Love from a to Z

ADAM
WEDNESDAY, MARCH 13
ODDITY:
SECRETS
M
Y LEGS USELESS,
I 
LAY
crying on the floor of my room.
Not from pain, though that was still there, still boring into the back of my
eyes whenever I moved them.
And I think maybe I hit my hip hard on the floor. It felt sore, bruised.
But I mostly cried because it didn’t make sense.
What had just happened didn’t make sense.
I cried because I couldn’t see.
I didn’t mean just literally, that my vision was affected, I meant I
couldn’t see what was next.
It felt like the way forward, what to do, was as clouded as my vision.
I cried for so long, I was sure hours had passed.
Then I thought of Dad and Hanna opening the door to my bedroom
again.
I thought about Dad’s bent head crying at prayer the other day.
Of Hanna’s octopus hair bounding away with mischief.
About Stillwater, Hanna’s panda, who’d become another presence in the
house for her when Mom left us.
I thought about the photo of Mom swinging in our backyard in Ottawa,
when we’d returned home for a few months. Taken a year after her MS had
gotten worse, a year after Hanna had been born.
She’d been smiling wide, her light brown hair flying behind her.
She’d been happy.
• • •

---

My arms worked, so I pulled myself forward and forward until I got to the
chair by my desk. I rested my head on it, trying to figure out how to get to
help.
Get myself to the hospital.
My phone.
Zahid’s number for his taxi.
They were both on the desk, but I couldn’t haul myself up.
But I could reach.
I looked at the blurry items around me. Was that my empty guitar case?
Right under the bed?
I shifted myself forward until I could grasp it. And then I dragged it
along with me as I inched back to the desk.
Lifting the guitar case, I banged it and swept it clumsily along the top of
the desk, saying a prayer while doing so, as the case sent pencils and pens
and other random things raining down.
The phone fell onto the bed, almost at the edge, and the piece of paper
with Zahid’s number fluttered beside me. A miracle, alhamdulillah.
He had written his number so big and clear I could make it out. I closed
my eyes in gratitude at this, wondering if the tears prickling them again
would ever wash away whatever was blurring my vision.
I held the paper tightly in my hand as I dragged myself back to the bed to
get the phone.
What if it’s out of battery?
Please, God, no. Please, please, no.
I spoke Zahid’s number in for voice command to activate.
Another miracle: The phone wasn’t out of juice.
The last miracle, the best one, happened when he picked up.
I lay there waiting for Zahid.
The kindness of a stranger.
• • •
By the time he got to me, some of the feeling in my legs had returned. I
knew by the soreness in a part of my left thigh that it had hit something,
maybe the leg of the desk chair, or even the floor—a soreness that I started
to slowly become aware of, until the throbbing told me I could try standing
up, maybe make my way back to bed.

---

I used the chair again and half dragged, half pulled myself to bed. It did
feel like some feeling had come back into my legs, but I wasn’t sure I could
trust it.
I’d never forget that fall from the bed. It was like somebody had pulled
the plug on the connection between my legs and me.
The sound of keys being fitted in at the front door was as sweet as music.
Zahid appeared in the doorway with one of our compound security guys,
Felipe.
“What happened, man?” Felipe said, advancing to help me from the bed.
Before he squatted, he fixed stray hairs back into the bun at the back of his
head. “You have some kind of fall?”
“Yeah.” It was true.
Between him and Zahid, I was half carried down the stairs.
“Next time buzz me. I’d have gotten the ambulance,” Felipe said as we
made our way out. “You’re lucky I hadn’t left yet. I was just about to go
home. Samir is not here to take the shift after mine, so I’ve just been
waiting.”
“You know how ambulances are here,” I said. “Sometimes it’s easier to
get a taxi.”
Zahid nodded, easing me into the back of his taxi. “Thanks, sir,” he said
to Felipe.
I was glad Felipe was going home. He wouldn’t be able to bring up what
had happened with anyone at the compound.
• • •
At the hospital, once I spoke the truth, my MS truth, everything went fast,
the nurses filling in the forms, ordering scans.
Zahid stayed by, asking if he should call someone for me. “What about
your family? The security guy said you have a father and sister.”
I hesitated before asking for my phone.
“I charged it in my car. It was at two percent,” he said. “I’ll dial for you.”
He read the lock screen as he came over with it. “There are a lot of
messages for you. Connor. Zayneb. Emma P. Connor. Emma Z. Jacob.
Zayneb, again.”
At any other time I would have thought he was being intrusive. But now,
not one bit.

---

He was Zahid—the guy who’d been there.
I pressed the button to bring the phone to life.
Zayneb.
Ms. Raymond.
“Can you text Zayneb? Ask her for her aunt’s number?” I sighed, leaning
my head back into the examination bed. Weird that Ms. Raymond was the
only one who made sense.
She’d been one of Mom’s closest friends and had helped her through the
illness from when it got worse until the end.
“Can. You. Give. Me. Your. Aunt’s. Number?” Zahid spoke slowly as he
punched the text in. He held the phone out to display his handiwork. “Like
that?”
“I can’t see it,” I said, groaning inside as I remembered Zayneb’s
message from a couple of days ago. That I’d let go unread for so long.
“Wait, could you read me Zayneb’s message first?”
“Certainly. Messages, plural. First she wrote ‘Thanks for today.’ With a
puppy emoji. Second she wrote ‘Please disregard that last message
thanks.’ ”
“Zahid, I’m so sorry to make you do this. After this, please go back to
work. I feel terrible for keeping you away from your taxi.” I closed my
eyes. I need to tell Dad what’s going on. You can’t exploit the kindness of