Out of My Mind

by A. J. Truman

  Mac pictured himself in a walker at twenty-years-old. “A few days ago, I was cleaning my apartment. I was thinking about finals. That’s what I should be thinking about. What piece of furniture I can buy for my apartment, not if I’ll be able to walk again without pain the rest of my life.”

  His mother squeezed his hand. He was scared shitless, but he wasn’t alone.

  “That’s why we are recommending the vertebroplasty. Now that you’re up and alert, we would want to get you into surgery as soon as possible,” Dr. Wright said. “The orthopedic surgeon can come in tomorrow morning for it.”

  Mac nodded. His body felt like a junk heap, his tower of junk in Gideon’s sun porch. He looked at his parents, and they gave tight nods of solidarity. “I’ll do it. Tomorrow morning.”

  Dr. Wright put the clipboard with the consent forms on the bedside table and left.

  Mac’s dad sat in one of the uncomfortable hospital chairs, and his mom rubbed her back. He wondered if they slept in the room with them.

  “How are we going to afford all of this?” Mac asked.

  The dark cloud of money cast its shadow over the room.

  “Now’s not the time to think about that,” his mom said. “We’ll figure it out. What’s most important is getting you healed.”

  Mac looked down at his bruised and battered body. The enormity overtook him, and he started crying.

  “Now, son.” There was his dad’s firm voice, just as he remembered. “You’re bent, but you’re not broken. You’re going to be okay.”

  This moment was almost perfect, except for the bodily injury. It was just missing one important person. “Can one of you hand me my phone?”

  His parents traded looks. At some point, they stopped needing to talk each other. They were on some other wavelength.

  “Your phone was destroyed. It was crushed by that idiot’s truck.”

  “He ran me over. You can call him a fucking piece of shit.”

  His dad smirked at that.

  “I want to talk to Gideon.”

  “I spoke to him yesterday,” his mom said. “I gave him the whole scoop. I don’t have his number with me. Do you remember it offhand?”

  Mac shook his head no. He didn’t know anyone’s phone number. It was a scary thought. Damn cell phones.

  “We’ll call him tonight and let him know you’re awake,” his dad said. Mac couldn’t imagine his dad and Gideon having a conversation. The thought made him smile a little.

  “What day is it?”

  “December 26th,” his mom said.

  “I missed Christmas?”

  “Santa didn’t forget about you.” His mom pulled wrapped gifts off the window sill. “He left these for you under our tree.”

  “Santa is so thoughtful,” Mac said with an arched eyebrow. He had trouble keeping his eyes open. Sleep was pulling him down. “I’ll open these later. But I didn’t get you guys anything.”

  His dad patted his arm and looked at him the way every son wanted to be looked at. “We got a great gift.”

  Φ

  Mac was woken up first thing in the morning for surgery, before daybreak. Pieces of wrapping paper lay on his blanket from last night. His parents brought him presents. They ate McDonald’s, while Mac fasted to prepare for surgery. It was a holiday to remember.

  The nurse prepped Mac for the operation.

  “I’m scared.”

  “Mac, think about all you’ve survived,” his dad said. “You’re more of a fighter than anyone I know.”

  He shook his head in dissent. “I ran. I ran away from you, from Kingwood. I didn’t fight anything.”

  “You didn’t let what happened stop you from living your life. You got yourself into a great school, you’re doing things with your life. And you came back. You didn’t give up on us. If you hadn’t come back to Kingwood, we might never have spoken again.” His dad’s lip trembled again as he fought back emotions. “And I have to live with that. You are more of a fighter than me.”

  “Where’d you think I learned it? From watching you run the store day in and day out. I say this as someone on lots of drugs, but maybe it’s time to close up the shop for good. Florida is lovely in the winter.”

  His dad kissed him on the forehead. His mom came in the room carrying a humongous floral arrangement. It couldn’t fit on the table. She showed him the card.

  Get well soon! Thinking of you up North! Love, Delia and Seth.

  Mac rubbed his fingers over the card, wishing they were here. “Anything from Gideon?”

  “No. But he’s pulling for you.” Something in her voice made him think there was more to that, but he couldn’t tell. Drugs and all.

  Mac held his parents’ hands as the nurses rolled him into the hallway.

  “Wait!” A distant voice called out. “Wait!” It got closer.

  “Sir, you have to stay back. We are getting ready to wheel the patient into surgery.”

  “Please. Just one minute. You can time me.”

  Mac couldn’t see what was going on. He was on his back. The ceiling provided no clues. But then there was Gideon’s face and his crazy hair over him.

  “Hey, you,” Gideon said.

  “Sir…”

  “One minute. Please.”

  “Please,” Mac said to the nurse. She stepped aside to let them have a private moment.

  “Baby.” Gideon ran his finger along Mac’s cheek.

  “You called me baby in front of other people.”

  “I love you, Mac. Maybe it’s the extreme situation, or maybe I just fall faster than the average guy. I love you. And I don’t care who knows it. Hey,” he said to the nurse. “I’m gay, and Mac is my boyfriend.”

  “That’s wonderful. Now can we please continue rolling your boyfriend into surgery?”

  “Certainly,” Gideon said. “I’ll admit my timing isn’t perfect.”

  “Yes it is,” Mac whispered.

  Gideon leaned down. Mac inhaled his familiar scent. “How’d you get down here?”

  “I drove my mom’s car overnight.”

  Mac ran a finger through Gideon’s hair. He wanted to savor this moment.

  “This surgery is going to go great. You’re going to heal. And then we can spend the rest of our lives together.”

  The rest of our lives? Even Gideon noticed the slip. “That was jumping the gun. Dramatic moments call for dramatic declarations.”

  “Like I love you,” Mac said.

  “Did that count as you saying you loved me?”

  “You have me on a technicality.”

  “I know.” Gideon winked. Mac couldn’t get enough.

  “Are we ready?” The nurse asked. Mac caught her smiling.

  “Yes! Hit it! Tally ho! I would say break a leg, but you have no more legs to break.”

  “You’re a New York asshole,” Mac said.

  “I’m your New York asshole.”

  The nurse wheeled the gurney down the hall. Gideon jogged alongside it like a secret service agent in a motorcade.

  Mac grabbed his finger tight.

  “It’s going to be fine, Mac. It really is. You have good doctors here.”

  “Gideon…”

  “I’m here.”

  “Stop the gurney!” Mac yelled. The gurney screeched to a halt inches from the double doors to the OR.

  “Last time. I promise,” he told the nurse.

  He nodded for Gideon to lean in close.

  “I can’t kiss you because of germs,” Mac said.

  “Understood.”

  “But as soon I get out of here, I’m kissing the fuck out of you.”

  “I’m holding you to that,” Gideon said. His gaze nearly set Mac on fire.

  “I’m in love with my best friend,” Mac whispered.

  “Me, too. Isn’t it great?”

  CHAPTER thirty-Two

  Mac

  Mac’s face crunched with agony as he put one foot in front of the other. His triceps flexed to steady himself. Gideon stood at t
he end of the bars, arms out, ready to catch his boyfriend.

  “Come on. You got this.”

  Mac gritted his teeth together in pain. His arms wobbled in support.

  “Three more steps. You can give me three more steps, baby.”

  “No. I. Can’t.”

  “There is no ‘I’ in teamwork,” Gideon said.

  Sweat drained down Mac’s temples and sideburns. Red on a rampage could best describe the color of his face. Mac lifted his leg to take another step and yowled in pain.

  Gideon looked behind him for the physical therapist, but he stopped himself. They didn’t need no stinking physical therapist. I believe in you, he told Mac with his eyes.

  Mac’s foot touched the floor. He gasped for breath like he just played a quarter of basketball.

  “That was beautiful. First class step. Okay, two more. You can do two more.”

  Mac mumbled out something indecipherable. Gideon assumed it was “fuck,” his curse of choice.

  He lifted his left leg. Mac sucked in a deep breath of air. His leg hung above the floor.

  “One and a half more steps to go.”

  “I. Can. Count. You. Cocksucker.”

  “That’s right. I am a cocksucker. And I will suck your—” Gideon remembered there were other patients and therapists in this facility. Mac’s therapist shot him a quiet look. “Let’s keep going, baby.”

  Mac’s left foot made contact with the ground. He was closer. Gideon smelled the musky sweat drenching his shirt, and he felt guilty for being turned on.

  The right leg defied torturous pain and gravity and came off the ground. Mac and Gideon locked eyes, and the passion and love scorched between them.

  “And the right leg is down! That’s three steps!”

  Mac collapsed into Gideon’s embrace. He wiped Mac’s sweaty hair and brow with a towel. Despite his agony, Mac’s eyes shined with victory.

  “Good job,” Gideon said, his arms tight around his boyfriend.

  “I couldn’t have done it without you.” Mac kissed him deeply, breathily. Gideon grabbed his sopping hair and flicked his tongue around his mouth. Not too much. They were still in public, and Mac was still catching his breath.

  Gideon pulled out Mac’s wheelchair and got it ready for him. The therapist came over and patted Mac on the back. “Great progress today! First week of physical therapy, and you are already walking.”

  “I wouldn’t call that walking,” Mac said.

  “We do.” The therapist chortled. “This is a process. Remember, you only came out of surgery two weeks ago. Since it was successful, there shouldn’t be any setbacks to your recovery schedule.”

  “Twelve weeks?” Mac asked again. “I can’t believe I’m going to be walking like my normal self in three months. I can barely take three steps.”

  “You won’t be 100 percent, but pretty close. Just keep practicing and doing your exercises.”

  “You’re fortunate you have to recuperate now,” Gideon said. He pointed to the window where a gray sky and chunks of brown snow littered the sidewalk. “You don’t have to go outside. You’ll be better for spring.”

  “You can do it,” the therapist said. “It may seem impossible now, but it will happen.”

  “That’s basically the story of us,” Gideon said.

  Φ

  One week later, Mac was able to take seven steps. Gideon tried to push him to take an even ten. Mac grunted out where Gideon could shove his even ten steps.

  Back at the Daly residence, Gideon heated up soup in Mac’s family kitchen. His mom came over to see if he needed any help.

  “I got it, Mrs. D.”

  She stared into the saucepan like a curious child.

  “You just have a seat with Mac and Mr. D. Don’t ruin the surprise.” Gideon swirled the matzo ball soup and watched it heat up.

  Mac couldn’t go back to school for winter quarter. His focused remained on his physical therapy and letting his body heal. He moved back in with his parents, who were not-so-secretly happy to have their son back, despite the circumstances. Mac’s mom reminded Gideon of his own. She loved taking care of her son. Though Mrs. Daly could learn a thing or two about Jewish mother guilt from Judy Saperstein.

  “Are you guys pumped? You excited?” Gideon called from the kitchen. He poked his head out of the swinging door. Mac and his parents sat around the dining table.

  The soup boiled on the stove. Gideon breathed in the salty, dill-tinged aroma. He couldn’t wait to send his mom pics of everyone enjoying her soup. Gideon had no idea soup could be shipped in the mail, but Mac’s recovery was in definite need of matzo ball soup. It was part of the healing process.

  Gideon scooted into the dining room. “How many balls do you want?”

  Mac’s father cleared his throat, and his mom’s eyes bulged. Mac blushed with stifled laughter.

  “Matzo balls,” he clarified.

  “Let’s stick with two,” Mac said.

  “Old school. Good decision. One is not enough, and three’s a crowd.” Back in the kitchen he went.

  He looked out the window at the snow coming down over the mountains. It seemed peaceful here, a far cry from the hustle and bustle of campus, or even Westchester. Gideon was going to miss Mac terribly when he went back to school on Monday. He had arranged his schedule to have no class on Fridays, and he planned to spend as many three-day weekends in West Virginia with Mac as possible. He wanted to take this semester off, but Mac wouldn’t allow it. He wasn’t going to let Gideon fall behind. He wasn’t alone in Virginia anymore. Gideon was leaving him in good hands.

  “You ready, Daly clan?” Gideon ladled soup into bowls and placed them on a tray Mac’s mother had put out for him. He swung through the kitchen door butt-first and set the tray on the dining table. He passed around bowls. They poked at the matzo balls with their spoons, as if it were an alien life form. Around here, maybe everything Jewish was. Mac did find a temple on Google Maps the other day. It was only twenty-five minutes away.

  “Are you ready?” Gideon asked the family. “Because once you taste matzo ball soup for the first time, there is no going back. Your life will literally never be the same.”

  “You’re setting impossibly high expectations. I hope you know that,” Mac said.

  “I’m preparing you for a life-changing event.”

  “We’re talking about soup here,” Mac’s father said. Gideon shook his head. The poor man. He had no idea how his world was about to be rocked.

  Mac carved off a slice of matzo ball with his spoon, added soup, and ingested his first taste of savory goodness. “Shit,” he said as if he just came.

  Matzo ball soup was even better than sex.

  Well, almost better.

  They were in two separate universes and couldn’t justly be compared, but they were both of superior quality.

  Even frozen and shipped across state lines, the matzo ball soup was as good as Gideon remembered. His mom had told him that Christina wanted to learn how to make it.

  “This is wonderful,” Mac’s mother said. Mac’s father was already down to just one ball.

  Gideon didn’t have words. Each word he spoke would be another second his taste buds couldn’t indulge.

  “How did she learn how to make this? Is there a recipe online?” His mother asked.

  “Nope. Passed down.”

  “I wonder how she gets the matzo balls so big and almost fluffy.”

  “Why peek behind the curtain?”

  “These matzo balls are very good.” His dad pronounced it mahzzuh. He sliced himself half of his wife’s ball.

  Mac squeezed Gideon’s knee under the table. The bruising on Mac’s face was fading away, but it didn’t matter. He was as handsome as ever. Those brown eyes still radiated warmth. Gideon told him that his scars would make him look dangerous and extra sexy. He rubbed Mac’s hand, over the table, in plain sight. Neither parent flinched.

  “Is there enough for seconds?” his dad asked.

  Φ<
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  Later that night, Gideon helped Mac with his physical therapy at home stretches. It involved pulling his legs and arms with a thick rubber band to increase flexibility. Gideon didn’t want him to fall behind in his therapy. He was going to be worried and overbearing, just like his mother.

  “So I was thinking,” Mac said. He stretched his arm out and then in. “I wonder if you’re right.”

  “About what?” Gideon sipped on a Sprite.

  “Was I out of my mind for thinking we could be friends?”

  “I think we’ve proven that wasn’t true.”

  Mac squinted his eyes. “I’m not so sure. I mean, we’re dating now. Romance and attraction got in the way.”

  “But maybe we weren’t a proper example. I’m gay, after all. So there was never a straight guy in the equation, technically. What about Seth? We’re both friends with him.”

  “But nobody wants to have sex with Seth except for Delia.” Mac put the rubber band around his ankles and stretched his left leg, then right, to the side.

  “I was a freshman. You should never take anything a freshman says seriously. Nobody knows what they’re saying until they turn twenty.”

  “Oh, Gideon. You are a fountain of bullshit wisdom.”

  “I think I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  Mac sat down on the bed. Gideon acted as spotter. He had a water bottle handy for his winded boyfriend. Mac gave him a look like he was off in a daze. He shook his head.

  “What is it?” Gideon asked.

  “I just got such a strange flashback when we were sitting on my bed that night we first met. It was just like this. You by the pillow, me over here.”

  Gideon could see it, too. Time had both passed and stayed still. “That was a good night. Well, up until…”

  They both turned red.

  Gideon took out his phone. “So I was looking up matzo balls on Pinterest right before you kissed me, right?”

  “Correct.”

  He turned his phone around. A picture of a matzo ball was on the screen. It wasn’t that different from the original all those years ago, except this matzo ball was smaller and plopping in soup rather than being raised out by a spoon. Gideon remembered those details.