terrible things - ashton irwin

forty four

"So, scallywag, do you want to go to Pat's King of Steaks or Geno's?" I asked, poking Ashton awake, gently, of course. 

We'd made it to Philly in under two hours, and now I was parked between the two cheesesteak institutions which stood a block away from each other like captains of opposing teams 

Ashton yawned and stretched. "You know," he said, frowning slightly, "I'm not actually that hungry right now." 

For a moment he placed his hands over his stomach, a strange kind of gesture for him. "What I'd like is a nice warm drink."

I looked at his sharply. It was eighty degrees out, and I was sweating against the truck seat. "You're not cold, are you?"

Being cold meant that Ashton might have a fever, and if he had a fever, that meant he might have an infection, and if he had an infection, then he needed to get to a hospital. Stat. Because infection in doctors like to call an immunocompromised person, a person like Ashton, who'd had high-dose chemo, radiation therapy, and a stem cell transplant, could be deadly.

I reached towards his forehead to feel it, but he brushed my hand away. 

"No!" he said, a little too loudly. "I just though some tea sounded nice. Then we go get the cheesesteak."

He got out of the truck and started walking. I stayed where I was, staring at him though the windshield, feeling both mad and worried. What was I meant to do? Drag him to the ER so hey could take his temperature? He wouldn't let me.

I got out and caught up to him, easily, because he was walking at an old man's pace. Like every step took concentration and effort.

"A little caffeine and I'll be good to go," he said, pointing to a coffee shop at the end of the block.

Please be right about that, I thought. I took his hand.

In the café we found a window and sank into the worn but comfortable seats. Then a salesman type burst in and commandeered the table next to us, talking on his cell phone and at the same time waving the waitress over, as if it were a matter of life and death that he got served before we did.

"...QR codes are going to increase the conversion rate of your sales funnel-" he was saying. When the waitress walking by he shouted, "Large Earl Grey with soy milk on the side and raw sugar, two lumps."

Ashton glared at him for a moment. "This is the City of Brotherly Love, jerk," he muttered. Then he rested his head on the table. "Man. I don't know why I'm so tired."

I wanted to scream, Because you have cancer?

Instead, I reached out and ran my fingers through his thick, curly hair. I'd almost forgotten what he looked like without it.

It took a while to grow back after the chemo, but when it did, he grew it longer.

"That feels good," he said, his voice muffled.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what I had to say.

"Ashton, we need to get you back to a hospital, actually, our hospital. I'll use my credit card and we'll fly home. We can be there in ten hours."

"I don't like planes," Ashton said to the tabletop.

"You have to see Dr. Suzuki. She'll know what to do."

"Every time I hear her name, I think about drum lessons. Have you heard of the Suzuki method of teaching music?"

"Don't change the subject."