You slept fitfully next to me. Seriously, you’re the worst sleeper. EVER. I imagined you sleeping soundly and quietly next to me on a beach in Mexico, fully surrendering to the lullaby of the receding tide. Then, the dream took a turn, to us on a rocky boat at sea, drowning as waves crashed over me.
It was just your arm twitching on top of my shoulders.
“Babe, try to get some sleep.”
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Sent: Tuesday, December 6, 6:21 p.m.
Subject: the kind of thing
just got back from riding down to the beach,
ate some lunch and sat on the grass looking out at the ocean.
the kind of thing one thinks one would do
if one had a day off from work.
it doesn’t sound like a lot,
but i ate the whole sandwich and bag of chips.
felt a little like i’m getting my appetite back.
made some basic grammatical changes to the letter,
and filled in some missing info, but other than that,
i just don’t feel connected to it.
read my old letter, and started to feel like
perhaps i’m sending the wrong letter.
i guess if everyone prefers my stepfather’s letter,
then it’s the one i should be sending to Blue Cross,
but i just don’t feel like it’s my words.
despite it all, i am feeling much better.
i miss you.
“Song for a Sleeping Girl”
Devics
…
I’m not even sure I was a good caregiver — not that you didn’t compliment me, but I struggled to keep up with everyday life. It was hard work, caregiving. Overwhelming work. Yet, I was determined I could handle this myself; full-time job, bills, laundry, grocery shopping, dishes, yard work, not to mention keeping up with Gladys. Anyway, it was temporary. Things would get back to the way they were. They’d be even better.
Everyone wanted to know how I was doing, as if it were the only question that mattered. When I ran into Zach at the office, whom I hadn’t seen hardly at all, he asked, “How are you?” I smiled like a politician and stated, “I am good. Things are very good.” It was the only answer I ever gave, because I knew it was the one people wanted to hear.
“Hey, you guys wanna go to an art show tomorrow night? It’s on Abbott Kinney. I’ll come pick you up…”
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Sent: Thursday, December 8, 1:02 p.m.
Subject: rough night
rough night last night,
took a couple of aleves, and then rolled around
quite a bit before finally falling asleep.
woke up a couple of times,
but just couldn’t get comfy.
glad to hear we’re going to the art opening tonight.
i think it’ll be fun for us to do something like that
(jeez, i hope the art is cool.)
i’ll see if jay wants to come, and make it a foursome.
i promise i’ll come out to your side of town this weekend.
you’ve been making the commute quite a bit.
one thing i do miss about being at work
is knowing that at any given moment
you could be at my door, in my office,
and we could be sharing a big and beautiful embrace.
miss you lots.
It was as if someone told Zach, “Don’t mention the cancer. It’s too depressing. Just try to be upbeat.” He talked football. With him we didn’t talk disease or recovery time; we talked Redskins and basketball and movies and art. He meant well, but it gave the conversation an unreal cast. Cancer didn’t define who you were by any means, but it was filling up your days. From the books you read, to the discussions you had, to advice that you were given, even to reasons people were getting in touch with you, it defined your everyday routines. Cancer became a part of your identity, but it didn’t define who you were.
…
Friday, December 9
slaying my dragons
the back door is open, the sun shining in
(is that a warm breeze i detect?)
put the headphones on,
time to write.
listening to my new favorite band: clap your hands say yeah!
quite sure they are now forever linked to this period of my life.
things are improving. daily.
went to an art opening last night with some friends,
and even managed to go to a nearby bar afterwards
to share some wine, and talk snot about art and life.
however, i do think i’m getting an early taste
of what it will be like when i’m old:
after standing and walking for a while, i was pooped.
i had to search out a place to sit and rest:
“no you guys go ahead, i just need to sit down for a moment…”
putting away the puzzle that chas and i assembled
(okay it really was all her…
she is FREAKISH with those things!)
decided to take a quick pic of it
before returning to its original state
(it glows in the dark,
but the camera couldn’t quite get an exposure).
if you can’t quite tell from the picture,
its a knight on a flying unicorn,
slaying a medallion-wearing dragon in an underwater cave.
fucking awesome.
thanks to charlie for a great get-well present.
yes, things are getting better:
one piece at a time.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Sent: Friday, December 9, 12:11 p.m.
Subject: art
are you cursing my name this morning.
sleepwalking to work,
wondering aloud why you allowed yourself
to stay out late on the westside once again?
hope not.
i slept better than usual,
although i woke up at some mysterious hour,
and stumbled into the kitchen for some water
only to find jay passed out at the computer
head resting on keyboard.
it was a little sad, but i didn’t have the heart to wake him.
needless to say, i can’t wait to see if he has “asdfghjkl”
tattooed to his forehead this morning.
i had fun last night.
looking at art with you and zach,
and then finding our cozy corner to sit at the bar.
that was a nice evening.
Jay should have been our third wheel. After all, he’s your best friend and roommate. Yet I haven’t even included him in this story. Truth is, Jay wasn’t around much. His emotions were ensnared in heartbreak and girls, and the fallout from his latest breakup had manifested in a pattern of isolation and drinking. Roommate trouble seems part and parcel with being in your twenties — but was it a good excuse? It was hard to not take it personally, wondering why your best friend was missing during your healing. From an outsider’s perspective, I understood his distance. Hell, I envied it. While you were his rock, I honestly don’t think he knew how to be yours.
“So, Jay and I finally talked last night. We put a lot of things out on the table, but focused mostly on how he’s been completely absent from my recovery and wrapped up in his own shit. It was frustrating, emotional, and ultimately a conversation we should have had a while ago. It ended with him in tears, apologizing, and both of us fee
ling a sense of relief — but he’s also having a lot of things to deal with.”
“Like what?”
“He is afraid of life and death, depressed his best friend has cancer. He doesn’t know how to deal with these things. He doesn’t know how to be a friend. He said so. That it’s a heartbreaking situation and scary situation and he doesn’t know how to deal with that kind of stuff. He’s not good at that kind of stuff…”
chapter thirty-two
a change at christmas
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Sent: Tuesday, December 13, 3:55 p.m.
Subject: early
arrived a little early to the doctor’s office,
sat around for a bit until they called me.
(it was a little nostalgic to be back.)
walked to one of the exam rooms
with the doctor and assistant.
on the way, we stopped at a scale and weighed in
(this time only wearing a tee shirt and jeans, no shoes),
came in around 178 pounds.
don’t think i’ve weighed that little since high school,
maybe junior high.
the assistant gave me a gown
and asked me to change (oh great)
and then i sat in the exam room and waited for a doctor
for at least thirty minutes. (in a frickin gown!)
doctor came in, asked me a couple of questions,
then another doctor came in flustered
like she was running late,
and they ended up both discussing the surgery with me
took a look at the incision, complimented me on it,
referred me to the oncologist to talk about the chemo,
asked to see me again in four months (why, i don’t know)
and that was it.
no anal probe!
but an utterly purposeless visit.
came home and watched “the burbs” with jay,
passed out for a spell in my bed.
don’t know why i’m so tired.
getting ready to run out and grab some lunch.
am i going to waste this day as well?
hope not. hope some food will give me energy.
and you?
how are you holding up today?
missing me?
be well,
write when you can.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Sent: Tuesday, December 13, 6:26 p.m.
Subject: Re: early
sounds like another fun visit to the doctor’s.
they complimented you on your scar?
that’s fantastic.
178 POUNDS! You NEED to eat more throughout the day!
I’m worried about you…
and I sorta feel like Ms. Claus yelling at Santa:
“Eat, Papa. Eat! No one likes a skinny Santa.”
…
I worked late, then drove to your house. I sneaked through the back door, slipped under the blankets and behind you. My plan was to lay awake and listen to you breathing, listen to the night before everything woke up. You were my little spoon in the darkness, as I buried the front off my knees into the back of yours, my tummy nestled against your arch, my nose in the curve of your neck, I kissed your hair. “I am happy,” I mumbled softy.
“What are you doing here?” you said, somehow pulling me closer.
“I know it’s late, but I couldn’t imagine another night without you next to me. I’m happy.”
“I think you should move in.”
“You’re half asleep.”
“Move in with me.”
“Will you wake up in the morning and remember what you just asked me?”
“Probably not, but move in with me anyway, I feel better when you’re here.”
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Sent: Wednesday, December 14, 12:49 p.m.
Subject: fuzzy
i have this fuzzy memory of you last night,
perhaps it was a dream,
but you showed up out of nowhere
and rolled around in bed with me for a while.
after you left i actually slept very well
(didn’t get up once although i would have
gotten up for water if it wasn’t so cold out).
jay just left for work, which usually means
that i’ll get a lot of stuff done.
are you sleepy?
must’ve gotten home very late.
thank you for the surprise, it was delightful.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Sent: Wednesday, December 14, 1:17 a.m.
Subject: Re: fuzzy
last night was fun.
I like surprise visits.
I like throwing you off,
crawling into bed,
spilling secrets and cuddling.
do you remember what you asked me?
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Sent: Wednesday, December 14, 5:19 p.m.
Subject: Re: fuzzy
finished everything for my HMO appeal,
drove out to kinkos, made the copies i needed,
paperclipped everything so it was perfectly organized,
and as i was sliding it into an envelope,
i noticed a giant typo in my opening letter.
fuck.
so i’m back home now,
reprinting and running back out.
but realized i hadn’t sent you an afternoon e-mail
(or a song yet for that matter, a christmas song).
i think christmas shopping is the first way
to start getting into the spirit of the season,
but my favorite one is to find a list of the best
decorated christmas light houses in LA
and then drive around and look at them.
we should do that when our social calendar clears…
january maybe?
putting my christmas list together,
and getting excited about it.
i feel a little lucky to be home,
and presumably to have time off
to get some of this stuff done.
but time’s running out!
okay, i’m off to kinko’s again,
can’t wait to be all done with blue cross
(again, for the time being).
fucking love the shit out of you.
yes, i remember what i asked.
“A Change at Christmas (Say It Isn’t So)”
by The Flaming Lips
You rarely mentioned the low periods or health concerns to your mother or stepfather or friends. I got the brunt of it. “Yeah, last night was a hard one. I couldn’t sleep at all. My back was killing me. I didn’t know you stayed up so late — that makes it even crappier.”
“It’s okay.” I tried not to sound as exhausted as the sentence felt. “Just tired.”
“I kept waking up, hot, uncomfortable. It was better after Gladys went into the living room but I felt sad, like you were cut off for some reason. I hate when we have nights like that. I like it better when we wake up, cuddle, and fall back asleep.”
“Me, too. Sorry if I felt cut off. I just thought you were sleeping well, and I didn’t want to keep waking you — your back hurt again? That sucks. I know you’re having a hard time sleeping as it is. I should have cuddled anyway.” I wished I answered in a pithier manner. “I miss your cuddles.”
“It’ll be interesting to see how we sleep together in a strange bed over the holidays…”
“OHHH! I can’t wait for Mexico!” I squealed, and turned on my charm. “Who says we’re sleeping?”
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Sent: Monday, December 19, 3:12 p.m.
Subject: mexico
hot fucking shit!
we have a reservation in room 18,
one that the travelogue recommended,
which has an ocean view and a fireplace.
checking in between 3 p.m. and 5 p.m. on the 23rd,
and then checking out before noon on the 26th.
you can also do a search for “hotel la fonda baja”
and see all the travelogue sites that come up.
we’re fucking celebrating, right?
i miss you, too.
getting tons done,
like wrapping presents.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Sent: Monday, December 19, 11:26 p.m.
Subject: Re: mexico
I want you to know
that I think about you
every chance I get.
that I catch myself wondering what you are up to.
I catch myself smiling
even laughing out loud
thinking of you.
I daydream of our trip to Mexico
while trying to focus on work…
and I wanted you to know,
That no matter how busy my day is,
no matter how sleepy I am,
or how few e-mails I respond to…
I wanted you to know,
I love you.
and I wish I could show you
just how much I loved you
every second of every day.
…
It wasn’t the gorgeous drive over the border, or the songs we sung while driving the coast. It wasn’t the perfect hotel view or the couples’ massage. It was Christmas morning.
Christmas Eve had swallowed us like the horizon swallowed the sun, plunging us into a long, languid night. We tried to stay quiet when hotel guests slept in the next room; felt the agony of trying not to laugh when our bed slid or we both wanted to scream. I remember our half-asleep talk of living together as we rolled around in todays and tomorrows. And then — Christmas morning, I remember waking to the trace of tiny kisses sneaking their way from my mouth to my tummy. You were in my bloodstream, crawling in and out of my heart, my veins, making it difficult for me to get the words out and simply wish you a Merry Christmas. I closed my eyes again, hoping my anticipation wouldn’t wake you. I thought about cancer and us and moving in together after the holidays and surgery and Mexico and the universe and all of the things I was grateful for.
even if i am. Page 14