Love from a to Z

ADAM
TUESDAY, MARCH 12
MARVEL:
PLANS
I 
PRAYED
F
AJR OUTSIDE THIS
morning, prayer mat unrolled by the water, my back to it.
It was dark, with that inkiness in the sky that hints at more colors to
come. I contemplated waiting for sunrise—which would be right over the
gulf behind me, promising better pictures than the ones I’d just taken—but
then I glimpsed Dad through the blinds he opened in his second-story
bedroom.
And I remembered my plans for today.
Today was about avoiding Dad, who, at dinner last night, had already
shown signs that this year’s anniversary of Mom’s passing was going to be
the same, as hard as usual.
He’d chewed his food for so long while eating that I passed him the salad
unasked to break his reverie, to get him to swallow. He nodded and set the
bowl beside his plate.
Then he kept his eyes lowered, strictly on his food.
He’d also let Hanna get away with screen time at dinner, which is usually
a huge no for him. The entire meal, she laughed her way through episodes
of some YouTube show, earphones on, her iPad propped up against the two
cans of tomato sauce she’d boldly brought to the table from the cupboard.
It was quiet, like Dad wasn’t there, and yet like he was, because I didn’t
dare talk to Hanna, either, in case she said something about Mom.
I let him have it, his withdrawal from us. Besides, I was busy making
plans.
First order of the day was to avoid Dad, like I’ve said. Second was to
hide myself away in the nanny’s room, aka my workshop downstairs.

---

The only time the room had been used before was when Mom’s personal
support worker had lived with us during the last few months of Mom’s life.
Then it had lain unused until three years ago when, in an attempt to get
rid of stuff, I’d packed up and given away the furniture inside, leaving it
bare and ready for a new start.
Soon after, when I began journaling marvels, I started a project in the
room.
It became my making-stuff space.
Today I wanted to pick up on it again, maybe finally finish the
installation I’d begun.
Hanna’s wanting to see the house in the jar that Mom had made had
given me an idea: Maybe I could bring together the bits I’d been working
on over the years.
I also don’t know how much time I have before I can’t do things like this
anymore.
I’ve had a faint headache since I woke up this morning, and whenever
I’ve had any type of physical symptom since my diagnosis, I start thinking
of what lies ahead.
I want to make sure I use my hands, finish making things, before the
numbness that I know waits for me begins.
The third order of the day was currently staring at me on my phone.
Unread message: @ZayA_01.
Avoid Zayneb.
Avoid a fourth impression.
• • •
In the workshop there were cobwebs here and there on the piles of lumber
pieces and boxes with paint cans and toolboxes.
Interestingly, the bits of wood for the cosmos installation I’d prepped
were pretty clean. And, interestingly again, the pieces had been rearranged
from largest to smallest.
Hanna.
I got to work, pulling the extra materials and tools out of the room, into
the hallway, clearing it completely again. I wanted the room itself to be part
of the project.

---

I imagined walking into it, like walking into a snow globe, and being
immersed in the installation. Becoming a part of it.
The jar had given me this idea. When I’d wanted to go back home to
Ottawa so badly, Mom had brought a little of Ottawa to me.
Imagine if I transformed this room into the place where someone would
want to escape to?
• • •
As I painted the ceiling cobalt blue, standing on a ladder, the phone in my
pocket vibrated with another message.
Zayneb?
I couldn’t look at it. Her message. Her messages.
There was something about her that drew me in so quickly and intensely.
A few things, really.
For example, her bravery at the saluki shelter yesterday.
I can’t believe that I hadn’t figured out she was scared of dogs. Hanna
told me she’d thought so when we were returning from Ariel’s pen. “I saw
her face when Ariel was running around. She was standing back there
shaking. I think she’s just doing this for us. Visiting the shelter with us.”
And sure enough, when we got out into the foyer, I noticed the change in
Zayneb. She was a completely different person from the one who’d been in
the room with Ariel. She was relaxed, smiling.
She’d swallowed her fear to accompany us. Whoa.
And then, on the ride back to drop her off after the shelter, I got that
tingling sensation I’d been getting on and off since September. Up my arms
and legs, like tiny shocks were running through, the tingling that had forced
me go to the doctor in early November. Paresthesia.
I’d concentrated on looking out the window, on giving no sign to Dad
that something was happening inside me.
The feeling left me before we neared Ms. Raymond’s building. Zayneb’s
drop-off.
Then I got to thinking: Was there any use? Of just hanging around with
her? When it wouldn’t come to anything?
I couldn’t even say a word to her when she got out of the car.
I was trying hard not to so obviously shake off the sensations that had
just invaded my body minutes before.

---

She’d stood there for a bit, then looked up at me and waited a few
seconds before saying salaam.
And I’d thought, No.