by Monica James
I don’t know what he’s thinking, but I do know a small part of him must believe me. If not, he would have surely called me a lying son of a bitch and had me thrown out by now, but he’s done neither.
Needing to apologize to the only other person on this table that I give a damn about, I look over at Max. “I’m sorry, Dr. Wellington. I’m afraid I’m not the person you believed me to be.” I can’t stand the look of disappointment any longer, so I commence my walk of shame up to the stage.
A million thoughts are racing around my head as I stand blankly in front of my peers, colleagues, and now, enemies. I’m barely listening to a word the emcee is saying as all I can focus on is the fact my prediction was right. This is it. All my secrets are about to be revealed. This isn’t just big. This is fucking astronomical.
“And the winner is…” the emcee says, drawing out the anticipation.
Suddenly, my life, my entire existence flashes before my eyes. Every important event, every important memory crashes so violently into me, I’m left standing breathlessly and rubbing the sweat from my palms. I close my eyes, trying to focus on one single memory because the internal rollercoaster is making me sick.
It doesn’t surprise me when my brain tracks back to the time Madison told me she loved me.
Nothing will ever compare to such a feeling because there is no other in the world that could ever make me so happy and feel so complete. Not even winning this stupid award.
“Dr. Dixon Mathews!”
My eyes snap open when the room erupts into deafening cheers. It takes a moment, but when I see a sea of people standing, clapping vigorously, I realize they’re clapping for…me. I actually won.
I’m standing speechless, unsure of what to say or do. Thankfully, the emcee waves me over, holding the glass plate award in his hand. Looking out into the crowd, I see that Max and Chad are standing too, but unlike everyone else, they’re not clapping but, rather, they look to be having heated words.
This vision is exactly what I needed to see, as it sets the wheels into motion.
Taking one step, and then two, I accept the award from the relieved emcee, who appears thankful that I’ve returned to the land of the living. It takes a minute or so before the applause dies down and I’m faced with absolute silence.
I grip the wooden podium as I peer around the room. I don’t really know where to start because it’s not like I prepared a speech. However, as I look down at my name engraved into the glass, I know a good place to start is with the truth—to start with the reason why I’m here.
I clear my throat. “Thank you.” Now would be the time to say something witty and detail how it’s been my dream to achieve such an accomplishment. But as I return my attention back over to Max, I know there is only one thing I can do.
Without further thought, I violently smash the plate onto the side of the podium. It shatters with a loud crash, splinters of glass littering the stage. The audience gasps and shouts, most springing up to avoid the projectiles of soaring debris. The emcee shrieks and ducks for cover.
I’m left holding a shard of glass and the sight has me breaking into the first genuine smile I’ve smiled all day. “I’m sorry for the dramatics, but this entire thing is a load of shit.”
Ignoring the mortified faces of my audience, I bend down and pick up a few broken pieces of glass. “This,” I state, holding up a shard which looks a little like Florida. “This is for Dr. Adler.” Dr. Adler is a fellow nominee and I enjoyed her detailing her studies in the Psychology of Gender.
She awkwardly looks around the room, but surprises me as she takes a step forward and accepts the slice I’m offering to her. “Thank you.” She smiles and walks back to her table.
Holding up another piece, I continue. “And this is for Dr. Augustine.” Dr. Augustine is another candidate. I found his humor refreshing, and he’s also a fellow Yankees fan. He looks nervously around the room, but he too surprises me as he steps forward and accepts his makeshift award.
I go on and call up each nominee, giving them their small piece of reverence. Even the batshit boring Dr. Bora appears happy with his offering. After I’m done sharing, I take a deep breath and reveal the reason behind my madness. It’s time for my redemption.
Holding up my sliver, I reveal, “I don’t deserve this because…I’m a fraud.”
I don’t think the crowd can handle any more excitement, and the room erupts into pure bedlam. The pandemonium doesn’t deter my confession, however. “I am probably the person least deserving of this award, as my recent unorthodox practices shit all over this honor, and what it’s meant to represent.”
My confession soon hushes the room as they all eagerly wait for me to air my dirty laundry.
“I’m not proud of my actions and it’s time I pay for my wrongdoings. For the past…” I pause, as I don’t even know how long it’s been. As I’m calculating my sins, I see Chad unexpectedly run over to the stage. I figure he’s finally grown a pair, and I’m about to get what’s coming to me.
With that thought in mind, I quickly declare, “For God knows how long, I’ve been fuc—” But I don’t get to finish. The air gets ripped from my lungs when Chad hip-and-shoulders me and yanks the microphone from my hand. I stumble, completely caught off-guard, as I thought he was about to punch me, not bump me out of the way.
“What Dr. Mathews is trying to say is that for God knows how long, he’s been focusing on becoming a better doctor. Some of his research methods may be unorthodox, and at times, he’s felt like a fraud because he’s surrounded by so many intelligent and gifted colleagues who seem to be discovering the next big thing. He’s a perfectionist, and he really is his own worst enemy. But in no way are you undeserving, Dr. Mathews.” Chad turns to look at me. “What you just did shows everyone what sort of a doctor you really are. You shared your entitlement with your fellow nominees because you are selfless. And if that doesn’t show this room what kind of a doctor you are, then I don’t know what will.”
This time, I’m the one whose mouth has just hit the floor. What the hell is going on? Why is Chad saving my ass? Did he not hear me when I called his fiancée a gold-digging whore?
“Three cheers for Dr. Dixon Mathews!” Chad exclaims, egging the stunned crowd on. By the third cheer, I can tell they’ve bought his bullshit spiel.
Before I have a chance to deny his kind but incorrect claims, some pop tune comes blaring over the speakers. I look over at the DJ and almost fall flat on my ass when I see Max over at the booth, looking at me knowingly.
What’s going on?
“Dr. Mathews,” Chad says from between clenched teeth. “Take a walk with me.” I don’t have time to get a word in edgewise because he stands behind me and practically shoves me down the stairs.
As I walk through the inquisitive crowd, I dodge hunks of glass, the sight underlining what a nightmare the past five minutes have been. We casually saunter out the balcony doors a few seconds later.
Fortunately, there are only a few people out here. I gather the night’s proceedings grew too spectacular for their tastes, so they snuck out for a much-needed cigarette. The thought has me reaching into my jacket pocket and diving for my own nicotine savior.
As I breathe in my Marlboro, I feel a touch better. “So, care to explain to me what the hell is going on? Why on earth would you do that? I thought you’d be more than happy to watch me throw myself under a bus. Instead, you’re up there making excuses for me. Why?”
Chad blows out a deep breath. “Can I trouble you for one?” he asks, looking down at my pack. I didn’t know he smoked, but I offer him one without hesitation.
As he takes a long drag, his shoulders instantly drop and he smiles. “That’s the first cigarette I’ve had in over two years,” he confesses.
“Oh?”
He nods and turns to look out over the balcony railing. “Yes. Rebecca says smoking is a filthy habit and it was her excuse not to kiss me.”
It takes all my willpower to keep hidden
that offering to smoke a stranger’s cock is an even filthier habit, but Chad must be able to read my thoughts loud and clear.
“But now I know that was only one excuse in a long list of many.” I wasn’t expecting that reply, so I continue smoking in silence. “The answer to your question is I won’t allow a lying bitch to make a fool of us both.”
I thump my chest as I choke on my intake of smoke. “Excuse me? Are you saying that you believe me?” I query, unable to believe my ears.
“Yes, I do,” he confirms.
“How? I mean, I’m thankful that you do, but I just told you your entire relationship is a sham. Why would you believe me and not her?”
Chad sighs, appearing plagued and saddened by the truth. “Because deep down, I always knew. I’m not stupid, Dixon. I knew that Rebecca was more interested in my wallet than she was in being my wife. But I thought maybe one day she could grow to love me.”
Us men, we are all closet sentimental fools. No matter how many people warn us, we have to find out the hard way.
“And Max told me,” he adds.
“Max?” I question, pausing from taking another drag.
Chad nods and finally turns to look at me. “Yes. He told me he had seen you brushing off Rebecca’s advances last night. He also confirmed that he heard her at the table.”
I feel like a complete ass. “I’m sorry, Chad. I truly am. I should have pulled you aside and been a little more discreet about the entire thing.”
He shakes his head. “No need for apologies. What’s done is done.”
I decide to leave out the fact that this wasn’t the first time Rebecca waved her cooch in my face. I figure, why kick a man when he’s down? “I suppose I owe you a thank you.”
“You owe me nothing. Just keep your nose clean. We can’t afford any more bad press,” he counters, butting out his cigarette. “We can make whatever you did go away. Just let me know if you ever need me.”
I nod, grateful for the “get out of jail free” card. It’s now official—Juliet has nothing over me any longer. You’d think I’d be happy or relieved. Instead, I feel numb.
I feel like I should offer some kind of condolences as I did kind of break up his relationship. But funnily enough, I’m not sorry. I’m sorry that he’s hurting, but I’m not sorry I helped him see that the Juliets and Rebeccas of this world are nothing but trouble.
“If you ever need to talk, I’m here, or whatever,” I say uncomfortably, feeling like a complete pussy.
Chad chuckles and slaps me on the shoulder. “Thank you, Dixon. Maybe I could do the same for you,” he wisely says.
Although he saved me from major embarrassment and shame, he knows that whatever demons I have will never go away. Even if I confessed my sins, the disgrace and remorse would remain with me forever.
“Right then.” He clears his throat, probably as uncomfortable with the touchy-feely crap as I am. “I have some business to take care of. Thanks for the cigarette.”
“Any time.” And I mean it. He gives me a final nod before going back inside.
I need a moment to process everything because life doesn’t get any more complicated than this. My minute is short-lived, however. “Dr. Mathews, may I join you?”
Max is standing behind me, waiting for my permission. “Of course, Dr. Wellington.” He shuffles over while I butt out my smoke.
I have so many things I wish to say, but I don’t know where to start. I’m utterly embarrassed that a man I highly respect and admire just witnessed my inexcusable outburst. Not to mention, he no doubt knows what went on behind closed doors.
But in true Maxwell Wellington style, he seems to overlook the madness. “So, I think the lamb was rather dry, don’t you?”
I can’t stop my laugh and it bubbles out of me freely. After the past few weeks, it’s nice to laugh and actually mean it. After I’m done cackling like a fool, I sigh. “Thank you, Max. You saved my ass tonight.”
He shakes his head. “You would have done the same for me.”
“Of course I would have, but I’d hope you’d have more sense than me,” I counter, smiling.
There’s a slight pause before Max grows serious. “We’ve all done things we’re not proud of, Dixon. But that’s what makes us human. To be unfeeling, that’s what makes us inhuman. Whatever you’ve done, I can see you’re sincerely sorry for it.”
“That I am. I can’t take back what I’ve done, but I sure as hell can learn from it.” And I have. It’s just unfortunate that to learn my lesson, I had to lose the best thing in my life.
“The world needs a hero, Dixon. And you’re it,” Max says, surprising me.
“I’m no hero, Max. I never was.”
He stubbornly pulls in his lips. “Yes, you are. What you did in there took some balls. And in my eyes, I still believe no one is more deserving of that award.”
I appreciate his vote of confidence, but I don’t feel the same. “Thank you. Your faith in me means a lot.”
“It’s not only my faith. It’s the faith of others as well.” I watch with interest as he reaches into his pocket and produces a shard of glass.
I can’t believe my eyes when I see my name staring back at me on the jagged sheet of glass. For this to survive is truly a miracle. And Max knows it, too.
“One must have chaos in oneself to be able to…”
“…Give birth to a dancing star,” I conclude, quoting Nietzsche.
Dr. Wellington is an incredibly smart man. He’s also a man filled with hope and compassion. “I can only hope that I grow into the man that you are,” I sincerely confess.
He warmly reaches out to pat my shoulder. “Only hope to be you, Dixon. Be yourself because everyone else is already taken.”
This exchange has somehow left me feeling…lighter. The heaviness is still there, but I don’t feel like I’m drowning.
Just as I’m about to thank him, I see Max look over my shoulder and smile. I want to turn around to see what has him grinning so broadly, but he stops me. “Alas, fate has spoken once again.”
I have no idea what that means, but I don’t have the time to question him because he ambiguously instructs, “Count to ten.”
“To ten? Why would I count to ten?” I question, curling my lip in confusion.
“Trust me, my friend.” He pats my arm before walking off with an eloquent smirk.
I desperately want to turn around, but for some reason, I don’t. I feel beyond ridiculous, but I’ve never had any reason to doubt Max in the past. So why should I start now?
“One…
“Two…
“Three…
“Four…
“Five…
“Six…
“Seven…
“Eight…
“Nine…”
But for some reason, I’m suddenly left speechless and can’t go on.
Taking a moment to process why, I feel the air is charged with a familiar static—a static I haven’t felt in weeks. A static which makes me feel alive. And there is only one person who can make me feel this way.
I can suddenly feel it. I can suddenly feel…her.
“…Ten.”
31
The Last Goodbye
DIXON
The moment I’m done counting, I turn around, my pace measured. Looks like Max was right. Alas, fate has spoken once again. And fate has never looked more beautiful.
“Madison?” I question. I’m beyond elated that she’s here, but I don’t understand why. “Please excuse my insolence, but why are you here?” She lowers her eyes and scuffs the tip of her boot across the ground.
It hurts that she feels so uneasy around me, especially since I finally broke down those walls. But I suck it up and wait for her response.
When she finally meets my gaze, I squash down my nostalgia and give her my full attention. “I saw what you did.” Her soft voice brings back so many memories, but I nod calmly.
“Yes, well, it was time I came clean. I’m just sorry I d
idn’t do it sooner.”
Her face softens. “I know what you mean.” But I have no idea what she means.
As much as I love seeing her, I know this isn’t a social visit. She’s here for a reason and I need to know what that reason is.
Madison senses my impatience. “Can we go somewhere a little more private? I need to tell you something.”
“Of course,” I reply a little too eagerly, so I tone it down. “Would you like to go to the bar?”
She surprises me when she shakes her head. “Can we go up to your room?”
Hell yes we can! But I tell my premature excitement to cool it because we’re going up there to talk. And only to talk. “Sure.”
Her relief is obvious, and I wonder if she thought I’d refuse her. She should know by now, though, that I would never refuse her anything.
I can’t stop staring at her. She looks incredible and my hands twitch to touch her. Not trusting myself, I slip my palms into my pants pockets and lower my head as I walk past her. Her sweet fragrance hits me immediately, sending a pang of longing straight to my heart. I focus on passing through the masses without alerting anyone to my internal, raging war.
Thankfully, my colleagues are too busy gossiping about me to realize I am feet away. We slip out of the room undetected in less than a minute. The elevator ride up to my room is incredibly painful. A cart has never felt so small, and Madison’s rigid stance reveals just how uncomfortable she is finding this entire situation.
I dive out the doors the minute they open, not bothering to conceal the fact that I want this over with as soon as possible. I don’t know what “this” is, but my cynical self knows it’s not good.
Opening the door to my room, I step aside and let Madison in first. She graces me with a strained smile before slipping inside. I follow a second later, hating this doom and gloom.
“Can I get you a drink?” I offer, walking over to the kitchen counter where my half-empty bottle of scotch sits.
“Yes, please.”