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from the bottom step, ready to assist if I couldn’t do it. I shot her a triumphant thumbs-up when I made it to the top.
    I turned to my room and grabbed a towel, looking at the few pictures I had on top of my desk. Two adults looking happily at me in a plain black frame. I guessed they were Dexter’s parents. Tracey resembled the man in the picture. There was one of a younger version of Dexter with a baseball bat in his hands. His eyes were squinted shut and his missing teeth showed through his ecstatic grin. There was no recognition within me. No spark like metal against metal. Nothing.
    I pulled the door open to my bathroom and couldn’t help but look at my reflection when I turned the light on. The scruff had grown longer, and I itched to shave it.
I could just trim it
, I thought to myself, eyeing the clippers on the counter. It felt wrong to shave it when I’d already changed so much of Dexter’s life. I pulled my hair out of its restraint and ran my fingers through it, shaking my head. I couldn’t cut it. I’d have to live with it. It made Tracey happy.
    I turned and limped to the shower, hoping that, although I’d done it before, I would be able to shower standing. It was different, knowing there was no nurse around waiting to help me if need be.
    I twisted the knob and adjusted the water before stepping under the spray. There was a soothing moment when I tipped my head back and just existed.
    I noted the large scar running down the center of my knee. I didn’t know how long it’d take the stitches under my skin to dissolve, but I didn’t worry too much about the healing process. Dex seemed to be a healthy guy.
    I stepped out, towel-dried my hair, and set about trimming what I considered a beard.
    When I opened the door to the bathroom, a towel around my waist, I heard Tracey singing along to the Christmas music playing in the kitchen. She was banging on some pot or pan and I could imagine her dancing around the kitchen, much like she had last night. I grinned and hobbled to my room.
    I looked through the choices of clothes in Dexter’s dresser and closet. He wasn’t a typical computer dweeb. He certainly didn’t look the type, but it seemed he didn’t dress the part either. All of his clothes looked like they’d been chosen with care and an attempt to keep up an image. There were T-shirts, sure. But they weren’t worn or stained. No fraying on jeans, no grungy sweats. What did he wear around the house? I managed to dig up a pair of worn jeans, an undershirt and a blue sweatshirt. It was plain, but as I pulled it over the undershirt, I felt the softness of it.
    I walked over to his desk and powered on his computer, hoping there was no password. When his desktop opened up, I grinned. I looked through his documents and photos, ignoring the guilt that was buzzing in my ear like an annoying fly. Everything looked unremarkable, except for a few documents that were filled with codes of sorts. My eyes scanned over the series of symbols, letters, and numbers and it clicked.
    I understood everything.
    The language of computers wasn’t foreign to me and the inner panic that I’d shoved aside began to fade. I clicked through and realized with fascination that I was knowledgeable, advanced, even. The further I inspected, the more I uncovered. Dexter had been corresponding with MIT, and his inbox was full of conversations with professors.
    I spent hours on the computer, and when Tracey called for me to get ready for Ralph’s game, it felt like it had been only half the time that actually passed.
    •••
    I stepped out into the autumn air nervously, a black wool jacket I’d found in Dex’s closet kept me warm. I chuckled at the scarf Tracey insisted I wear, the way she tucked it made me feel like the turkey she’d cooked all morning.
    “Don’t be nervous, kiddo. You’ve done this a million times. It’s tradition.” She bumped me with her shoulder, and I climbed into her car after placing my crutches in