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MARCH 1, 2009 / DELROV HOUSEHOLD

Plane tickets to another country were not what Asher was expecting for his thirteenth birthday.

Plane tickets to the USA - a country that Ekaterina was equally disgusted with and intrigued by - were even less anticipated.

On the first day of March, Asher awoke to a homemade banquet and Vasily Delrov 2.0. Happier, healthier and stronger.

He presented Asher with an envelope.

"You're kidding me," was the reaction.

Seconds later, when Asher read the genuine emotion (happiness, excitement) in Vasily's eyes, he couldn't help but wonder, "Why?"

Vasily's happiness began to slip, when he saw his son's hesitation. Asher was his only preoccupation; if he didn't want to leave, they wouldn't.

"America is a big country, Asher. We could have a better life there."

Adolescent Asher was more curious than ever, but instead of going home and researching his wonder, he voiced them aloud with newfound outspokenness. The boy pointed out, "Russia is bigger, and we already have a good life here."

Vasily's plan emerged as a result of three things.

The first was that economies around the world were turning down, and in Russia, the middle classes were hit especially hard. Some would say that moving to the epicenter of the Global Financial Crisis was idiotic, but Vasily had been smart. He had pulled his investments out of the markets before the recession took a turn for the catastrophic, and had successfully applied for employment as part of a skilled immigrants programme.

The second was that Vasily wanted to remove Asher from an unstable political situation. Some speculated that Russia's foreign investment markets had been debilitated as punishment for their interference in international affairs. He was not a political man. If there was instability threatening his family, he wanted to relocate to more solid ground.

The third was concern for Asher's future. If he were to have more serious injuries later in life, if he were to go deaf, or need extensive care, Vasily wanted nothing but the best medical care. And the best medical care was in the US.

"Aria went to university there," Vasily referred to Asher's cousin, who lived in a neighbouring town. "She loved it. The schools are good, and you'll have more opportunities to get into a scientific career."

Hearing the prospect of a career in science sounded odd, discordant.

Asher never thought he'd go into a scientific career. He realised that it must have looked that way to Vasily Delrov, seeing a son who excelled in science tests, and researched medicine for fun to satiate his incurable curiosity. But Asher, like most thirteen-year-olds, didn't have any idea what to do with his life - other than keep safe and keep alive.

Science was interesting and he was good at it. It was a big love of his, but waking up and doing it everyday wasn't in his future. Asher imagined it like being in love with the sky. Something he could stare at and obsess, but ultimately, not meant for him.

Asher knew this because science wasn't what he turned to when he was overwhelmed with the unfairness of life, and had to stay home on the day his schoolmates would be doing something threatening to his health.

He turned to his bike, which Ekaterina had bought for him before she passed (it was way too big for him then - she was planning ahead for the days she might not see), jumped on and pedaled all the way to the cemetery, to spill his thoughts onto his mother. She could never have tired of hearing his thinking.

"I don't want to leave Mama," Asher mumbled.

Vasily's eyes softened, "I know you want to stay with her. We don't have to go now if you don't want to."

"Seriously?" His father was much less stubborn than his mother. "But, you already bought the tickets."

"They can be returned," Vasily assured, having opted for cancellation coverage.

"Are you sure? Will you lose insurance money?"

"Asher, you're too young to be worrying about money," Vasily said.

But Asher had seen the stress his medical bills put on his father, amongst other disastrous things he was too familiar with.

"Why did you want to go, anyway?"

Vasily cleared his throat, and explained, "Do you know what Dr. Polzin told you? About the risk of you going deaf later in life?"

Asher's lungs felt ready to collapse, folding in like a cardboard box in a car crusher.

"Yes," he breathed. "But what does that have to do with anything?"

"Well, in the States, they have better clinical centres that can help you if that happens. There are experts there who can make your life better."

The words sounded rehearsed, to Asher. He had heard enough rehearsed speeches and elaborate diagnoses to know when something was contrived.

"Did Dr. Polzin talk to you about this?"

Vasily wondered when Asher became so like Ekaterina - full of questions, knowledge and sass. "He didn't give me the idea, if that's what you're implying."

The teenager shot back, "That is what I'm implying, because I thought we were happy here. Why are you asking me to leave school, my friends? I don't want to leave home."

"It's unfair, I know," Vasily ignored Asher's history of having to deal with unfairness, "But you're a teenager now. I know you're going to do what teenagers do, sooner or later."

"What? Date and get drunk at parties?"

A future of being a stereotypical teenager was as far-fetched to Asher as a career in science.

"Well . . ." Vasily shook his head. "No. I meant, you're going to want freedom, and I want to give that to you. But not if it means you getting hurt."

"I can take care of myself. Why do we have to go to America for me to be safe? Have you seen what Americans are like?"

Asher recalled all the blog posts he had stumbled on in his wayward researching. Angsty faces and nationwide prejudice.

"They are rude, loud and do not care about anything but themselves."

"That's just a racist stereotype, Asher," Vasily's tone was strict - something he tried not to be around his son. "Do not believe everything you hear on the internet."

Asher frowned, and spoke calmly. It was never good when Asher spoke calmly when angry - like his mother, it meant he had a plan to win the argument. It was the cold lift of a sword, before slicing through skin and bone.

"Fine. You tell me one thing that America has that Russia doesn't, and I will think about it."

Vasily instantly said, "If your imperfecta gets worse, you have a better chance of saving your hearing there."

Asher Delrov was silent for a solid minute, and his inner workings ticked over the point. The choice was theoretically simple, but impossibly difficult to make on the spot: Asher had to pick between his past and his future.

Finally, he grabbed his bike helmet, pulled on his knee pads (though they hadn't done much to stop his bones breaking before) and opened the front door.

"I'm going to see Mama. I'll think about it."

Vasily let his son go. His mind was always scattered after arguing with Asher, because he didn't know what his son was thinking and he didn't know how to comfort him. Knowing whether he was physically hurt or not was easy in comparison.

The one thing he figured would always be good to do was to give Asher as much freedom as he could get now, in case the final, tragic stages of imperfecta set in and stole the little that was left of his life.


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