Beginning II

Beginning II

         As he walked up the steps to his office, he could feel the faces staring at him, imploring him to look up so they could say something, anything.  He kept his face to the pavement, then the steps, and now the lightly colored blue tile directing him to the back suite of offices.

         That morning he had awakened with the intention of completing his journey on earth, saw the lights on the answering machine blinking, listened to them, and suddenly been suspended in disbelief.  He’d gone from being a nothing to being some fourteen-year-old little girl’s father.  How in the hell was he supposed to cope with that?  It was amazing what could be hidden in a two-week episode of amnesia.  A little car accident, a little coma, and wham! He remembered Meredith as a temporary secretary who’d been covering a vacation slot, but how could he forget their little fling, especially since it had been so productive?

         Since he’d listened to the messages, he’d been unable to swallow.  His mouth was dry and parched with an unquenchable thirst.  He’d been drinking water in gulpfuls and couldn’t seem to swallow enough.  By the time he’d left the cabin, the river looked amazingly inviting, but now for an entirely different reason.  He couldn’t even draw himself to the edge.  After all, Meredith had told him not to go near the water.  Strange, could he have been so utterly predictable his entire life?

         After he’d listened to the six messages, probably six times, he’d caught himself going around and around the one-room cabin.  He couldn’t seem to figure out where to put himself.  No place seemed right.  He suddenly felt so claustrophobic that he opened all the windows, both doors, and still couldn’t catch enough air.  He realized he was having a panic attack.  His eyes danced around in his head and he began seeing black dots.  He knew he’d pass out soon so he lowered himself to the floor; ever conscious he didn’t want to risk breaking anything.  Crawling around in the cabin, hugging the floor with all the windows and doors open suddenly released a spasm of laughter from him.  He laughed so hard he couldn’t breathe.  That was enough to break the panic attack as he stood up and marveled at himself in the mirror.  What an idiot?  And he was somebody’s father?  Surely, that was a mistake.

         He rang up Meredith.  She answered on the first ring; clearly knowing it was he.  Why hadn’t she changed her number?  Why hadn’t she called him before?  Because he was married, he answered himself.  And she never needed him before.

         He could tell by her voice that she was nearing her wits end.  She’d never been that stable, but who was back then?  And who could be when their child was dying?  He told her he was driving back immediately and would present himself for bone marrow typing.  She asked how he was, but he couldn’t answer.  He simply hung up and headed for the shower.  It would be a long drive.  He’d come up with an answer by the time he got back to town.  Somehow he knew she’d understand.

         But, even as he closed the door to his office, he still couldn’t answer.  He sat behind his desk, the always clutter-free one, and held onto the edges as though steeling himself from an earthquake.  He was actually steadying his shaking hands.  He couldn’t figure out how he had driven all the way back to town and been so totally unconscious at the same time, living out some strange fantasy of parenthood.  If it hadn’t been for the frequent pit stops due to his insatiable thirst and his consequent racehorse urinating, he wouldn’t have been able to gauge his progress to the city at all.

         His knees shook behind the desk and he just knew he’d be bruised if he didn’t stop.  Any oncologist doing his bone marrow tap would likely think he had some malignancy himself.  With that in mind, he picked up the phone and called his friend Bruce.  Bruce had been his friend throughout college, medical school, and then only minimally separated by a pediatric and an internal medicine residency and two wives.  If he hadn’t met his wife first, he likely would have gone on to become a hematologist oncologist like Bruce, but somehow the allure could not compare to the dream of a home and a real life.  Death wasn’t welcome in his realm then, just as it wasn’t now.

         Bruce had offered to be his wife’s oncologist, but he knew Bruce’s expertise was children, and besides, he barely tolerated looking into his wife’s oncologist’s eyes as both watched his wife circle the drain.  But now, he needed to know his daughter had the best hematologist in the city; that was Bruce.  He’d deal with looking into his eyes.

         Later that evening as he lay on the table, Bruce’s jaws were silent.  That silence, in and of it self was remarkable.  Throughout their friendship, Bruce had been the yapper, and he the listener.  He guessed the last six weeks and now this, was even more than Brucie could handle.  Luckily, Bruce still kept a steady hand and he didn’t notice anything but pressure, once the local anesthetic was introduced.  They’d have the results of his typing in a day or so; there would be a rush on it.  Sometimes it did pay to have connections.

         That night, he stayed at his office.  He still couldn’t go home. God knew, was he going to have to put that place up for sale?  Surely, placing his wife’s ashes in her rose bed would mean never leaving, or would it?  He hadn’t placed them there yet.  With that thought, he glanced out to the parking lot and stared at the closed trunk.  If she’d been alive, she would have been bitching at him to do as he’d promised, always do as he’d promised. Perhaps tomorrow he’d be able to do as he’d promised.  Tomorrow was a new day and a new beginning.

         He flipped on his computer to check his emails.  He didn’t really want to read any of them; he just needed a little distraction.  He knew he couldn’t answer a single one if his life depended upon it.  His brain was not working that way.  There was an unfamiliar email with a file attached.  Normally that would have meant automatic delete, but today, he welcomed a virus.  It would be fun.  Maybe it would erase his entire motherboard. 

         He didn’t even read the note, but went directly to the attachment.  It was a picture of a little girl.  As he stared at it, he realized it was his little girl and she was adorable.  Meredith had sent it to him to show him what his daughter looked like before she became ill.  He had to remind himself to inhale, and then exhale.  She was lovely.  She was his and he was in love.

         He was amazed he’d slept, and so hard.  His face was plastered against the leather couch and he just knew he’d have those indented marks across his cheek; the ones everybody recognizes for what they are.  He felt so much like a resident these days; not enough sleep, sleeping in your clothes, not enough choices.  Amazingly, he’d slept through three pages and most of the day.  There, now there was that ridiculous beep.  He was positive his secretary didn’t even know he was there.  Then he remembered; she wasn’t there either.  He’d sent her on vacation.

         He massaged his face to try and rub out the creases before he looked at himself.  There was no sense in looking bad and feeling bad.  When he finally did look at himself, he realized he didn’t look that bad.  He also didn’t feel that bad.  Could he really be coming to grips with his wife’s death, so soon?  He embarrassingly had to acknowledge that maybe he was. 

         He read the three page numbers, all from Bruce.  He picked up the phone and called him.  Bruce answered on the first ring.  Where had he been?  Asleep?  Imagine that?  Could he come to the office right away?  They needed to talk over his marrow results.  It didn’t look good and they really needed to talk.

         By the time he’d gotten to Bruce’s office, he’d managed to catch his breath and his pulse was no longer pounding in his ears.  He braced himself for the gaggle of children, but the waiting room was empty.  The receptionist waved him through as she grabbed her bag and headed out the door.  Obviously, she’d been waiting just for him.  He would love to have felt special, instead of just marked.  Compassionately, she said nothing, but just lightly brushed his shoulder as she passed.  It brought tears to his eyes.  It was so unbelievably kind.  Then he remembered, she’d just lost her Mom six months earlier.  He could remember doing the same thing and feeling like he hadn’t done much.  Now, he knew better.

         Bruce had that serious look on his face, somewhere between and ulcer and gas.  He told him so, hoping it would lighten him up.  Bruce had seen his daughter the prior evening and felt there wasn’t much time left before she needed the transplant.  Then he just bluntly told him that he was afraid he wouldn’t match.  Bruce had his head lowered and was staring at his hands.  He was ashamed of something and obviously was preparing to vomit it across the desk. 

         No amount of dispassionate discourse training could have prepared him.  He simply got up and walked out into the hall and motioned for Bruce not to follow.  He felt generous in limiting himself to that one motion.

         He continued out through the reception area and over to his car.  He turned off his pager as he entered the interstate.  He drove along the coast for eight hours before he simply exited and made a u-turn.  As dusk approached, he drove up to his house and parked out front, not in the carport as he normally would.  Absently, he opened the trunk, grabbed the urn, and slowly removed the tape from the lid.  He looked the initials etched in the side, but could barely see it, as tears streamed down his face.  Slowly, he walked over to the side gate while cradling the urn to his chest.  Tears were now spoiling the bright patina of the urn.  As he approached the rose garden, he quickly pulled the lid free.  Without glancing inside, he began vigorously distributing the ashes amongst the rosebushes as though an unwelcome duty.  Then, he got down on his hands and knees and spread them about, taking care to insure each bush would share in the bounty his wife provided.  By the time he’d finished, his tears had dried, his rage had vanished and he knew he could now go on.  He had no idea where the time had gone.  It was now dark in the rose garden and he could only imagine the color of the blooms.

         In the living room, he turned on all the lights and stared at each object as though new and unfamiliar.  He knew he’d have to rid himself of most of it.  Not because it meant so much, but because the objects meant so little.  He knew his memories would be more than he needed.  As his eyes swept over the side table, he saw the light blinking on the answering machine.  This time five messages flashed at him.  He thought he had turned it off days before his wife died, and then he was sure of it.  Someone must have let it ring the twenty times required to turn it on automatically.  Clearly, this person was desperate to leave their message.  The little devil in him was tempted to delete them all without listening, but then he remembered, somebody thought he had a daughter.  He was so disappointed he didn’t know what to do.  He’d managed to be a father for forty-eight hours and now he was nobody but himself.

         He pushed the button and Bruce’s voice rushed out.

         “I know I’ve screwed up in my life, but you won’t believe this screw up…” Beep!!  “Your sample is the match, all six alleles.  Mine didn’t come close...” Beep!!  It wasn’t even the same species.” Beep!!  “We’ll be doing the chemotherapy on your daughter starting tomorrow.  Don’t you think you want to come and see her before then?”  Beep!! “Now that I look at her, she’s got your big head and your floppy ears.  I should have known better.” Beep!!