by Karen M Cox
“Buy you a drink?” she asked.
“Oh no, I got plenty left…” I looked down in my glass and realized it was empty. “Oh.”
She giggled, and I laughed too. Finally, my heart was starting to feel warmer. I held up a finger the way I’d seen Richard do.
Big Theo came over, drying a glass as he walked. “Another whiskey, Bill?”
“Yep.” I looked at Marian. “What would you like?”
“I’ll have the same.” She gave me an open, friendly smile. “You’re second year, aren’t you?”
“Yep.”
“I thought so. You’re one of the serious ones. I’m surprised to see you here on Saturday night.”
“Me too.”
“Woman trouble?”
“Who me? No. I’d have to have a woman to have woman trouble.”
“Ah.” She scooted her bar stool a little closer. “That’s good to know.”
“What are you doing here on a Saturday night by yourself? It’s probably not a good idea for a girl to be here all alone, you know.”
“Oh-ho. We got us a knight in shining armor here, Big Theo.”
He laughed as he brought the drinks and set them down in front of us. I noticed mine had a lot more ice than the last time, but I didn’t mind. It seemed to go down better cold anyway.
Marian told me about growing up in a small town just south of the university and coming to Sumner to work right out of high school. She wanted to go to school to be a nurse, but she just had to save up a bit of money first, and that’s why she got a job in an office at the medical school. She didn’t particularly care for Dr. Griggs, but at least he wasn’t a skirt-chaser like the last boss she had.
Before I knew it, I’d finished off that second glass and ordered another, and the room was beginning to spin. I could hear every clink of a glass and a cacophony of voices swirling all around me, and I shook my head to clear it. My lack of experience with alcohol was showing, and instead of charming that pretty girl, I was going to have to sit on the bar stool and wait out my inebriation, so I could walk back home. And it was too bad, because I wanted to charm a pretty girl, and I was fairly certain I could do it too. I remembered how. I was sure I did.
“Hey, Bill.” Marian’s voice came through my tipsy haze. “You okay?” She took my arm and righted me on the stool, and I laughed—first at my drunkenness and then at the tingle on my arm where she’d touched me.
“I’m fine.” I slurred, ever so slightly, which embarrassed me further. “But I should probably call it a night.”
“My car’s just outside. I don’t know if you should be walking around in your state. I’ll drive you—anywhere you want to go. How ’bout that?” Her smile was charming and eager, and I found myself leaning toward her, about to say yes, when I felt a strong hand on my shoulder. I winced at the grip and turned around to see Richard wedged right next to me in front of a big hulk of a man who looked none too happy.
“There you are, you son of a gun. We got to get you back home.”
“Huh?”
“Poor guy. That flu really put you under the table, didn’t it? I told you one whiskey toddy would help. I didn’t expect you to drink three.”
“Toddy?”
He tossed a bill down on the bar and heaved me up off the barstool. “Thanks, Theo. I’ll take it from here.”
Without another word, Richard led me out to his 1956 Ford Fairlane, double-parked in front of the bar.
“I can’t leave Marian in there.”
“Oh, yes you can.”
“She’s all alone. Someone needs to escort her home.” I tried to turn around, but Richard turned me back toward the street and opened the car door.
“Watch your head there, Sir Lancelot.” He pushed me in and shut the door in my face.
“I can’t believe it of you, Richard.” I slurred at him when after he climbed in the driver’s side and pulled away from the curb. “You would leave a young lady at a bar by herself at this time of night?”
“No, I wouldn’t. But I’m pretty sure her husband wouldn’t appreciate you escorting her anywhere, especially back to your apartment—or theirs—or any cheap motel in between.”
A sick feeling rolled in my stomach. “Her husband?”
“Yeah, that troll standing behind me? The one I barely kept off your drunken ass? That’s Avery Baker, little Marian’s ball and chain.”
“What?”
“You ’bout did yourself in tonight, Slick.”
“Good Lord, I almost let her drive me home.”
Richard barked out a laugh that hurt my ears. “Well, don’t feel too bad, my friend. You certainly wouldn’t have been the first.”
“What?”
“Old Avery likes to play cards in the back room of Barney’s. Sometimes Marian gets to feeling left out, so she shows up at the place and zeroes in on some poor schmuck to help her get his attention.”
I leaned back and closed my eyes. “And tonight, I was the schmuck.”
“Like I said, you aren’t the first.”
“Lucky for me you showed up when you did.”
“Not luck, exactly.” I could hear his grin, even though I couldn’t see it in the dark.
“Then how…?”
“Big Theo called me at my place. Said you were about to dig yourself a deep hole with the help of the lovely Mrs. Baker. I got there just in time to keep Mr. Baker from putting you in it.”
“Good grief!” I groaned.
“Even trashed, you can’t spew decent profanity.”
“You’re a real clown, Donovan.”
“I almost didn’t believe Theo—thought it must have been some kind of joke. You don’t drink whiskey, P.K. What gives?”
“I don’t know. I’m an idiot.”
“Yeah, but you’ve been an idiot before, and you’ve never done this. Something happen when you went home last weekend?”
I closed my eyes and saw orange sparks in front of them. My stomach rolled again, and I tried to push the image of pretty, dark curls and sundresses, and laundromats and hot days by a cool creek out of my head.
“No. I’m fine.”
“I know woman trouble when I see it, and this smacks of woman trouble.”
“I’m not thinking about Lizzie.”
“And her name’s Lizzie.”
“No!” I almost yelled it, but then my body rebelled at the foreign substance that I’d subjected it to, and I said in a panic, “Pull over. Right now. Please.”
“Yes sir,” Richard answered cheerfully and swung over to the curb. I opened the door and leaned over to empty the contents of my stomach on the sidewalk.
He waited patiently, even handed me his handkerchief to wipe my mouth. I actually felt better afterward and drew myself back in the car and shut the door. Thankfully, I had avoided my shoes. I handed back the handkerchief, and he grimaced.
“You keep it, Daddy-o.”
When we got to my apartment, Richard took my key and opened the door for me. “You gonna be okay?”
“Yes, just don’t ever let me drink whiskey again. How do people stand it?”
“That’s why I drink beer. It’s easier on your system. How bad off are you? You need me to hang around a while?”
“No, I’m fine—better now that I emptied my stomach.”
“That’s the way.”
“Richard,” I said, leaning against the counter for support. “Thank you.”
“What are friends for? Just don’t make a habit of it.”
“I’m never touching the stuff again.”
“You know, I don’t typically believe guys when they say that, but in your case, I think I do. Recommend two aspirin and a glass of water before you hit the sack, though. ’Night, Bill.”
“’Night.”
I shut the door and locked it behind him. Then, I stumbled to the bathroom, took the aspirin and drank the water, and fell on my bed, not even bothering to undress. The room began to spin again, and in the dark, I saw Lizzie, shaking
her head and laughing at me.
“What were you thinking, Billy Ray?” Her voice echoed in my head.
“I wanted to forget you.”
“But you can’t, can you?”
“No. What am I going to do? I still miss you.”
Her voice faded into the darkness of my room until it was only an echo. “I know. I’m real sorry about that.”
I slipped into a fitful sleep, full of unpleasant dreams that I had no memory of when I awoke the next day, my mouth like cotton and my head on fire.
That was my one and only experience with whiskey. Much later in my life, I learned to enjoy an occasional glass of wine with dinner, but I had no desire to ever lose control of myself like I did that night at Barney’s. That was the danger of excessive drink—what it could do to people—and I’d learned my lesson well with little embarrassment and no lasting damage. To his credit, Richard never mentioned it again, and he never told the other guys what a fool I’d been, letting Mrs. Baker’s pretty face dupe me that way.
I dragged myself to church the next morning, even though I felt terrible. I had to get rid of the chafing in my soul with something well-worn and familiar—something that reminded me who I really was. Afterward, I sat down, and like I had a few times over the last year and a half, I penned a letter to Lizzie—a letter that I’d never send. A letter of longing that was to be my very last, as it turned out.
Dear Lizzie,
You would probably laugh at me if you knew about the scrape that I almost got myself into last night at Barney’s. You remember me telling you about Barney’s, don’t you? Well, yesterday I was feeling reckless and like I wanted to step outside my own skin for a while. I think you might understand that feeling because I believe there have been times when you felt that way yourself.
I won’t bore you with the details—mostly because I would embarrass myself—but suffice it to say, whiskey and I parted company last night on a sidewalk in Glenwood, never to be intimate with each other again. I know you’ll agree with me when I say, thank goodness for friends who watch out for us, and for God, who sends our friends at just the right moment.
What, you might ask, would put me in such a state that I would act so unlike myself? Well, I’ve thought about it all day and decided it must have been you, or rather, this hole in my heart that opens up when I miss you.
I went back to Orchard Hill last weekend with my father, and everywhere I looked, I could see you and me in my mind’s eye. I know Orchard Hill must be a place you want to forget, but I will never forget how I felt when I was there, when we were together. I guess last night was an attempt to do just that, but I’ve discovered that I’m not too good at forgetting. Even whiskey didn’t do the trick.
After I got back from church this afternoon, I sat down to get some reading done. But there was no chance of me concentrating on schoolwork today—my head hurt, and my stomach kept rolling.
There are some things in this world that are right and true just because they are, and the affection I have for you is one of those basic truths. I’ve never been as happy I was that summer I spent in Orchard Hill. You made that happen—you’re one of kind, Lizzie, God’s own miracle.
If I could see you—just talk to you—I know I could overcome the harsh words I said that last day we were together and open your heart again. I could melt your anger with my smile and wash it away with my kisses.
When I was in Orchard Hill last weekend, Marlene Miller told me you had been to church one Sunday to hear Dad preach. Why were you there, my darling? Were you hoping to see me? Were you looking for solace in the words of my father? And if so, did you find them? I find that his words give me less solace these days than the church rituals do. And I’m starting to realize I’m only human, that I can only understand what mortal men can understand. Is that what it really means to “live a life of faith?” To accept what you can never comprehend?
For me, this one inevitable question remains. How I will face the rest of my life without you to splash color all over it? I don’t know. Maybe in time, I will learn, but it doesn’t seem likely. I do know that if I ever see you again, I’ve promised myself I won’t let you get away without a fight. Not again.
I have to figure out a way to get through the days until I can sort this out. So, I’m making myself a promise to put my doubts and my broken heart aside for a while. I will throw myself into being the best doctor I can be. After that, maybe there will be an answer, I don’t know. But I do know a part of my heart will be—
Yours forever,
Billy Ray
I tucked the letter in the shoebox with the others. There weren’t many, maybe half a dozen or so. I wasn’t obsessed with her or anything. But sometimes it helped to talk over what was happening to me with the only person I’d ever met who just let me think out loud, who let me be myself. I don’t know why I kept the letters, except that I imagined that they were chapters detailing how I was evolving into the man I’d be for the rest of my life. I wanted to share that story, even if it was only with pen and paper—and through them, with a girl from my past who had changed my future.
Chapter 20
Two years before, I had left Orchard Hill full of angry determination and started my medical training at Sumner University. Of course, I had no idea what was in store for me—one rarely does—but I had adapted and learned, and I was slowly making my way. I still held to my faith during this time, but it became an underpinning of my new life rather than its focus—almost secondary to my immediate earthly needs and those of the people I was trying to heal. Those were liberating and yet frightening years for me. With a few exceptions, I had little inclination to worry about anything besides school during that time. My daily life plodded along, was almost dull in some ways, but all that was about to change. In October 1961, during my third year, a seemingly trivial decision altered my life’s path in a most profound way.
On a cool, crisp autumn evening, Richard managed to convince me to attend a college mixer down at the Glenwood Community Center. I went reluctantly, dragging my feet like a sullen ten-year-old, only half-believing I’d let him talk me into it.
The center’s multi-purpose room was decorated with crêpe paper streamers hung from the ceiling. A glittering dance ball twirled around and around, casting tiny beams of light on the linoleum floor.
“I don’t want to be here,” I muttered.
“Come on, Bill. You need to have some fun. You work all the time.”
“We’re supposed to work all the time—we’re med students.”
“No one is supposed to work all the time, no matter what Dr. Jenkins tries to tell you. Besides, I hear there are going to be some mighty pretty girls here tonight.”
“Please, not college co-eds.”
“Much better. It’s a group of girls from that specialized nursing program down south of here.” He waggled his eyebrows and said in a sing-song voice, “Girls who know about the birds and the bees.”
I reversed course again, heading toward the door.
“No, hey, I’m just fooling around. They’re nice girls. One in particular—she’s something else. A real looker too. She just started a training rotation at our hospital. We met in the cafeteria the other day and…” He clutched his chest and rolled his eyes like he was having a heart attack. “I’m thinking about asking her out, so you have to give me your opinion since you’re so particular about the ladies. She said she’d be here tonight with some friends.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and grinned. “And maybe, if you’re a good boy, she’ll find a friend for you. Oh wait—you’re always a good boy, aren’t ya?”
“You’re a real clown, Donovan.”
Most people still considered me a consummate “square.” Perhaps they always would, but Richard had seen my foibles first hand, and every once in a while, he couldn’t resist teasing me about them when the others weren’t around.
He looked all around the gym until his eyes landed on a clique of young women standing over by the edge of th
e dance floor. He ambled in their direction and half-turned to me, jerking his head toward his quarry. “You coming?”
“I’m going to get some punch.”
“Chicken.”
I dipped out a cup of some kind of slushy, orange sherbet concoction, and standing beside the table, I let my gaze wander over the room. There were scattered groups of people, some couples, all talking and having a good time. Richard stood in the middle of the new girls, female laughter swirling around him like smoke. Nothing unusual about that. He had every nurse and candy striper in the hospital under his spell, even the cynical veterans like Nurse Fulton. I had actually seen her crack a smile at him the other day.
I told myself I was too busy for much of a social life. The first two years of medical school had been grueling, and now, we were beginning to do rounds and see patients at a small-town hospital located near the university. There was a lot to keep me occupied, but I had to admit, I was starting to feel lonely. Ed had gotten married last summer, and Tony was engaged. Sure, Richard was still a carefree bachelor, but even he was looking at women with a more serious eye. When Jo Anne left town only six months after he started dating her, I could tell it shook him up for a while. He recovered though. He always did.
While Richard mesmerized women with his devil-may-care Irish charisma, I held any charm I’d ever possessed hidden under a reserved, arid demeanor. I took some flak for it, but I hadn’t met a woman in the last two years who could tempt me out from behind my shell. I hadn’t let my smile loose on any girl since Lizzie. Sometimes at night, she invaded my dreams, all heat and curves and softness. I saw young women all the time who were pretty, or smart, or nice, but Lizzie Quinlan, who had left Orchard Hill in a cloud of dust, was the only girl I dreamed about.
After I drained my punch cup, I turned to set it on the tray and heard Richard approaching from behind. His voice was so loud I could hear him from ten yards away, and this time was no exception.
“Elizabeth, you have to find a girl for my two-headed friend here. It’s a miracle I managed to drag him out of the hospital tonight. Bill, turn around, would ya? And meet Elizabeth.”