Chapter Forty | Labradors
♫ Labradors by Hailaker

Hyde greets me heartily when I enter his room on a sunny Monday afternoon. A dark shadows sits angled on his jaw and upper lip. "It's a new look I'm trying out," he says, caressing the hairs with his hand. "Jo says she loves it, but the kids complain that it tickles when I kiss them."

I never told him, and will never tell him, but there's something extremely comforting about Hyde being such a family man. He talks about his wife and kids every chance he gets, but not in a way that's excessive or annoying. In a way that unironically makes me want to ask if they're looking to adopt.

Even now, Hyde makes himself comfortable on his unofficially assigned loveseat with the fruit Jo cut up for us again and says, "Today's meeting will have to be a little shorter than usual. My girl's first ever dance recital starts at six."

His girl being his only daughter, Suvi.

I squeeze onto one of the sofas, between Rashad and Zahara. The latter turns to me and smiles, opening her arms without saying a word. I grin and lean into her.

"Is this an invitation? Because we will come to her recital with you and cheer her on," Isla says, half like a warning and half like a promise.

Hyde laughs. "As kind as that is, Isla, Suvi is the shyest kid on this earth. If too many people pay attention to her at once, she gets overwhelmed and bursts into tears." He pauses. "Actually, we're not even sure she'll make it through this performance on stage."

"I'm sure she will," Anita pipes in. "When you're truly doing something you love, fears like that are more likely to be overridden by your genuine joy."

An appreciative smile adorns Hyde's lips. "You kids have exceeded my wisdom, I think sometimes. There's nothing left for me to teach you." Suddenly, as if some invisible force pulled at him, he whips up onto his feet and rushes to the windows. "Look at this sun! Should we go outside today?"

The outside world is full of dangers when you have such a physical disability. Still, a chorus of yes's sounds after Hyde's proposal.

I keep close to the girls as we move down the sidewalks. The sun burns on our skin, particularly hot for this time of year, but we still hang onto each other. Zahara's arm is linked with mine and she's holding onto Isla's wheelchair and behind me, Emmy fists the strap of my backpack to keep up, even though our strides are small and easy.

We sit in a random park's clearing, those of us not in wheelchairs taking seats on overturned logs smelling of moss and tar. Hyde, influenced by the pretty weather and his excitement for Suvi's recital later, hoists himself up on the low branch of a nearby tree and lets his feet swing back and forth as they dangle.

As the others chatter, his eyes catch mine, and he waves me over. I wobble over to him, unsteady on my feet in the grass. He doesn't mind, as I knew he wouldn't. He just sits and waits patiently.

"I talked to Claire," he says, once I've arrived and leaned my body's weight on the trunk. "About professor Stew."

"Oh." It's not what I expected him to say.

"We had another professor reassess your work. The presentation shouldn't have counted for your grade, and all your other fall semester professors were positive about your input in their classes. So, you got a B plus."

I don't know what to say.

Hyde peers to the ground as if he's thinking of jumping down, but decides not to. Unexpectedly, he looks at me again, leaning back instead of forward. "Nova, why didn't you tell me about that talk you had with him? I told you at the start of the year that I'm here for you, especially in cases like this one."

I raise and lower my shoulders, hesitant. "I didn't see a problem with it. Not the kind that you could solve."

"It was a problem. This is an esteemed university and fairness is a great reason why. There are rules set in place when it comes to grading. You can't tick all the boxes and still be on the brink of failing because of the personal opinion of whoever is supposed to grade you." Hyde says the words personal opinion with an upturn of his nose.

"Thank you," I say, earnestly. I want to know what this means for professor Stew, if he was disciplined or maybe received a stern warning, but then decide to tuck away my curiosity.

At least I was indirectly reaffirmed in my feelings of unfairness. Who'd have thought that all it took was a split second of honesty with Claire?

Hyde nods his head to the others. "Go ahead and take a seat. That's all I had to tell you."

I nod my head dryly, not sure what else to say and how I would say it. I'm grateful. And I'm happy that the C minus is not something I was stuck with — but there's also a part of me that's embarrassed it all had to happen through the grapevine, the result born from the concern of both my old therapist and my new one.

I push the embarrassment away as I sit back down on the log. I've promised myself, a long time back, during the holidays back in Addenfield, that I wouldn't let myself be chained down by baseless humiliation again. I want that to be a vow I keep.

"You okay?"

Isla wheels closer to me and ducks her head, a friendly smile on her face when she catches my attention.

"Yes," I say in an exhale. "I'm okay. What about you? How's Benjamin doing?" I don't want to keep sulking. I'm putting it behind me.

Isla's face brightens at the mention of her boyfriend. "He's good. He quit his job at seven-eleven for a museum gig, at the front desk, ripping up tickets and such. They say he can work his way up, so he's just glad he doesn't have to return to college."

I remember it fondly. The first time I met Isla and Benjamin, back at Hyde's first meeting at the beginning of the academic year. She told me I shouldn't take his advice because he dropped out of NYU and was on the brink of being evicted.

I like seeing others grow alongside myself. Benjamin finding a job he likes. Logan quitting wrestling. Milo in Italy. All that.

"And me..." Isla trails off, continuing. "I'm good, too. Maybe it's because winter's over and life is always gloomier when it's winter. That's also why Ben won't let me make any life-altering decisions in December. He says, wait until the sun appears and then think about it again. And he's right."

A laugh bubbles up inside of me. "He really is right. Winter wasn't pretty for me, either."

"That's why it's good we're outside," Hyde offers. I hadn't even noticed he was listening.

He hops off of the tree and wipes over his butt, a pained expression on his face that he quickly shields behind a bright and optimistic smile. "That totally didn't hurt my ass," he says, and sits in the grass. "Anyway. Let's get started, guys. What is up?"

We go around the group, everyone getting their turn to shortly update us on their lives. Anita's surgery was a success. I often refer to my legs as though they're 'set like metal rods', but her legs literally are, she explains.

Josh is dating a girl with one arm, which he finds really funny since he has non-functioning legs. "She's literally my other half," he chuckles.

Rashad is graduating soon. He found a company in Switzerland who wants to hire him as a cloud engineer. He keeps using the word despite, Hyde notices. "They want to hire you despite your disability?" He echoes, after Rashad has told his story, and shakes his head. "They want to hire you. Period. You don't have to make it any smaller than it is. You're just that good, man." Rashad keeps his shoulders squared as he listens, but the pride glistens in his dark eyes.

Zahara's family is moving to New York. She's often cried about being so far away from them, and they had a conversation about it with Hyde there. As it turns out, an aunt from Senegal is moving to New York (the state, not the city) and that pulled her parents in to make the move, as well. She's spending the summer in Senegal, then coming back with them.

And Emmy. Emmy is still like me. She says she's still finding her way and doesn't necessarily have good news to share, to which Hyde tells her, "The fact that there's no bad news is good news."

Philip hasn't returned since last year, which is unfortunate, but the group has shrunk in size anyway. I'm proud of myself for considering this a commitment and staying. Granted, it was scary at first, but I do truly believe that I've made friends for life. Friends for college, at the very least.

The bunch of us jump up when Hyde, who was previously lounging in a sunny patch of grass, jumps to his feet with an exclamation of shock.

"Rat?" Someone asks.

"Time!" he corrects them, pulling out his phone. "I have seven minutes until Suvi's recital starts!"

Somehow, the rest figures itself out.

Rashad grips the handles of Isla's wheelchair to push her as she requests. "Anita," Josh calls, "Use my wheelchair as a cane!" To which Zahara says she'll help her push him. Emmy and I hold onto each other.

We move out of the park and after Hyde like a jumbled, undeniably disabled organism. I don't think any of us have run in ages, but somehow it makes sense. Canes are lying across Isla and Josh's laps and the owners of the canes use their wheelchairs instead, pushing them forward over the streets and sidewalks and simultaneously leaning their weight where needed.

It's the first time I've run in ages. Running used to be a nightmare, coupled with short breaths and aches in my legs, but today it's something I do with an uncontrollable laughter instead — tripping over my own two feet and catching myself on Emmy, being what is essentially a pillar to her as she does the same.

Maybe that's truly it. Maybe the things that hurt me before were painful because I carried them alone. I don't mind slipping and tripping and falling over with a whole community of people who are doing the same thing.

We halt when Hyde flies up the stairs of a dance conservatory. He turns at the door and distractedly points to the left. "Ramps are over there!" he calls, before disappearing into the building.

As we scramble to the ramps, I steal a glance at my phone. It's five fifty-nine. We somehow made it to Suvi's recital with a minute to spare.

The excitement has worn off when we find ourselves in the empty grand hall of the conservatory. Suddenly, Isla's very aware of the size of her wheelchair, and Anita grimaces at the sounds of her cane on the floor.

Their faces say it all. We aren't supposed to be here.

I feel a strange surge of desperation at the idea. "Come on," I attempt, stepping towards the double doors, but the others stay rooted to the ground.

"We really shouldn't, Nov," Zahara says gently. "You heard what Hyde said about Suvi getting shy. We might... scare the kids, or something, if we just go in like this."

"Do you really believe that?" I search their eyes, but they avert them. "I'm serious. If you'd said we're strangers to these kids and so it might be weird to go in, I would've sided with you, but this?"

Noticing the sternness in my voice, the group remains quiet.

"First of all, it's a dark room and the music is so loud that they wouldn't even hear us come in. Second of all, Hyde wants us here. If he didn't, he would've ran so fast that we as disabled students wouldn't be able to keep up, and he wouldn't have told us where the ramps were. And third—" I pause.

"Maybe you're right, and mobility aids are still considered weird to people who don't see them very often. But if anything, that's all the more reason to go places you don't normally go. You won't scare these kids. You'll maybe trigger their curiosity, or inspire wild questions and blunt comments, sure, but I assure you that tonight, they're more focused on their dance and their costumes than the audience members at the far back. It's okay to be respectful and supportive to the daughter of someone we care about. Even if we're doing so in our wheelchairs, with our canes and our leg braces and our metal rods."

"I agree, Nova."

I turn around. Hyde has slipped back through the door and reentered the main hall to join us. He halts in his step once he's standing alongside me.

"Doctor Hyde," I say, startled. "Shouldn't you be in there?"

Hyde deftly shakes his head. "One of the children was so nervous that she peed her pants, so they're getting her a new costume from the studio. It'll be at least another fifteen minutes." He lets his eyes run over the group, and they land on me. "Nova's right, you know," he says, clasping his hands behind his back as he starts to pace around.

"You don't have to do this," someone pipes up. I'm not sure who it is.

"Yes, I do." Hyde stops pacing and takes a deep breath. "My daughter, Suvi, is an ischemic stroke survivor, did you know that?"

We inhale sharply, almost like one collective again.

The pacing starts again. "When she was three, she contracted meningitis. The inflammation of the membranes around her spinal cord affected her blood vessels and resulted in clots, which led her to have a stroke. This in turn, led to ataxia. A lack of muscle coordination."

He says it all matter-of-factly, but I see the amount of times he swallows. It gives away how he truly feels.

"I bet you also don't know how terrified she was when she realized what she had. And it's not less terrifying as a parent, trying to find the strength and simultaneously never give your child the idea that their disability affects your faith in them." Hyde stops pacing, now, and looks at us, as serious as we've ever seen him.

"I want the best for Suvi. The very best. I know her entire routine from the top of my head, because I knew she needed the extra practice to feel as confident in her dancing as her peers did. And I've held her as she was sobbing, countless times, because she was frustrated with herself and she's still too small to know where to direct that frustration.

"So, no. My daughter will not be scared of you if she even sees you in that dark room. And those other children won't either, because they know her, and they know that sometimes limbs work differently and people need more support. People have to know to understand — they don't even have to understand, they just have to know. Because if they don't see you, and if you keep conforming to these crazy, unrealistic standards of what a person should look and be like? Then this world is never going to change. And I know this sounds like a huge responsibility to bear, but it's a responsibility we all bear as humans. To be ourselves. To encourage acceptance and authenticity. And in case this world isn't familiar with that yet, our responsibility is to take up so much space that it has no choice but to learn. That's the lesson I want to teach Suvi. And all of her friends. And you."

Hyde glances over at me again and throws a paternal arm around my shoulders. "Why don't we go in there and take up space and make noise — although not during the performance, because that's rude — and watch my kid knock all of our socks off?"

Josh gives him a lopsided smile. "Sounds like a stellar idea, doctor Hyde," he says, supported by the nods and emotion-ridden yes'es of the rest of the group.

Hyde smiles back, appreciatively, and holds open the door to the auditorium for everyone to pile in.

Once they have, I tap my finger against his arm. "I have a question," I announce.

He lets the door fall shut, leaving us alone in the hall. "Sure, Nova. What's up?"

I shift on my feet. "All of this..." I trail off. "You putting together this support group. The room NYU gave us and your wife packing us fruit and veggies for every meeting. That's all because of Suvi, isn't it?"

Hyde bites the inside of his cheek. "I'd be lying if I said it wasn't," he says. "But everything I do is inspired by, or for, my family. Suvi is special because she's our only girl and she has a disability, but even back when I had my first kid, I knew that the only way I could make sense of life, was if I devoted my own to make theirs better."

I nod my head, my eyes getting suspiciously watery. "Suvi is so lucky to have you, doctor Hyde. All of your kids are, and so is Jo."

He smiles and inhales deeply. Then, he puts a playful hand on my head and pats it a few times. "You know, you all are kind of my kids, too. We're all lucky to have each other."

I nod my head again. The watery eyes are transitioning into fullblown water-filled ones.

"C'mon, now," Hyde says, loudly, as if breaking through all of the emotion. "Let's go in."

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