Letters to Adonis

Chapter:: Sixteen

Dear Adonis,

The day my father came back, we were a bit surprised. I mean I did circle the date, September 3rd, in red ink and with at least fifty exclamation points. But when my father walked through the door at seven in the morning, the thud of his bags dropping to the ground, and the shout of his excited voice calling to those in the house; we were still surprised.

You were turned around; your warm bare back was what I was snuggled to. “Adonis, wake up. My dad’s home,” I whisper to you. You don’t answer, so I settle on shaking you until you groan, sitting up. You instantly hear my dad on the stairs and send me a look like I didn’t just tell you he was home.

The fall from my bed to the floor made me laugh so hard I snorted. You held a finger to your lips, trying to silence me. In the end it only made me laugh harder. You had just enough time to put your shirt and pants back on, while backing into a chair in the corner like we weren’t just lying together.  

“Ariel!” my dad exclaims as he walks into the room, rushing to hug me like it’s been years we’ve seen each other when instead it’s been weeks. After he hugs me, he looks around my room; his eyes seem to go right over you. His eyes are glued to a piece of paper on my desk, a letter I tried to write you. My hand cramped up, and I was scared because I realized how cramped my handwriting had gotten. Another symptom. It didn’t make any sense. You and I spent long nights on Google checking other people’s stories. Even the younger ones, their progressions were slower than this. So why was mine accelerated?

I tried not to write about the symptoms, thinking that if I didn’t write them down then they would disappear. I knew that you could see these changes, the fact that I asked you to rub my muscles and joints before we went to bed.

“How was Alaska?” I ask him so he’ll stop looking at the piece of paper as if it’s some monumental moment of how my disease is progressing. In a way it in, but I didn’t want my shrinking handwriting dictate how I have to change my life with new medications and new activities.

“It was good,” he says softly, “Adonis can I talk to you outside?” my father asks you as if he didn’t avoid looking at you when he came up here. You pop up, looking at me and shrugging before following my father out the door. I see him gesture to close the door; you turn around a wink at me before shutting it softly. Instead of eavesdropping like I want to, I settle on putting clothes on. Luckily, my father seemed to have ignored the fact that the sheet was all I had on.

After I rush to get clothes on, you walk in. I lean forward on my bed to see if my dad’s coming in after you, and I guess he went back downstairs because it’s only you. “What’d he want?” I ask you urgently, leading you back to where I was sitting on the bed.

“Oh, um, nothing,” you mumbled. I knew it was nothing because you blushed, and you never blush. I felt like I could guess what it was because there were so many things that could make you blush. Surely I could guess one of them?

“Oh, so you aren’t going to tell me?” I cross my arms over my chest and look away, hoping that you’ll feel guilty enough to tell me.

You start looking guilty before you stare at me a little longer. “I know what you’re trying to do. And for the record, it won’t work.” You smile at me and shake your head.

“Are you sure? I can be very persuasive,” I tell you as uncross my arms, and smile. It’s probably not even important, but I find myself unable to drop it.

“I’m sure you can,” your voice sounds like warm summer nights and I find it difficult to concentrate on what we’re talking about.

“You know what? I’ll just drop it. I’m sure I’ll find out sooner or later,” I tell you as I walk out of my room to go talk to my father. When I get downstairs I see him listening to the messages on the machine. “What is it?”

He turns around and looks at me, “your mother has to be moved centers to somewhere in Arizona.” It takes me a while to fully process the sentence.

“Is there a reason for it?” I ask him, which now that I think about it; it was a really stupid question. Of course they’d have a reason for moving her centers.

“They say she would get taken care of better if she were moved.” He still looks dumbfounded, like he didn’t expect this or it’s the worst thing.

“Well that’s good right? She’ll be taken care of better,” I remind him. I don’t see how this can be a bad thing.

“But I can’t see her as often as I’d like,” his face still had that crushed look. It made me want to reach out and give him a hug. It never occurred to me that he could still like her no matter how long she’s been gone.

Love, Ariel