OCTOBER 19, 2012 / DELROV HOUSEHOLD

A lot could change in three months. Asher Delrov was testimony to that. 

It had taken so long for Asher to truly like his father again, to try genuine smiles and unguarded conversations rather than critical glares and pointedly talking about Vanessa Porter at the dinner table just to strike home how much he preferred her company to his father's.

Even though Asher's mood had been perpetually sour over the summer, Vasily remained set in his opinions. Whenever he felt like caving under Asher's clenched teeth and rash insults, he would justify internally that he would not tolerate dishonesty from his son. What if Asher had been hurt? He would have had no way to contact or reach him because of his lies, say nothing of the condition in which he might have found his son because of his reckless drinking. 

When Asher had stumbled back into the house after his night out, the relief that had washed over Vasily was overwhelming. And, after, so was the fury. But he never verbally brought up that Wednesday night again, his rationale or his emotions. He knew it would just lead to more arguing.

It wasn't like Asher's punishment was particularly harsh. He reunited with his friends and regained access to technology after the summer, and had the beginnings of his life savings. Vasily reckoned a bit of honest labour would show him the fruitlessness of endangering himself for 'fun'. 

"Dude, you have to share your cash," Kerrish said when they returned to school, referring to Asher's new job as an apprentice at Steelton Automotive Repair and Servicing.

Without batting an eyelash, Asher had responded, "Fuck off."

The shameless begging of Kerrish Soto started out as a persevering itch in his eardrums, but after an hour, then two, his pleas faded to a rustling background noise against the action and excitement of the first day of junior year. Friends were rejoining and rejoicing; grouchy teachers were spreading their grouchiness by assigning first-day homework, but the general attitude around campus remained upbeat and happy.

School had officially shed the layer of dust summer had dropped on it, and after too long without seeing his trouble-making friends, the wild youth was looking to fall back into old habits. Briefly, Asher considered going and getting dangerously drunk again to spite his father. Then he was disgusted with himself. 

One good thing that had arisen from his summer was that the disconnection from technology, the long laborious days and the sheer exhaustion it left him with in the evenings staved off the worst of his mood swings and depressive episodes. It seemed like they would come back in full force this year, from the way his mind had immediately turned to bitterness.

One lazy afternoon, Asher had been leafing through the car magazines thrown into a pile on the coffee table in the small, stuffy garage staffroom. (It may or may not have been for the bikini-clad girls.) An advertisement for a regional motorcycle club caught his eye.

Vasily Delrov had been explicitly against it from the beginning. Giving Asher even more opportunities to get hurt, away from his watch, was never an option. His foot slammed down, and he refused to budge. 

But Asher was not making any concessions of his own either. Asher turned to Vanessa. It took three well-calculated, persuasive rants and one tearful temper tantrum for Asher to convince Vanessa Porter that joining the club was the absolute best thing for the 'troubled' teen.

Asher had played his part — quite convincingly — now all he had to do was sit back, and watch the adults fight it out. Vasily tried to explain the dangers, and he did so marvellously; but Asher already knew who would get their way. So the night after, when Vasily came in with the cold dinner that Asher had refused to eat, and an apologetic smile stretching his eye-wrinkles, Asher had to smother a gloating laugh into his chest before turning on his swivel chair to face his father.

"I'm not hungry," he insisted, peering at the criss-cross patterns his shoelaces formed. 

Asher heard his father sigh, and then looked up. Vasily Delrov looked stressed to the point of breaking. His hands were tight on the rim of the vegetable-covered bowl, and trembling; the weight of the world seemed to have invited itself to stay on Vasily's shoulders — and Asher knew his father wouldn't look so worn if he had helped to hold the burden.

But between a clear conscience, or membership to the motorcycle club, Asher would not release his pride. He would not apologise, he would not behave, he would not eat, he would not even smile for his father — unless he got what he wanted. At this point, with his cunning, argumentativeness, and non-existent conscience, Asher was going to grow into an adult to be afraid of.

"Is joining some club what you really want?"

Asher felt he didn't even have to say, "Yes."

Vasily exhaled heavily through his nose, and said, "You can still ride your bike; why do you need to join a club to do it?"

What Asher said next would break Vasily's resolve, he was sure of it — it had convinced Vanessa, after all.

"It's not about the biking. Do you know how frustrating having imperfecta is?"

Asher likened it to being in a shark cage, and a limited amount of oxygen in his tank. People watched from the boat, looking down with sympathy, but none willing enough to actually help him. No-one could help him. No-one knew what he was going through. 

For once, Asher wanted someone else in the shark cage with him; just to know he wasn't completely alone in what he was enduring. And it was extremely unlikely that he would meet another teenager with his disease; Asher went with the second-best option. 

He said, "I'd get to meet people like me — at least in a small way." 

Asher knew his father tried hard to be everything he needed — so he didn't have to venture into danger to find it — and he loved him for that. But he would suffocate this year if he couldn't find something to dispel the darkness.

"It's not enough. I want opportunities with this. I want my freedom. Just like Mom wanted for me."

Vasily wanted to say many things in response. He wanted to re-explain the dangers Asher had engrained into his memory at the age of ten. He wanted to remind his son how weak he still was; how young he still was. Vasily was tempted to fling every objection he had to this idea at Asher, but it wouldn't work. He sighed, knowing he had lost the battle, and Asher rose in his chair, knowing he had won.

"Okay, you can go sign up tomorrow. Do you need me to drive you?"

"No," Asher smiled, "I'll take the bike."