Letters to Adonis

Chapter:: Ten

Dear Adonis,

I read Romeo and Juliet once. It was mandatory for Freshmen English, but I kind of enjoyed it. Shakespeare’s passion swirled up in drama. Except for the part where they die, because what’s so romantic about that? Such passion lost. I think it’s a waste. Besides, I can think of a million things sweeter, like you staying with me even through this next bit. A few weeks later, from my last appointment, Dr. Edgar noticed it took me a while more to move in a direction I wanted to and that my balance was very slowly getting worse. So he suggested light exercise, like Yoga.

“Why Yoga?” you ask me, trying to keep the slight whine out of your voice. You are in sweats and a t-shirt, laying out the mat we were told to set on the ground.

“Because it’s easy,” I shrug. You shake your head and at the end of the hour class, you aren’t convinced that it’s easy.

“Nobody should ever have to bend that way. Especially a guy.” You rub your thigh where you probably pulled a muscle. I feel great, no soreness. So it makes it easier for me to laugh at you. “So are we going back to mine?”

I throw my arm around you waist and nod, looking down at our feet walking in sync. “That sounds good.” I mumble as we walk to the car your mom let you borrow again, and you drive us to your house.

When we get to your house, your parents are sitting in the living room. They look worried, and it immediately makes my heart start to beat faster. My eyes shift to you, did something happen to someone? I thought for a second it could be my dad or your sister, but I stop myself right there.

“What happened?” you ask, immediately grabbing my hand.

“You guys should sit down.” Your dad says, and he avoids looking at me. The last thing I want to do is sit. You lower yourself onto the couch but I stay standing, our hands still looped. You try to pull me down but I stay upright.

“Ariel, it’s your mom. She fell down and broke her arm. She fell down earlier today.” The way your mom says it, makes me think it’s something more.

“Why would you make that big of a deal over a broken arm?”

“Well, she’s lost feeling of her legs now. She can’t walk anymore, she has to use a wheelchair.” You mom was wringing her hands together, and it made me even more nervous.

I wasn’t as freaked out as I probably should have been. Every Parkinson’s patient, as Dr. Edgar told me, is different. I hadn’t seen her since I went to go visit her, but I knew that I should have this monumental breakdown according to the express on your mother’s face.

“It’s okay.” I tell her, looking down at you and nodding. “I’ll just go to the hospital, I’m sure my dad is already there.” I drop your hand and head to the door, thinking of the quickest route I could take to get from your house to the hospital.

“Wait, Ariel. I’ll give you a ride.” Your mom grabs her purse and is behind me in front of the door before I have time to process what she said.

“A ride?”

“To the hospital of course.” She opens the door and nudges me through, and suddenly your mom is driving me to the hospital. The car ride is almost weird, me trying to think of something to say to her, but she obviously had a motive of driving me.

“I know you sleep over at the house.” She says in this tone, and it’s not accusing or even pissed off, it’s just like she is stating that the sky is blue. I find myself speechless.

“Are you mad?” I blurt.

“I still don’t know. I mean, he’s old enough to be on his own.” I hear the conflict in her voice.

“Why doesn’t he have his own apartment then?”

“Well,” she looks a little embarrassed, “he’s like my baby. I couldn’t let him get away just yet. Just be careful.”

I wonder how she means. Then I think about it for a few more seconds and it hits me in the form of a heated blush. She caught us; she was the one who closed the door. I glance at her from the corner of my eye and wondered if she was just as embarrassed to find us in that position, which is why she hasn’t said anything.

We finally pull up to the hospital and I thank her for a ride, and tell her I’ll just get a ride with my dad. I walk up to the receptionist and ask her where my mother’s room is, and for a second I wonder why they would hold her here if she just broke her arm. But then again it’s probably the whole leg thing too. When I walk into the room my mother is lying on the bed and my father is sitting with his head in his hands. Lara Smiley had her hair pulled back, but it didn’t distract from the fact that her hair was ratted. She looked exhausted and pale, like falling down really took it out of her.

“Hello?” I call out, and both my parents look up at me.

“Who are you?” my mom calls out, and I try not to frown when she doesn’t recall me.

 “My name is Ariel.” I tell her, trying not to hope too hard that she would remember me immediately.

“What a pretty name,” she smiles at me and looks towards my dad. “Isn’t it?”

“Yes sweetie, it is.” My dad looks up and gives me a tired smile. It’s all he has, and it makes me frown. What did I expect? For her to remember me and my dad to be happy to see me without thinking of the disease?

“Well thanks,” I sit on the other chair opposite of my father and pat my mom’s hand. She still has a pretty smile on her face that’s infectious. “How’s your arm?”

“Oh, it’s good. It doesn’t even hurt. It’s just my legs, I can’t feel them anymore.” She shrugs, like it happens all the time to somebody who’s not even forty yet.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her. I try to hold back tears, because she looks so happy and I just want her to look at me with that smile. Like when I had straight A’s last semester, she would have smiled and we would have celebrated. She could have told me that she wouldn’t have expected anything else, and that she got the same grades when she went to high school. But instead I’m here talking to her like a stranger, and she never remembers me. I start crying and I can’t take it, so I run out of the room and make my way to your house. Tears still in my eyes, I hope you can comfort me like always.

Love, Ariel