by Logan Chance
The movie starts and sometime during the middle, his hand makes its way to my hair, toying with it. That’s the last thing I remember before I wake up with my head in Houston’s lap. He sleeps soundly, and I carefully push up from him to check the time.
He stirs and his eyes open, dazed from sleep. “Shit, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
“Go back to sleep,” I tell him before I think about what I just offered. I can tell he’s uncertain what to do with me now, but I’m not an idiot. I know he wants to leave. This is how it always goes.
“It’s ok, you can go home,” I say.
“Fuck,” he whispers, scrubbing his face. I need to stop fooling myself that he will want more. He stands and heads for the door.
“Thanks for a great night, Houston. Once again,” I say, a tinge of bitterness creeping into my voice.
He stops at the door and turns to me, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know it might feel fucked up, but it’s best like this. No one can get hurt, right?” he asks. I’m not sure if he’s trying to convince me or himself.
I nod my head, agreeing with him. “Yes.”
Someone is already hurt. Me. It’s my own fault. I want his love, and I can’t stop myself from it. All the pretending in the world won’t make this only about sex for me.
Houston’s phone chimes from the coffee table. “You forgot this,” I say picking it up from the coffee table. And I see the preview from someone named Jennifer:
Call me. I want to see you.
Chapter 18
Houston
April 26th
And so, it begins…
“Who’s Jennifer?”
All the balls I’ve been juggling come crashing down.
“Excuse me?”
She fidgets. “Who’s Jennifer?” she asks again, quieter this time. I run a hand through my hair. She holds my phone out, and I walk over and take it from her. “A message came through…”
“And what? You think you have a right to know?” I lash out.
“What? No. I was just…,” she fumbles for words. “How many no strings deals do you have?” God, damn it, tears fill her eyes. Please don’t cry. “Houston, I can’t do this anymore,” she says. “It’s too hard.”
“What because of a message?” Please don’t do this. Can’t you see I need you? “If I wanted to talk about her, I’d tell you. Don’t you trust me?”
“Trust you? I don’t know anything about you. You won’t talk to me.”
You won’t like what I have to say. You won’t have that look of I can do no wrong on your face anymore. “You’re ridiculous,” I tell her.
She stands and her pinky wraps around mine. “Houston, talk to me, please.”
“Talk to you? What you think you’re a psychiatrist now?” Freeing my hand, I stalk to the door. “You think you can fix me? Isn’t that what it’s always about? Fixing what’s broken.” I open the door. “I’m incapable of love?” I could love you if things were different. I’m probably halfway there.
“No one’s incapable of that,” she whispers.
“I am.”
I leave without another word, and head off in the opposite direction of my place. Somewhere I’ve always been able to think. A place I feel at home. The Langone Medical Center beckons me with the fluorescent lights shining within, and I step through the sliding doors.
The emergency room is packed, but I glide on past the sickness and suffering to the second floor and wander the halls looking for the chapel.
When I step into the dark room, a priest sits in a pew upfront. I take a seat near him, and bow my head. I pray.
But, like always, God doesn’t answer my prayers. He never does. Does he even hear me?
“God works in mysterious ways,” the priest says to me.
“Yeah. I guess.”
“Someone you know sick?” His bald head shines in the candlelight, and I offer a tight smile in his direction.
“Yeah, me.”
“God will take care of you.”
I want to tell him to shut the hell up, that he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, but I don’t. I nod instead. “Yeah, maybe he will.”
“What do the doctors say is wrong with you?” he asks.
“I’m the doctor, and I say I’m slowly dying.”
“Aren’t we all, son.”
I laugh off his words. I’m not sick; actually, I’ve never been healthier. Which, right now is a shame. It’s been two years. Two long years of wishing for death.
A death which has never come.
He works in mysterious ways? And, all I can think is what did I ever do to him?
They say doctors have the worst God complex, and maybe at one point in my life I did, too. Now, I spend every day knowing damn well, I’m no God at all.
“And how does that make you feel,” my therapist, Dr. Gail Flanigan, asks.
“It makes me feel frustrated.” I told her about Jennifer calling and about my parent’s nonstop pestering about my life.
“Ah, maybe you should see what she wants. It may be good for you.”
I glance around her office. I’ve been coming here for almost two years. A plea my mother made and I finally relented.
Gail tries to get me to face my issues, but I’ve never wanted to deal with it. My reasoning? Maybe if I didn’t, it would just go away.
It was Gail who suggested I teach instead of practice medicine. An idea I have come to appreciate. I wouldn’t do any good trying to save lives if I have no desire to save my own.
“Tell me about the girl? Any more interactions with her?”
I lean back in the chair. Everyone thinks you lie on a comfy leather sofa when in therapy, but no, I sit on a yellow pleather chair next to a window I constantly glance out.
Gail has no idea Marley is a student. She would never have been able to tell anyone, and I would trust her not to, but it’s still something personal I don’t want to divulge. For Marley’s privacy.
“I think that’s over.”
“Why do you say that?” Her black hair is pulled back tight and it reminds me of Jennifer’s.
“I fucked things up. I don’t know. I just don’t want to get too involved.”
“I think that’s smart. You have come a long way, Houston. I’m proud of you, but you still have a long way to go.”
A long way to go. Maybe I don’t want to reach that destination. Maybe I just want to continue down this desert my life has become. Travel down the dusty roads in my mind and lose myself in the forgotten plains of everything.
Gail thinks she can fix me. Marley thinks it too. But, maybe I don’t need to be fixed. Maybe this is my life now.
“Yeah, maybe,” I say to her, rubbing my hand along my stubbled jaw.
“Houston, I want you to think about calling Jennifer.”
I nod. “Ok.” I watch the clock waiting for the session to end. Every second feels like an eternity, and I beg the universe to hurry up with it already.
Gail notices my discomfort and smiles. “We can end early today. I think you have a lot to think about.”
I stand, stretching my long legs. “Thanks.”
April 26th
I didn’t sleep at all last night. Memories flooded me. I don’t have Marley anymore. I miss her.
April 27th
How long can someone go without sleep? I know the answer to this. I’m a doctor after all. Two-hundred and sixty-four hours. The nightmares are relentless. I saw Marley sizing me up in class. I wanted to beg her to help me make it go away. But nothing can.
April 28th
And so, the day is here.
Chapter 19
Marley
Via dolorosa-noun-a distressing or painful journey or process.
I’m so mad. It’s like fighting fire with fire. Houston is fine when he doesn’t have to open up about anything personal. Maybe he’s right, maybe he can’t love. Maybe he can’t give me what I want. But, oh how I want it with him. I want it so bad. But I can’t keep wishi
ng for things that will never happen. Why wouldn’t he say who she was? But, technically, what right did I have to ask? No strings means being free from answering to anyone. Free from emotions. I’m not supposed to care. And I do. So, it’s best to end it.
The cold night lingers on, and I grab my Anatomy book to do a little studying before class tomorrow.
My phone pings with an incoming text, and I pull it out of my bag.
Professor Dale: Can you stop by and pick up the tests for tomorrow’s class and teach it for me?
As his assistant, it’s not unheard of to teach a class or two. But, he has never asked. His control over everything usually has him there every morning.
Something isn’t right. He’s been off ever since we cut the strings.
I throw my hair into a ponytail and change into a pair of skinny jeans with a long purple sweater. Racing down the front steps of my apartment building, I worry myself with what I’ll be met with once I enter Houston’s home.
I rap my knuckles on the wooden door. After a few minutes, there’s no answer. Nerves take over my system as I wait. I knock a bit louder this time. Still nothing.
Reaching out, I twist the knob. It’s unlocked. Should I enter? Yes, he could be hurt. When I step inside, the blinds are drawn, casting shadows. “Houston?” I call out.
Nothing.
A cloud of dust motes drift around a candle flickering in the distance. I inch closer.
On the floor, between the couch and coffee table, sits Houston. Scattered along the wood are papers and pictures.
A half-empty bottle of bourbon sits atop picture after picture of things I can’t make out yet.
“Houston?”
His bloodshot eyes gaze up to me, and in his hand, he clutches a plush blue teddy bear.
“Go away.” His gravelly voice cracks on the last word. Like hell I’m leaving. This man is everything to me. I won’t walk away. He reeks of bourbon and despair when I lower myself to sit next to him.
“Houston, talk to me, please,” I coax him.
“Take the lesson plans and get the fuck out.”
No way I’m getting out. His words don’t phase me, clearly, they come from a place of hurt and pain. I scoot closer. My heart thumps as I slide my eyes to the pictures strewn all over the table.
A young boy with dark hair and eyes the same as Houston smiles back from a picture. My eyes zero in on him. My shaky fingers grip the film, and I pull it closer. Oh, God.
I grab another picture and another, frantically trying to connect the pieces of Houston’s past. A happy family in one. Another with the same child on Houston’s shoulders. Another of the little boy with a birthday cake and a dark-haired woman kissing his cheek. Picture after picture telling the tale of Houston’s life.
“Jennifer,” he whispers.
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s Jennifer in that picture right there. She’s my ex-wife.” He points to the photo in my hand.
“Oh.” I gaze at the picture, seeing the woman and her child. She has short dark hair and it’s apparent she’s happy.
“Do you know what it’s like?”
I release the breath trapped inside me. “What what’s like?” I ask, gently.
“Losing a piece of you.”
A tear trickles down my cheek. “Is this your son?”
He nods with a grunt. My heart breaks at the painful half sob that escapes him.
“What happened to him?” I ask, terrified of the answer.
He clutches the teddy bear as his eyes well up. “He’s dead.”
With that admission, he jumps to his feet almost tumbling over in the process. His drunken state does not help him walk as he stumbles down the hallway.
I set the pictures back down and race after him. “Houston?” Fuck. He lost a child. Before I stepped through his door, I wanted more than anything for him to open up to me. Now, I’m not sure I can handle the truth.
He stops, turning around in a hurry. His eyes are on fire, and the tears streaming out do nothing to put out the flames. “What? Is this what you want Marley? You want the truth. You want me to open up to you? To bear my soul to you?”
The hatred in his voice rocks my bones, shaking them in his wake. He clutches onto my shoulders. My tears match his as I shake my head back and forth.
He drops to his knees, his arms wrapping around my legs, the anger turning to sorrow. He weeps, and I lower myself to the floor. My fingers run through his thick hair, consoling him, as he cries harder. Then, my arms wrap around him, rocking him against my chest. We stay like this for a while. Neither of us letting go of the other. He holds me so hard, and it makes me cling tighter.
His sobs wreck me, and my tears follow. I don’t know the whole story of his son, but right now I don’t dare ask. I just hold him. And listen to my heart break alongside his already broken one.
Chapter 20
Houston
May 28th 2015
It’s been a month since Nathan died. Dr. Flanigan says keeping a journal will help. I doubt it. Life without Nathan has become unbearable. Jennifer won’t even look at me anymore. She blames me. I blame me.
It was my fault.
Chicago holds no purpose for me anymore. Nothing does.
May 30th 2015
Jennifer tried to kill herself last night and went to live with her mother. She needs help. I kind of guess we both do. I’m supposed to be the strong one. The one who holds the family together. But, we’re not a family anymore. I decided I’m moving back to New York. How can I be a doctor when I can’t even save my own son?
Marley holds me as I break down. A complete loser who can’t keep his shit together. Two years ago, today, Nathan was taken from me.
My tears have subsided. I don’t know how long we’ve been on the floor, nor do I care. I’d stay here forever if it took the pain away. But, it doesn’t. Nothing does.
Nothing ever fucking takes the pain away.
The guilt. The sorrow. The gut-ripping sensation of losing a child.
They say a parent should never have to outlive their own child. I never truly understood that until Nathan died.
“Marley.” I lean my head back to gaze into her soft, green eyes. She doesn’t speak, and I appreciate her silence. My mind is all messed up. I can’t form the words to tell her my story. But, I want to tell her. I want her to know me.
I wipe away the tears. “I’m ready to tell you.”
Again, she doesn’t speak, she just keeps her arms around me.
“Can you imagine loving someone more than yourself? Loving someone to the point if you were both hungry, you’d be sure their belly was full. Loving someone to the point if the ground was on fire, you’d carry them through it.” The tears threaten to fall and she stares at me with no judgement. “Loving someone so much, that if you could, you would gladly give your life for theirs.”
“No,” she whispers, honestly.
“He was my baby. My pride and joy. My life changed the moment he was born. I was given a mission to protect him at all costs.” I cling tighter to her. “And, I failed him.”
She pats my back, running her nails against the cotton of my shirt. Stuff any woman who loves a man would do.
I scoff at the notion. She could never love me. No one could. A man who does not protect the ones he loves is no man at all.
“How?” she asks, jarring me from my misery.
I sit up a little and scoot out of her arms. The wall holds me up as I run my fingers through my hair. “I was running late. I was so focused on work. Being a doctor is hard work. That morning my alarm clock didn’t go off. It was my turn to take Nathan to school. Jennifer had a meeting at the high school where she taught. We fought in the kitchen over who would take him.”
Marley moves closer to me and leans her back against the wall. “And then what happened?”
My eyes meet hers briefly. “We fucked up. I asked Jen to have the neighbor take Nathan to school. I kissed him goodbye and rushed out the door.”
I shake my head, the memories of the mornings events getting the best of me.
She wraps her tiny fingers around my arm, supporting me to go on.
“I was at work for half an hour before he was wheeled in. You see, I worked in the ER department. It was like any other morning. Just a typical day, only it wasn’t.” My eyes close, remembering the nurses telling me a child involved in a car crash had been brought in. I thought nothing of it. Opening the door, seeing his red Spiderman t-shirt first. Thinking my son has the same shirt. Seeing his dark hair as I stepped closer. Realizing it was my son on the gurney.
The events that followed are still foggy in my mind as I try to recount them to Marley. She listens quietly as I try to piece together how I wasn’t able to save my son’s life.
How I broke the glass in the waiting room as I tried to find a quiet place to process everything. How his tiny, limp body looked as I held him for the last time. So, peaceful. I didn’t cry after he died. I was furious. Anger consumed every part of me. As I explain this to Marley, her eyes never waver from mine. She accepts my story and offers her hand as I continue on well into the night.
After I tell her the tragic death, I recount his life. How he was born two days early.
How I held him for hours on end, never wanting to put him down at night. How when I would read him his nighttime stories, I’d linger in his room until I was sure he was sleeping. And, then, I’d watch him sleep a while longer.
I tell Marley all the plans I had for my son. How I wanted to be a father like mine. Teach him to drive a car, tie a tie, maybe even teach medicine. Basically, teach him to be the best man he could be.
Marley listens as I go over every boo-boo, every detail of his favorite things, every funny story of his terrible twos.
“Nathan died two years ago, today. And he died a few days before his sixth birthday.” The tears have all dried up, but as I glance to Marley, she has fresh ones. I pull her close to me and wipe my finger over her cheek, catching the tears that have fallen.
“Houston, I’m so sorry.” Her glassy-green eyes gaze at me with pity. I can’t bear to see the pain in them and feel the same pain mirrored in my heart.