned down. Sadness always came over him quietly. He didn’t scream or throw things when therapy became difficult. His face closed. His soft sounds grew plaintive, and his eyes searched for me.