I do not in any way own the X-Men or the characters of Warren Worthington II or Dr. Kavita Rao. I do however own Eric Wasser.Thank you,
Enjoy.
--P.
A cure.
The man on the TV, Worthington-something, says that this is what the world was waiting for, a cure for mutation.
As snow and crackling lines spread across the screen of the old set, the Worthington-something man describes the nature of affliction, of mutation, and how there is now hope. Dr. Kavita Rao herself says a few words, her passion clearly evident in her message of freedom from disease.
Mutation: a disease.
Eric turns off the television set and walks outside. His aunt calls to him briefly but he leaves her in the den, sitting in her chair. In a few minutes he'll help her take her evening bath; he'll tuck her in to bed; he'll kiss her goodnight; he'll respond to her when she calls for him at half-past midnight like she always does.
Eric will go back inside and resume waiting on the woman in a few minutes, but right now, he wants to be alone. He feels strange.
His Aunt Pearl had been sick for as long as Eric could remember. She had always taken her pills, heavy quantities of large, expensive pills, and as a child he'd assumed it was to make her better. A child understands the act of taking medicine and postulates in a child's way that medicine is to make you better. The idea of an incurable disease merely held at bay with endless doses of antivirals is a concept incapable of being understood.
It wasn't until Eric was thirteen and in junior high health class that he realized once and for all what the pills his aunt took everyday were for. He cried until the school called Pearl to come get him, and she spent many hours explaining the nature of her disease, mortality, and how she would not be around forever.
Eric changed a lot that day.
He withdrew from other students, withdrew from activities, withdrew from talking to people he didn't have to talk to. Eric read books; Eric stayed in his room. The day after Eric turned fifteen, Pearl's money ran out. Her HMO wouldn't cover the pills. Treatment stopped.
That was almost two years ago.
Outside, the wind bothers Eric's hair, sending bits of the silky black into his face. He pushes it away. Staring out, his eyes remain unfocused. He's not interested in the setting sun, the clouds, or the bits of the neighborhood visible through the broken slats of the wooden fence. He's thinking about the idea of disease.
He's never considered mutation a disease, and the idea of curing something that is not even considered a disease seems incredibly strange to him.
Pearl has a disease; Pearl has AIDS and will die.
The exposure Eric has had to other mutants extends to what he has seen on television and read in the newspapers, revised textbooks, and the religious pamphlets people leave on the doorstep. He does not know other mutants, he doesn't know what they think about their situation in life.
All Eric knows is that he does not feel sick, and the idea of parting with his gift is an idea that makes him deeply and fundamentally sad.
Why then, he wonders, is there a cure? Who would take it? Who would seek it out? Why would someone part with something as ingrained and basic as their arm or leg?
The way the man on television made it sound, this was mutant salvation from something like death. The way the Rao woman made it sound, mutants everywhere were begging for such a deliverance.
Eric had read nothing and seen nothing in the news about mass mutant protests now or in the past asking for such intervention into their lives.
And where is Pearl's cure? Where is his aunt's cure when people in her position are so desperately seeking deliverance?
A sound behind him makes Eric turn his head. Pearl has opened the door and come outside a step, leaning heavily on her claw-footed cane. Her milky eyes narrow, but he knows she can't see him. She lost her sight months ago.
"You shouldn't exert yourself." Eric says.
"You left." The woman's voice is strained but not scolding. Pearl never wanted to be taken care of, never wanted to have to put her nephew in this position. "I was worried."
"I wouldn't have been out here long. I wouldn't have let something happen."
Pearl moves her mouth into a smile. "I was worried about you, kid."
"Oh." Eric looks back out across the yard. "I'm fine."
"Come back inside, we'll talk."
"I don't want to talk. I'm not sure what to say, really. Talking seems silly in the face of so much that's beyond my control."
"Talking can help us come to terms." Pearl says.
Eric turns and walks slowly back towards the house. "To terms with what?" He begins to guide his aunt back inside.
"To terms with those same things that are beyond our control. The world turns; people live and people die. Some babies are born with terminal disease, some with the ability to cure it with a touch. It's not in our power to understand everything."
Pearl stands by as Eric closes the door behind them and then allows herself to be moved back to her chair. Eric waits until she's seated to speak again. "But I don't understand anything. I don't understand the fear; I don't understand the hate. I don't understand disguising hate as compassion. I don't understand self-loathing…"
"Then you're better off than a lot of people." Pearl breathes, nestling herself in the chair's old overstuffed cushions. The simple act of walking outside has tired her out.
"How?"
"For the moment you're unaffected by the tide."
Eric sighs. "Talking never helps."
"I'm sorry, kid. I know I don't make sense. It all sounds so concrete in my head. It's only after I open my mouth that I hear how crazy I've started to sound."
Eric sits in the smaller chair beside his aunt and reaches out to pat her hand where it rests on her chair arm. "You don't sound crazy."
"I don't want you to worry. Things are probably going to get really bad, but I don't want you to worry. It's going to be ok." Pearl sounds wistful but sure, it makes Eric uncomfortable slightly.
"How do you figure?"
The woman laughs softly and closes her eyes. "Things always end up ok eventually."
Eric nods. "You'll nap and then we'll have your bath?"
"Yes." Pearl nods gently. "A small nap."
"I'll go to my room and read, then?"
Pearl gives an almost imperceptible nod before Eric stands and pads quietly out of the room. The sun continues setting in a way that throws the den into complete shadow.