Love from a to Z

Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi rajioon. The prayer came immediately to me.
To God we belong and to God we return.
“That sucks,” Connor said, passing the bag of chips my way, along with
an inquisitive glance.
He was checking my reaction on hearing about Zayneb. So I gave him a
sincere one. “I hope Zayneb’s okay.”
“She is. But it was really terrible. Her grandmother died months back in
Pakistan, and they only found out now that it was in—get this—a drone
strike. Her family’d never known.” Emma D. shook her head and rubbed
her palms together to get rid of chip crumbs. “She’s so down. And yeah,
angry. Like anyone would be.”
Emma P. spoke. “That’s awful. We should do something for her.”
“Oh, yeah, maybe we can stop by her place? She was just in bed when I
left her.” Emma D. perked up. “We can take some food or something? Ms.
Raymond would probably like that, for us to see her.”
“Who’s in?” Emma P. looked around.
Madison, Jacob, Isaac, and Connor bowed out, having other things to do.
Emma Z. said, “Of course!”
Emma P. turned to me, and I tried not to see too much in her gaze, but it
was there, that slight Is this the girl you met who you told me about? That
aha! curiosity.
“I can’t,” I said. “Dad promised Hanna some stuff later this afternoon,
after which we’re going to sit her down to tell her about my MS.”
She nodded, satisfied.
I couldn’t help adding something. “But can you tell Zayneb I’ll do a dua
for her grandmother today, with my dad? A prayer?”
She nodded again.

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• • •
When everyone left, I went down to the workroom, bringing along one of
the folding chairs from the patio. I set it in the middle of the empty, half-
painted room and sat on it to gaze around, to envision everything again.
My ideas were half-formed, but I knew what I wanted. I wanted a
reminder of the good things in life, the marvels of the world, for these to
flood whoever walked into the room. Filled with lights and shapes and
sudden little details that were hidden until they weren’t, until you came
upon them at the right time.
I dipped my head back and stared at the ceiling.
The sky atop was a brilliant blue, like Hanna’s azurite . . . like Zayneb’s
scarf.
I stood and folded the chair to take it out of the room.
Maybe I’d finish painting everything.
But the ladder, leaning in a corner, only reminded me of Tuesday, and
then the thoughts came tumbling back.
What if I get another attack? When I’m on my own?
Dad made it a point to check on me every few hours, and I was okay with
that, but what about when he went back to work?
We had an appointment with a neurologist this week, but that didn’t mean
it would be smooth sailing after.
It didn’t mean I could get my life sorted out again.
But I could sort the pieces I’d started working on for the room. The thin
blades of wood, the flattened bottle caps I’d scraped the paint off of and
then drilled with patterned holes to let light through, that I was going to use
in homage to the geometry found in nature—I could sort these little bits of
art I’d collected.
On the table in the hall outside the room, I laid out the pieces by the parts
of the room they went to in my installation: ceiling, floor, left wall, right
wall, far wall, and entrance wall.
I sorted and tried not to think about anything else.
• • •
The thing about making things is that it soothes every part of me. And
connects everything in me too.

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It’s the thing that gets me up in the morning.
What if I didn’t have that anymore? What if I couldn’t get up in the