Asher ✓

45 | china

FEBRUARY 29, 2016 / DELROV HOUSEHOLD

Asher had become quite proficient in feigning sleep.

The blinds were drawn against the white afternoon sunlight, leaving the room dark and stagnant. It had snowed that morning, so much that everything outside was glaringly painful to look at. In shadow, Asher laid swaddled in blankets, lazily perusing the large bookshelf opposite his bed.

The bookshelf contained Vasily's manuals, Ekaterina's novels, trinkets and photographs. It was once the fixture of Vasily's study, now Asher's bedroom. Vasily and Vanessa had spent a day exchanging the furniture of Asher's room and the study, but neglected to move the bookshelf. Maybe it was too large to move, or Vasily thought it would provide some entertainment for Asher. 

Asher remembered the stern, no-fuss manner they went about the task. He also remembered how cheerful Vasily had been moving their furniture into the house when they first arrived in Astoria. He laughed, made jokes, smiled until his eyes disappeared beneath the sunburnt hills of his cheeks.

The day Vanessa had helped, there were no smiles. The murmured conversation between her and Vasily was ostensibly tense, and it ceased whenever Asher came to ask how they were going.

"Fine. Thanks, son," Vasily had reassured. They had remained silent while Asher was in the room, so he'd left. 

He could tell Vasily didn't know how to behave around him any more. Asher didn't want sympathy, and Vasily wanted nothing more than to sympathise and dote on his son. The result was a strained middle ground where conversations were brief and clipped, because anything deeper would probably cause both men to cry. 

So they feigned normality.

Asher had become rather good at feigning things. Sleep. Normality. 

Happiness. 

It was easier to feed people what they wanted. Suppose they found out how he lay awake most nights, or struggled to wiggle into his pants. They'd feel awful. Ask how to help. Maybe apologise even, in that illogical and fruitless way people do when confronted with another's tragedy. And all it would do would cause another person pain, while taking away none of his own. How unwise.

So Asher kept his day-to-day feelings to himself. Sometimes refusing to share was difficult, so he resorted to staying in his room, pretending to be asleep if need be.

"I'm sorry, Ryanel, I swore he was awake when we called earlier," Asher heard Vasily murmur, from just outside his door.

"That's alright," Ryanel assured. "It's good he can rest. How is he lately?"

"Hmm. Physically, he's doing well. Learning quickly, as usual," over which both men shared a chuckle. Vasily continued, "But I worry, as usual. He doesn't come out of his room often. Even less outside the house. I wish I knew how he was feeling."

"Me, too. I was hoping we could catch up today, especially. Despite all my visits, I feel I haven't seen Asher in a while. The happy Asher."

"I know how you feel," Vasily replied comfortingly.

"But maybe I'll try again in a few days. I have a lecture after lunch, so I won't stay long."