𝘛𝘙𝘖𝘜𝘉𝘓𝘌. Eli Moskowitz

thirty six

VIOLET was finally out of the hospital. She was limited to laying down or sitting in her wheelchair, but it was still a step forward from before.

Judy managed to get her free physical therapy because of her work; Violet wasn't completely confident that it would be effective, but she wanted to get back on her feet, so she went along with it.

As Violet wheeled herself back to her apartment, something whacked her in the face.

"Ow, what the f—" she stopped and looked up at Johnny, who was holding a fishing rod. "Is that my shirt?"

"Yeah," Johnny replied nonchalantly. "And if you want it back, you're gonna have to get it."

Violet moved to grab it, but Johnny yanked the line upwards so it was out of reach.

"Gonna have to try harder than that!"

"I can just ask Miguel to get it for me."

"Nope. Miguel isn't gonna be there all the time to help you out. So, get off your ass, and grab the shirt yourself!"

Violet tried again. Johnny yanked the shirt away.

"Weak! Come on, you're better than that, Huang!"

Taking a deep breath, Violet shakily hoisted herself upwards to try to grab her shirt.

"Come on, kid. Come on," Johnny mumbled.

But Violet's arm gave out, and she collapsed to the ground.

"Shit," Johnny rushed to help her. "You alright?"

"Yeah," Violet sighed.

"Alright. I got you," Johnny said as he helped her back into the wheelchair. "That's fine. We'll go again."

"Don't you get it?" Violet asked, looking discouraged. "You could hang a million dollars over my head, and I still wouldn't be able to get up."

A couple hours later, Johnny came knocking on Violet's door with Miguel, claiming that he had another idea.

"Why is there a grill in the middle of the courtyard?"

"Don't ask questions," Johnny said. "Now, this is a hibachi. Do you know why they call this a hibachi?"

"No, because it's not a hibachi. It's a grill."

"Hundred years ago in ancient China, there was a tiny little village of dairy farmers, living fat off their milk and cheese," Johnny started, ignoring Violet "When the drought came, they needed water from the river. The Chinamen didn't want to do their work."

"Not sure that's the appropriate term," Miguel butted in.

"China people, whatever," Johnny brushed off. "The point is, they were laying around in hammocks waiting for rain. So a wise man gathered a bunch of twigs and stuffed it under the sleeping villagers. Know what he did then?"

"Lit a fire under them?"

"Exactly. That's where the expression comes from. Know what that wise man's name was?"

"Hibachi?" Miguel and Violet asked in unison.

"Damn straight."

"Yeah, except hibachis aren't from China."

"And historically, there weren't many dairy farmers. Or hammocks," Miguel added on.

"Did you really think I was gonna fall for that?" Violet asked.

"No, but I knew you'd be too busy calling my bullshit to know what I was really up to."

"Yeah? What's that?"