Not for the depression-I mean, maybe that’s their fault. “Won’t be long now,” he’ll say, canning fruit or sharpening the blade of a knife.
“I really thought there was a bee,” he’ll say, EpiPen empty in its little tan tube. He’s only been stung the one time, but twice he’s put himself back in the hospital. It’s a fear I respect, a fear that makes sense when you’re all the time only seconds away from death. Aaron gets stung, he has less than a minute to plunge the needle into his leg before his throat swells shut. Now, everywhere he goes, there’s an EpiPen in his pocket. When he was a child, a bee sting put him in the hospital for two days. Bumblebee or butterfly, it didn’t matter. I shook the pills into his palm and he drank them down. One time, we watched Labyrinth three times in a row. For a while, Aaron was afraid to leave the house. Then, week two will hit, and like clockwork, or something more precise and calculating than clockwork, Aaron will start in on that year’s fear. “I want to hump the world!” he’ll say, pulling me onto the bed. By the end of the first week, he tends to claim a clarity and empathy he hasn’t felt in years. The trick is figuring out how long he’s been off.įirst day, he’ll feel nothing. Now, I have to guess, which isn’t hard given the things that come out of his mouth. When I stopped supporting these experiments, he stopped telling me. Aaron loses it, and, nine out of ten times, it means he’s gone off his meds. I’m thinking last night’s fireworks set him off, but there has to be more to it. It’s the third time this year, and it’s only July. “I like pears,” Aaron says, and it’s like he’s saying: Just because the world’s ending, I can’t get a pear, for God’s sake?Įxcept that, for Aaron, the world is always ending.
Last time I corrected him, he didn’t talk to me for two days, so I let it go.
He still calls it duck tape, like the bird. “I want you to get ten-twenty-gallons of water, eight rolls of duct tape, five pounds of jerky, and a pear.”
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He’s got that warble in his voice, like he’s just swallowed a kazoo, that and the tone that means business, like in movies when the screen splits and we see the people on both ends of the line, the air traffic controller telling the twelve-year-old girl how to land the plane, or the hero asking the chief which color wire to cut. “Where are you? Where are you right now?” Briefs - Summer 2014 Digital Designers Bring Opera to Life Anthropologist Searches for Answers on a Cliff in PeruĪaron calls to say we’re running out of time, and I know that we’re going to have to do it all over again, the collecting, the hiding, the waiting to come out of the dark. Back in the Day: UCF Architect Remembered by His Daughter Robots vs Astronauts Two physics professors debate the benefits of manned and unmanned space missions. Education Reform: Do the Florida Standards Benefit Our Children? 7 Delicious Cocktail Recipes for Summer Translating Tragedy Top of the Class: Bortles Scores at 2014 NFL Draft Soldiers to Scholars Student veterans build a community of support.
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Photo Gallery: Cheryl Hines, Josh Radnor, Olympia Snowe, Science Olympiad and More "The End of Aaron," a Short Story From The Heaven of Animals Anthology Engineering Students Win 2014 Human Powered Vehicle Challenge A Knight in Yankee Stadium Champion Attitude Alexa Score ’12 is a professional wakeboarder and cancer survivor. Achieve a College Education Day Journalism Student Captures Faces of Orlando Sea Turtles: The Lost Years Satellite trackers allowed researchers to follow juvenile loggerhead turtles on their perilous journey across the Atlantic Ocean.
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