Inevitable Flaw

Chapter 23: Shackled Wrists

Adam had calmed down I presumed considering I didn't head anything from him after the doctor had said they were trying their best to resolve the issue. And I knew it would never be solved, which made me drown deeper. I still didn't know where mama was and I realized that I didn't want to confront her because it would hurt me even more.

"We have to help him on our own Aam, these money suckers don't care," Adam had whispered beside my still crouched position. I heard him spit in a distance, which would have disgusted me, but as of right now, I didn't care. He was right, we had to make our own effort to help him get back to where he was. It was a blessing nonetheless that he was strong enough to have beaten the five month living expectancy that the doctors had predicted, which made me hopeful and thankful at the same time. Maybe I could make this happen.

"How?" I had stuttered just after the recent crying episode I had.

"I was thinking of old photo albums and videos; past memories that could trigger and resurface his remembrance. Maybe useless but a mile of an effort from what any of these idiots will offer you," I had heard him grunt in anger. He sounded completely confident about the idea, which made me feel at ease.

But then again, it was really the only hope I had.

I had shaken my head and underneath my hijab, I was determined because Adam had established a tinge of chance, one that I was willing to lock up.

So here I was, coming just after dusk to try to reassemble his memory for the past two weeks. He has made some progress, which I am beyond grateful for, but there is still a lot of work left. The majority of the time was dealt with his fluid mood swings and changing interest, but he was trying nonetheless. I had explained through pictures how Aasif was his son and how Noor was his wife. Mama still refused to come back even though I had promised her he had progressed, because deep down I knew his lack of remembrance scared her. She would ask me every night about his advancement and smile when I told her how much he has learnt. My father was still a bit skeptical about calling us his family, which was a painful to hear but I sucked it up and hoped he would eventually realize that we were his children and that mama was his wife.

I just had to be patient.

"Ibrahim, your daughter Aamirah is here to see you," Becky says in a singsong voice, almost as if she is talking to a child. This treatment irritates me but I let it go.

I peek over her shoulder at a man I still call my father, regardless of him dismissing the saying as soon as I make it. He looks up at me from his Quran that I had given to him, which he surprisingly knew to read well after some initial difficulty. His face looks radiant and warm, but the increasing wrinkles on his face and the greying hair that has grown on his head after it being shaved, makes me teary eyed. He raises his eyebrow to examine me and then smiles as if realizing who I am.

"Aamreerah, come inside," he says after getting off of his bed. I ignore my forgotten name and go inside the little nude colored room. Betsy smiles from ear to ear and wishes me luck before leaving us alone.

"So how are you doing dad?" I ask, while cautiously taking a seat on his bed. I notice him slightly flinching at the word 'dad' but I have become accustomed to it so I see no need to be surprised. When he only shakes his head and looks out his window, I try to continue.

"I have brought some photo albums of you with your family," I add, unzipping my backpack full of old albums I had dug out of the basement. He seems captivated by the idea because he turns around to look at me. I watch as he slowly walks over to the other side of the bed and sits as far away from me as possible.

"Well, hurry up then," he says impatiently, which makes me smile.

We go through some of my baby pictures and of him holding me in his arms. He traces the photos with his fingers as if trying to withhold the emotion behind them. I watch him smile at some silly family photos, but he doesn't make any comment or speak about feelings of nostalgia. It presses on every nerve when he doesn't even say anything about his marriage photos, he just flips through them with an unreadable expression. This goes on for a while until he starts flipping through them faster; to the point of anger Before I am fully aware of it, he is throwing the album towards the wall over my head. I duck down luckily and stand up slightly trembling.