kitchen. At night someone would
come take her to bed. That’s all she
did, all day, every day. Sit by the
stove. She was fantastic and fully
with it. She just couldn’t see and
didn’t move.
Koko and my gran would sit
and have long conversations, but as
a five-year-old I didn’t think of
Koko as a real person. Since her
body didn’t move, she was like a
brain with a mouth. Our
relationship was nothing but
command prompts and replies, like
talking to a computer.
“Good morning, Koko.”
“Good morning, Trevor.”