your job to reassure her. I know her world feels unstable and that girl is nothing if she isn’t orderly. Make her lose control, make her feel and live again. I’ll be here until it’s my time, and none of us know when that will be. I can’t be suffocated, and she can’t keep this up or she will lose the girl inside of her that I love so much.”
“I try Nana, but she’s stubborn.”
“Prom is coming up. Make her want to go. Remind her what it feels like to be a teenager and in love. You can do it. If not, I pity your toilet bowl after a batch of my cookies. You’ll never know when that batch will appear, and I know you won’t forego that yummy deliciousness when I put it in front of you.”
“You don’t play fair.”
“This isn’t a game, this is my family. I will do whatever I have to do in the time I have left to leave it intact.”
“You have a plan?”
“You bet your fine looking ass I do. Come sit down, and I’ll share.”
And here we are, and I’m hoping it all works as Nana plotted. That woman needs to get off YouTube.
“MOM!” Her voice holds a hint of irritation. I hide my smile because nerves are taking over. I’m huddled behind a rack of costumes in the last dance studio waiting for her to appear so my plan will come to fruition. Right now a few dancers from the seven-year-old class will be handing her one of eleven roses. They will lead her a few steps and another rose will be placed in her hands as she follows the maze we’ve created.
“What the . . .” she trails off, conscious of little ears around her. As soon as she turns the knob ‘Suit and Tie’ by Justin Timberlake fills the air. She walks in, and the lights illuminate a myriad of dancers. I can see her face from my vantage point, and her mouth is hanging open, her eyes searching for additional clues as to what she has walked into. After a few lyrics, more dancers join in, performing just for her. Luke joins them, and she bends at the waist with his rendition of JT’s moves; it doesn’t fair too well for him, but the laughter along with the smile stretched across her face is more than we could have asked for. He continues his ministrations across the floor, embarrassing himself as Phoebe takes center stage.
Watching her flawless movements and remembering Em in this same studio is nothing short of weird science. You stand in stupor and adoration watching Phoebe move across the floor, it becoming an extension of her, yet Em can’t walk and chew gum at the same time. As the song nears the end, they all crowd her spinning and blocking her view as I take center stage. I have the last rose with a sign reading ‘PROM?’ I watch as they move one by one until I’m staring at the girl who owns me, the one for whom I strive to be a better person. Every mistake I make, each time I falter and stumble, I pick myself up knowing she is my end game. My home.
My stare never leaves her. I watch as her nose crinkles, her feet shuffling in her own little dance. Her eyes light up and her smile is genuine. “Well?” I ask the million-dollar question.
“Yes.” Her eyes emit happiness, fill with tears, and her voice is a mere whisper. I hand her the last rose, pick her up, spin and roar with elation. I see Nana watching all from the door, she was able to witness this because my parents snuck her in after Emma got here. Her disease is unknown; time, rate of acceleration, her mind and her demeanor can change in an instant. She is just as scared as her family. Not knowing if she will be here to see Em get married, or if she is will she remember it? Those questions and doubts plague her daily; she suffers in silence making sure her family is taken care of while she is able to do it. It’s not fair, none of this is, but being able to give them both this moment, this memory to cherish for as long as they can, is just a small part of what I can do. What I want to do.
The strain has dispersed, tension eased as I let my girl go, and she
“I try Nana, but she’s stubborn.”
“Prom is coming up. Make her want to go. Remind her what it feels like to be a teenager and in love. You can do it. If not, I pity your toilet bowl after a batch of my cookies. You’ll never know when that batch will appear, and I know you won’t forego that yummy deliciousness when I put it in front of you.”
“You don’t play fair.”
“This isn’t a game, this is my family. I will do whatever I have to do in the time I have left to leave it intact.”
“You have a plan?”
“You bet your fine looking ass I do. Come sit down, and I’ll share.”
And here we are, and I’m hoping it all works as Nana plotted. That woman needs to get off YouTube.
“MOM!” Her voice holds a hint of irritation. I hide my smile because nerves are taking over. I’m huddled behind a rack of costumes in the last dance studio waiting for her to appear so my plan will come to fruition. Right now a few dancers from the seven-year-old class will be handing her one of eleven roses. They will lead her a few steps and another rose will be placed in her hands as she follows the maze we’ve created.
“What the . . .” she trails off, conscious of little ears around her. As soon as she turns the knob ‘Suit and Tie’ by Justin Timberlake fills the air. She walks in, and the lights illuminate a myriad of dancers. I can see her face from my vantage point, and her mouth is hanging open, her eyes searching for additional clues as to what she has walked into. After a few lyrics, more dancers join in, performing just for her. Luke joins them, and she bends at the waist with his rendition of JT’s moves; it doesn’t fair too well for him, but the laughter along with the smile stretched across her face is more than we could have asked for. He continues his ministrations across the floor, embarrassing himself as Phoebe takes center stage.
Watching her flawless movements and remembering Em in this same studio is nothing short of weird science. You stand in stupor and adoration watching Phoebe move across the floor, it becoming an extension of her, yet Em can’t walk and chew gum at the same time. As the song nears the end, they all crowd her spinning and blocking her view as I take center stage. I have the last rose with a sign reading ‘PROM?’ I watch as they move one by one until I’m staring at the girl who owns me, the one for whom I strive to be a better person. Every mistake I make, each time I falter and stumble, I pick myself up knowing she is my end game. My home.
My stare never leaves her. I watch as her nose crinkles, her feet shuffling in her own little dance. Her eyes light up and her smile is genuine. “Well?” I ask the million-dollar question.
“Yes.” Her eyes emit happiness, fill with tears, and her voice is a mere whisper. I hand her the last rose, pick her up, spin and roar with elation. I see Nana watching all from the door, she was able to witness this because my parents snuck her in after Emma got here. Her disease is unknown; time, rate of acceleration, her mind and her demeanor can change in an instant. She is just as scared as her family. Not knowing if she will be here to see Em get married, or if she is will she remember it? Those questions and doubts plague her daily; she suffers in silence making sure her family is taken care of while she is able to do it. It’s not fair, none of this is, but being able to give them both this moment, this memory to cherish for as long as they can, is just a small part of what I can do. What I want to do.
The strain has dispersed, tension eased as I let my girl go, and she
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