“It’s guns, mostly. At least it is at that location,” he replies, clearly withholding information from me. I’m not sure whether or not he wants me to keep asking or to drop it entirely.
“Have you ever fired a gun?” I ask.
“Well, yeah, of course. I actually have a shooting range here on the estate. It’s just a little way down from the courtyard. You could join me later if you wanted to,” he replies.
I feel a flush of excitement in my cheeks. I don’t think I’ve ever fired a gun before. At least, I obviously have no memory of it. Even if I have, it would be incredible to relive that experience, I’m sure.
“Yes, I would like that a lot,” I reply, trying to conceal my anticipation.
He shrugs. “Alright, I’ll be down there in an hour or so. Do you want me to help you get ready for the day? I know you can do it on your own, but I’m still here if you need me.”
“Um, no, that’s fine. I can do it myself, thanks,” I say.
He puts his hands up as he backs off, and for a split second, I feel guilty for being so defensive. I’m sure he desperately misses his wife, clinging to any moment he can spend with me, even if it’s in a caretaker position.
Even still, I can’t deny myself the simple dignity of dressing myself for the day. If I allow him to do everything for me like he wants to, I’ll never get better. I have to retain what’s left of my abilities.
I wheel myself over to my closet instead of the dresser near my bed. I’ve been lounging around in sweatpants and t-shirts this whole time, and I feel like the lack of effort is starting to take a toll on me. I feel lazy and unkempt.
The closet is gigantic on the inside, so fitting my wheelchair through isn’t difficult at all. When I really take it all in, I’m overwhelmed.
Everything is a high-fashion, name-brand piece. Hermes, Givenchy, Balenciaga, everything I’d only ever imagine celebrities or bored first ladies would wear. My own closet feels like the kind of store that someone could walk past in the elite uptown of New York City, admiring only and not daring to step inside lest they be overcome by envy.
I reach for a floral dress, white silk with pink and red roses all over it. Even just touching the fabric makes me feel like a princess. It’s tailor-made to fit me, allegedly, so I rush to put it on.
Easing my way into a silk dress in a wheelchair feels awkward at the very least, but when I focus and force myself to slow down, it slips over my head and over my body effortlessly.
I’d give anything to be able to stand up and pose in it, twirling in the floor-to-ceiling mirror at the back of the closet. But for now, I just have to hope that seeing me in my old clothes will bring Adas some happiness. If I can’t love him the way he needs me to right now, I’ll just have to step into the place of the ghost I left behind.
I wheel myself out of my room for the first time without Adas’s help. It feels strange to be in the hallways without an escort, but in a way, it’s refreshing to have a small piece of my independence back. I roll slowly through the halls, taking in the beauty of the architecture without anyone to rush me. It feels necessary for me to see things through my own eyes and not just as Adas describes them.
The elevator seems a bit excessive for someone who didn’t previously have a wheelchair-bound wife, but I’m thankful for it in the moment.
On my way down, I notice how quiet the mechanics of the elevator are. It’s so smooth and efficient, whisper quiet and fluid as it carries me down to the ground floor.
It’s so strange the things you notice when you’ve been stuck in a room for ten days.
When I make it down to the ground floor, the doors leading out to the courtyard are already open for me. He’s considerate; that’s something I can’t ignore. I doubt most people would think that far in advance. He didn’t even know for sure that I’d be coming down.
I take my time through the garden, taking in the beauty of so many different kinds of flowers and plants. Did I choose these? Or did he? Whoever it is, they have amazing taste. To be honest, I hope it was me.
The sun sits high in the sky as I leave the relatively shady courtyard area. Feeling the sun on my skin is incredible, so much more organic andrealthan the artificial feeling of the central air. While I’m sure my bedroom would be unbearable without it, I’ve craved the feeling of being bathed in sunlight.
I see Adas down at the very end of the estate where the shooting range must be. I was concerned when he said it was near the garden; I’d hate to have to listen to him shooting all day when I’m trying to read a book or just relax among the flowers.
“Adas!” I shout to him, hoping not to startle him by rolling up behind him.
He turns at the sound of my voice, smiling when he sees me.
“Hey! I didn’t know if you were going to make it out here,” he shouts back, placing his gun down and making his way toward me.
“You don’t have to meet me halfway or anything. I can come over to you,” I reply.
As if by fate, my wheelchair rolls over a tree root, and I’m unable to free myself from it.
He laughs a little when he sees. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come help you?”
I shrug. There’s no point in being stubborn, and he seems like he really wants to help me in any way he can. Even if I want to believe that I’m perfectly capable of doing everything on my own, I know in my heart that I need him as much as he wants me to.