Page 97 - A Little Life: A Novel

“Shut up, Willem,” JB continued. “And all of us want to know why
you’ve never told us what happened to your legs.”
“Oh, JB, we do not—” Willem began, but Malcolm, who had the habit of

vociferously taking JB’s side when stoned, interrupted him: “It really hurts
our feelings, Jude. Do you not trust us?”
“Jesus, Malcolm,” Willem said, and then, mimicking Malcolm in a
shrieky falsetto, “ ‘It really hurts our feelings.’ You sound like a girl. It’s
Jude’s business.”
And this was worse, somehow, having to have Willem, always Willem,
defend him. Against Malcolm and JB! At that moment, he hated all of

them, but of course he was in no position to hate them. They were his
friends, his first friends, and he understood that friendship was a series of
exchanges: of affections, of time, sometimes of money, always of
information. And he had no money. He had nothing to give them, he had
nothing to offer. He couldn’t loan Willem a sweater, the way Willem let him
borrow his, or repay Malcolm the hundred dollars he’d pressed upon him

once, or even help JB on move-out day, as JB helped him.
“Well,” he began, and was aware of all of their perked silences, even
Willem’s. “It’s not very interesting.” He kept his eyes closed, both because
it made it easier to tell the story when he didn’t have to look at them, and
also because he simply didn’t think he could stand it at the moment. “It was
a car injury. I was fifteen. It was the year before I came here.”
“Oh,” said JB. There was a pause; he could feel something in the room

deflate, could feel how his revelation had shifted the others back into a sort
of somber sobriety. “I’m sorry, bro. That sucks.”
“You could walk before?” asked Malcolm, as if he could not walk now.
And this made him sad and embarrassed: what he considered walking, they
apparently did not.
“Yes,” he said, and then, because it was true, even if not the way they’d

interpret it, he added, “I used to run cross-country.”
“Oh, wow,” said Malcolm. JB made a sympathetic grunting noise.
Only Willem, he noticed, said nothing. But he didn’t dare open his eyes
to look at his expression.
Eventually the word got out, as he knew it would. (Perhaps people really
did wonder about his legs. Tricia Park later came up to him and told him
she’d always assumed he had cerebral palsy. What was he supposed to say