The House of Scorpio

Annette's a Scorpio. I've never been with a water sign before. As an Aquarius I always thought it wise to stay away. Air and Water don't mix right? Just by definition doesn't air suffocate in water? But that's just astrology. I've been with people who were born under just the right configuration of stars. Those didn't work out at all. So maybe the stars don't get it all right. Or maybe it's the whole chart that matters -- rising signs and houses -- the moment of birth, the location. Every detail precise as an astronomical formula.

Until I met Annette I didn't know Scorpions were the only animal? Insect? Creature? able to sting itself to death. She thought this was the perfect metaphor for herself, she smiled over a chef salad. We ate late into the night. I already knew she had been diagnosed with lupus almost a decade ago. I had no idea that she saw her body like a scorpion's -- cells attacking each other. She sat in front of me, smiling drinking coffee, wearing low rise Juicy jeans, a white tank top, her Versace glasses slipping to the tip of her nose. Nothing about lupus seemed serious. I flare up sometimes, she said picking apart a boiled egg. It's not a big deal. Mostly my joints get a little stiff. I was taken in by the white Hane's tank stretching across perfect breasts, the crooked teeth she tried to hide. Stiff joints didn't seem so bad. I should have Googled lupus when I got home. But I didn't.

Almost three years later I know she doesn't get just a little stiff. She hates for any friends to know when she's having flares so when one erupts she removes to the house and no one can come in. She sleeps for hours and silence takes over. She refuses doctors and meds because she believes these things will pass. Most of the time, they do, but I worry. How long will this one last? Will I know when it is absolutely necessary to get her to the doctor? I figure out ways to touch her forehead, feel for a heat that shouldn't be there. The flare she is in now has lasted a couple of weeks. The fevers have been minimal, but everyday, it seems she can move a little less. I know the worst thing to do is to only talk about her illness. She hates for me to ask. She is so much more.

How can I say that conversations with her, hours with her pass like seconds. She can enchant anyone with her voice. I've watched person after person entranced by her ability to ruminate on politics, Amy Winehouse, green porn. The girl has a wide scope. It's what caught me and it's what saddens me now -- now when she cannot talk so much. Now when so much of the day is spent asleep. I close my eyes and try to imagine the red blood cells in her body regenerating -- regenerating. I will them to regenerate.