Will to Way, Wilt Away

Chapter 21

The whirlwind of my Marimba ringtone incessantly circled my head for the next six days. Twenty-seven missed calls from my mom and a close second of twenty-five from Julius. I knew what both of them were calling to tell me, and I didn't need more reason to stay or leave.

In between their calling, they spammed me with text messages that I also didn't answer. Julius had the added bonus of living right next door to me.

"Aspen! Please pick up your phone!" he constantly hollered, accompanied by the thunderous pounding of his fist on our shared kitchen wall. In all fairness to my mom, I never answered this form of communication either.

Days and nights became synonymous, and intermittent napping at random times characterized my new sleeping pattern. I also stopped going to the Wasteland everyday for work, not that much work was accomplished when I did go. I only stepped outside my apartment to grab food from the vending machine, tiptoeing up and down the hallways to avoid being caught by Julius. Arguably, living off of snacks for the last few days provided more selection than my typical takeout meals with him. Either way, I knew I couldn't live like this forever.

I woke up from my most recent nap sitting on the hardwood floor with my back against the kitchen island. My tailbone ached and a sharp crick fastened my neck in a slight tilt, any movement from this position sending a painful shockwave from my shoulder to my ear. I awkwardly reached for my phone, balancing my slanted head in place, and checked the time. 2:33 PM. A new lineup of texts swamped my lock screen. Usually my messages alternated between my mom's begging and Julius' pleas, but this time every single text seemed to be from Julius:

Aspen, please answer.

Are you okay?

I'm so sorry about your dad.

Please. Aspen. We need to talk.

I scrolled to the bottom of the wall of Julius' messages and saw a single text from my mom:

I know you don't want to talk. But his diagnosis is Early-Onset Alzheimer's. Just thought you might want to know.

I opened the conversation on my phone and started typing:

I don't want to kno—

My fingers froze, hovering above the keyboard. I tried to convince myself to finish the text, but my thumb reached for the 'x' button instead and deleted what I wrote. Without thinking, I went on Google and searched 'Early-Onset Alzheimer's.'

"Younger than age 65, very rare, follows normal stages of Alzheimer's, early symptoms include asking the same question over and over again and forgetting new information," I mumbled aloud, as I hastily skimmed through the John Hopkins Medicine webpage. I opened a new tab and went on to WebMD. "There are medicines to delay symptoms, start making long-term legal and financial arrangements, give the power of attorney to your loved ones, hire a caregiver," I mumbled on. Another new tab. Healthline. "Personality changes, losing track of time, make sure to build a support system, family and friends will help you navigate the next stages. New Tab. Alzheimer's Association. "Nerve cell destruction causes memory loss, inability to speak, talk, or eat, hospice care can provide dignity and comfort to those in later stages." I scrolled frantically to the bottom of the website, each vein in my arm an active fault line that sent violent tremors from my shoulders to my fingertips.

And then I read it: "There is no cure."

My heart mimicked the tremble in my hands, as I unsteadily stood up and entered a bout of unbearable dizziness. I clasped the kitchen island, uselessly attempting to stabilize my body with the earthquakes coursing down my arms. My rickety legs forfeited and I collapsed directly onto my right hip and the point of my elbow. The piercing pain left me writhing around the kitchen floor, making dust angels with my involuntary twisting and squirming.