2 Years, 1 Month, 17 Days

It had been two years, one month, and seventeen days since Syllah had left. I never did figure out what came over her. She’d become bitter, sarcastic, and cold, but I tried to work it out. It was as if she was trying to drive me away.

She left, though, while I was at work. Just cleared out all her things and was gone with only a text message that said, “I’m gone, don’t worry about me.” I was left wondering if I’d done something wrong, or maybe she’d gotten bored of me.

My friends had tried to dissuade me from getting involved with her in the first place. They said she wasn’t “right for” me. I figured out quickly that they were racists and found new friends that had no problem with me marrying an orc.

We celebrated our fourth anniversary shortly before she started to change. I still remember what she wore that night; a sexy, red, slit-leg sheath dress and stiletto heels that made her a foot and a half taller than me.

We danced…well I did the best I could, she moved like grace wrapped in dusky muscle. We ended the night with her carrying me home. I’d never felt so safe and loved. Despite the jeers of the assholes who called out to us on the street that night, I did not feel like less of a man for it.

It was only a couple weeks later that she began to change. Her mood swung from apathetic to the edge of rage to deep depression and back. No matter how much I tried to get her to talk about it with me or a friend or a professional she pushed back.

I tried to make it clear that no matter what was going on, I’d be there for her. I don’t think she was used to having anyone offer to watch out for her, as that’s the role she played not just with me, but with her friends as well. She was the guard / soldier / warrior that kept those she cared about safe.

I don’t know what it was about day 777 since she’d left, but it was the day I decided to finally clean out her nightstand. It had sat there, untouched by me, except to be dusted. I just couldn’t bring myself to open it and see the empty drawers as I had in her dresser.

The drawers weren’t empty, though. The top drawer held pictures of us over the years, arranged almost as a shrine. On top of them was a torn piece of paper on which she’d scrawled, “I’m sorry.”

I gathered the photos and laid them out on the bed. There at the end was a photo of us from our fourth anniversary, with her laughing and holding me up by the armpits for a kiss. I remember the bartender taking that and sending it to her phone.

The top drawer empty, and no other pieces of paper or clues of any kind, I dried my face and opened the bottom drawer. The photo printer, along with its charger, sat atop a small book I’d never seen.

We’d had an agreement that anything in our nightstand was completely off-limits for the other. It wasn’t about not trusting each other so much as having a safe place to hide surprise gifts.

The book was one of those that comes with blank pages for use as a diary or sketchbook or recipe book or whatever. I opened it to the first page, and realized it was a diary.

I could read it, maybe figure out what I did wrong, or leave it. For the moment, I put it down and lay on the bed to cry. I didn’t want to betray her trust, but I had to know what changed.

When I felt cried out, I rose, took a shower, dressed in my pajamas, and checked the time. It was only five PM, but no matter. I stared in the fridge for a bit but nothing sounded good except a beer, so beer for dinner it was.

As I sat staring at the blank, powered off TV, I could feel my resolve crumbling. Is it really betraying her trust, I asked myself, if she’s been gone so long without a word? Not even her friends have heard from her.

After calling all her friends for a couple months, I’d called her mother…once. She never approved of me to begin with and let me know in no uncertain terms that she still felt the same. Then she said she hadn’t seen her since she “ran off to play with a weakling.”

I couldn’t take it any longer. The diary was right there, and it might have the answer. I flipped to the last page with writing and read the entry.

“Jonah, I know you’ll read this at some point. Even you don’t have an iron will when curiosity strikes. I just hope you wait long enough that it doesn’t hurt anymore.

“My last happy memory was our anniversary dinner. You helped me forget what I’d found out the Monday before. I’m not sure how long I have, but you shouldn’t have to watch me fade away.

“I tried to make you hate me or resent me or at least get tired of me, but you never wavered. I’m sorry for treating you like that, but you deserve someone that give you a long, happy, active life.

“I always loved you, and when I’m gone, I’ll still watch over you. —Syllah.”

I flipped back a few pages…they were filled with despair that she was hurting me, and I wasn’t responding the way she expected. Back a few more pages where one word had been written and retraced multiple times with a heavy hand and circled again and again: “Stonelitz.”

I knew that it was a disease but didn’t know much about it. I jumped online and looked it up. Stonelitz Disease affects only orcs and trolls and is a recessive genetic disease that begins to show symptoms of muscle cramping in the mid to late twenties. The disease caused muscle loss followed by slow paralysis beginning at the fingers and toes, and progressing until eventually the diaphragm is paralyzed and the patient is either placed on ventilation or dies.

The period from onset to full paralysis ranges from one to fifteen years, depending on other genetic factors and treatments.

I knew, if she hid that from me and her friends, the only person she could share it with is her mother. I screwed up my courage and called her again.

“Reba…Ms. Grumash,” I said when she answered, “I know that Syllah has Stonelitz disease. Is she there?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Can I talk to her, please?”

She hung up on me. Okay, Reba’s is only a two-hour drive, I can be there by eight. I had a beer, am I okay to drive? Wait…I’m in my pajamas and I haven’t eaten anything today. I can eat, get dressed, have some coffee and be there by nine.

When I pulled up to her mother’s house, I saw her old Bronco sitting in the driveway with a For Sale sign on it. I hoped it wasn’t too late. She’d had that bucket since high school and had done every bit of work on it herself. I couldn’t imagine her selling it.

Clutching the diary, I pounded on the door. Reba opened the door, took one look at me, backhanded me off the porch and slammed the door.

I checked that my jaw was still in one piece and no missing teeth and pulled myself up. She hadn’t locked the door, and I could hear her swearing about me in the front room.

I ran to the door, let myself in, threw the diary at her, and ran to the hallway. “Syllah!” I called.

I found her room at the same time Reba caught up to me. “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked. “You only called once and gave up, like the weakling you are.”

“Read the diary,” I said.

I stepped into Syllah’s room and shut the door behind me. She was wearing one of my hoodies. Where it used to fit her snugly it now draped off her shoulders. Her back was to me as she sat staring out the window.

“Go away, Jonah,” she said, a hitch in her voice.

“No.”

She turned toward me, gaunt, the last two fingers of her left hand stuck in a claw-like position. “You don’t get to come here and feel sorry for me. You’re supposed to be living your life with someone who makes you happy.”

“One: you make me happy. Two: I don’t feel sorry for you. You tried to make me hate you,” I said, holding back tears as my face burned, “but I didn’t. I wanted to…it would’ve been easier. Instead, I spent every waking moment wondering what I did wrong.”

“Nothing,” she said, her head hanging low. “Nothing. You shouldn’t be here. It’s not fair to you. You shouldn’t have to live through this.”

“I decide what I will and won’t live through,” I said. “You don’t get to make that choice for me!” I took a deep breath, relaxing my hands that had curled into fists. “I’m here, and I’m not going away without you.”

“You don’t understand. You should go. I didn’t want you to see me like this. I don’t need you here. You deserve better.”

“I deserve? What about what you deserve?” I knelt in front of the chair she sat in and fixed her gaze with my own. “I’ve been lucky to have you in my life, and I’ve been miserable without you. But if you can convince me that you’re happier with me gone…then I’ll go.”

She tried to turn away from me, but from my vantage point I could see the tears rolling down her face.

“You say you don’t need me here. Are you happier without me, Syllah?”

“No.”

“Then I’m not going without you. Do you have a doctor here you like better than Doc Swanson?”

She nodded. “Specialist.”

“I can work from anywhere. Your mom’s just gonna have to deal with me staying here until I find a place for us.”

She looked up at me and reached for my jaw. “What…?”

“Reba.”

Syllah sighed. “I need to lay down,” she said.

I stood, and she tried but started to tumble. I caught her and held her up, helping her get to the bed.

“You don’t have to—”

“Shush, woman. You’ve taken care of me since high school; it’s my turn to take care of you.” I let out a short laugh as I helped her lie down. “You’re lighter than me, now, so there.”

I hadn’t realized Reba had entered the room. How someone with her bulk could move so silently I couldn’t fathom. She handed the diary to Syllah. “Brat of a child,” she said, “you didn’t tell him. I thought he was just being a human weakling. When did you find out, boy?”

“About four hours ago.”

“And you came right here?”

“After you hung up on me, and I sobered myself up.”

Reba lifted my chin with a gentle touch, looked at my jaw, and tutted. “That’s gonna bruise. Sorry, boy, I thought you knew all along. You sure it ain’t broken?”

“Pretty sure.”

“Tougher than you look.”

I turned back to Syllah who, despite her diminished state was staring daggers at her mother. “Why are you selling your Bronco?”

“Can’t drive. Right foot’s mostly paralyzed.”

“I’ll sell my Acura, and we’ll keep your Bronco. I know how much you love it.”

“You just want to drive it.”

“Always have wanted to. Will you finally let me?” I asked.

She grabbed my hand. “Yeah, after you sell your Acura and buy me a tricked-out wheelchair. I’ll need it soon.”

“Deal.” I looked back at Reba. “It’s late and I need to start bringing my things over tomorrow. Where can I sleep?”

Syllah squeezed my hand. “Right here, idiot.”

Reba cleared her throat, saw the look on Syllah’s face, and said, “Yeah…uh…right there…with your wife. Don’t be a dummy.”

She left the room and closed the door behind her. Syllah’s eyebrows rose. “I think she just gave us her blessing…finally.”

“If I knew all it took was getting knocked off the porch, I would’ve done it a long time ago.”

“Come to bed, Jonah. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

For the first time in two years, one month, and seventeen days, I slept a deep and restful sleep.