Love from a to Z

It isn’t the time to begin something with someone so interesting.
Someone so cute who I am completely attracted to.
Her eyes when she speaks excitedly are captivating, hard to tear away
from. And the way she keeps rearranging her lips when she’s listening. Like
she wants to open them to speak but is still making up her mind on what she
wants to say.
I could look at her all day.
Add to this how frank and open and sure she is, and there, just like that,
she had a hold on me.
That’s exactly why I need to avoid her. I was getting drawn so fast and so
hard that I was forgetting the things I had going on, the things I had to deal
with.
I’d just stood there yesterday, grim, muttering a salaam. Steeling myself
within, closing the door.
Bye, this girl I met on a plane who showed up at my house, who showed
up in my heart.
There’s nothing ahead for us and nothing comes out of wishing it weren’t
so.
I’m pragmatic that way, have always been so, through everything.
Including Mom’s passing.
I guess you could call it my survival mechanism.
The dull ache spreading behind my forehead reminds me I need some of
that pragmatism to transfer to dealing with my illness, too.
• • •
After spurts of the phone buzzing on and off, things completely stopped,
and it became silent while I painted the entire ceiling blue and the walls a
white base.
Then the door opened.
Connor stood there. “The cleaning lady let me in. Where were you, bro?”
I put the paint roller in its tray and wiped my hands on the old T-shirt I
had on. “That was you messaging?”

---

“Incessantly.” He looked around at the room. “What’s this? Guest
bedroom?”
“No.” I kept my answer simple. None of the other guys understood that I
liked to make stuff. They got it when I showed them something cool I’d
made, but this sort of stuff? That was actually art? They wouldn’t be on
board. Except maybe Tsetso, who did digital drawings.
“We’re meeting for lunch, then catching a movie. At Villaggio, like old
times.”
“Gotta finish in here.”
“Come on, Adam.” He carefully tested the door trim for wet paint before
leaning on it. “You gotta come out with us. Tsetso’s leaving on Friday, and
he’s got a bunch of family stuff, so today’s it for him.”
“I’ll go over to his place tomorrow or something.” I moved the roller in
the paint tray, avoiding his eyes.
“Okay, I’m staying here then to help you so you can come too. I’ll just
tell the other guys we’ll meet up later.” He crossed his arms.
I looked at him. Connor is the kind of guy you can’t stand, because of his
know-it-all, wisecracking ways, but then you just put up hanging around
with—because, behind the bravado, he has a strange, deep well of concern
for others. That he is okay openly expressing.
“Are you doing this because of today?” I asked. “Because of my mom?”
“Yup. You’re not going to be here on your own.”
“What if I need to be on my own?”
“Then be on your own tonight.” He cracked a smile. “When your dad and
Hanna get home.”
I looked at the ceiling. I’d been imagining setting the strips and dots of
wood on it, gluing for the most part, drilling for the heavier bits, and now
my plans were shot. There was no way I’d let Connor in on this kind of
work. He had no sense of finesse and would ask a million questions, mostly
having to do with why I was doing this.
There was no why. Other than wanting to see what I’d sketched in my
Marvels and Oddities journal come to life.
And wanting to keep my mind focused on things that didn’t bring me
stress.
“So, what can I do to help? Walls need another coat of paint?” He was
unmoving, arms still crossed in the doorway, jaws set.
Stubbornly caring while being obtuse was his shtick.

---

“Let’s go.” I wiped the speck of paint on the back of my right wrist on
my shorts.
I wasn’t going to change my clothes. I was just going to get this done and
over with.
Connor smiled and punched a victory fist before bounding up the stairs.