Assimilation

by James Stryker

  “Just because you haven’t met anyone doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”

  “I also haven’t met Santa Claus, but I doubt he’ll be wedging his fat ass down my chimney any time soon. At least, I wouldn’t risk my life on it.”

  Could Andrew really be so stupid? As controlling as Robert might be, he was better than CryoLife.

  How many times have I known someone even thinking about going back? And then one day, they’re just gone. As if they hadn’t existed in the first place. And they never return.

  If Andrew really wanted to die, he should just shoot himself in the face now. Then there would be something to find.

  “Okay, I’ll wait out the conservatorship and then I’ll leave.”

  “Where are you going to go?”

  “I thought I’d go with you.”

  “With me?” Andrew nodded in response. “Well, I do have a spare room. You could take care of my basement greenhouse and ant farm. I only have one bathroom, though. Santino would have a larger space to offer you. I’m sure you’d be welcome.”

  “I don’t want to live with Santino. I want to be with you, if you’ll have me.”

  Oz had allowed his mind to race again – cars jetting at 200 miles an hour. Until they suddenly stopped, brakes screeching and hot trails of rubber burning off onto the track. There was the sound of twisted metal as his thoughts collided and he wondered if he’d heard Andrew correctly. If he had, was he understanding him? He was tired of suppositions.

  “What does that mean, Andrew?”

  “It means whatever you think it means.”

  “You’re saying this to a man. You, who are also a man, are saying this to a gay man.”

  “I know who I’m saying it to.”

  Oz’s throat felt dry. “What’s wrong with Robert then?”

  “I don’t feel the same way about him. He’d never see me as anyone but Natalie.”

  “If he could, would you stay with him?”

  “No.”

  “Because he’s not gay?”

  “He’s not you, Oz.” Andrew’s fingers stroked his arm lightly, and Oz wished it’d been a short sleeved day.

  “You make me feel safe, and cared about, but you don’t suffocate me. You’re independent and don’t desperately need me. Robert makes me feel like I’m a fucking inflatable life raft.” Andrew shook his head. “You’re intelligent and clever. You make me laugh; you make me forget about how bad I feel. And I—”

  “Wait, wait, wait.” Oz pulled back his arm. “I make you forget about how bad you feel? Less than three hours ago, you were shouting at me in a parking lot, saying you hated me because I remind you of everything you want.”

  “I apologized for that, and I explained what was behind it. I’m not allowed to get upset?”

  Oz studied Andrew carefully, trying to tease out whatever was behind the dark eyes. Freedom was a strong motivation. Incentive enough to elicit deception? Even unintentional dishonesty? It was possible. But he couldn’t – he wouldn’t – allow himself to be set up. No one had ever captivated him as much as Andrew, but he wanted the real deal. Anything else would be unbearable.

  “No, you can be upset, but I’m allowed to be confused by you going from one end of the spectrum to the other so quickly. It’s not only your feelings on the line. It makes sense for me to be cautious,” Oz said. “I think it makes sense for you to be cautious as well. You’re still figuring yourself out, and I get that. You shouldn’t tie yourself into anything.”

  “I know what I’m doing.” Andrew turned. “But if I misread that you have any interest, you don’t need to take some noble high ground. Just tell me.”

  Maybe he’d pushed it too far.

  “No, no. You didn’t misread. But isn’t it like you taking steps toward assimilating to the right identity? You need to value yourself enough to not sell out.” He placed his hand to his own chest. “I am not your life preserver. If you want an escape, you have one. Whether we’re friends or anything more. You don’t have to buy my help with your love. The only price of my assistance is the pleasure of your company.”

  Oz was glad when Andrew faced him with a smile. “Thank you for not taking advantage of me.”

  He wasn’t sure how to interpret that reaction. Was this a veiled way of admitting the professed feelings had been disingenuous? Who knew? But he was probably reading too much into things.

  “Likewise.”

  He started the car engine and checked behind his shoulder to back out. When Andrew placed his hand on his arm, it surprised him.

  “I did miss you the last few days, when you weren’t around. It wasn’t something I wanted to do, I’ll admit. But I found myself thinking about you often,” Andrew said.

  “And how much you desperately hate me?” He chuckled and returned to checking the rearview mirror. Andrew withdrew his hand as he moved his arm to dig out his cigarette pack. “And my shirts? My pants? My flashlight keychain? My—”

  His stomach flipped as Andrew lightly brushed the side of his face with two fingers. “About how soft your cheek was.”

  Oz felt like his mind was stuttering, and as he hardly ever did, he struggled to find a response. Ultimately he laughed. Humor was the best strategy for distraction. For others, and for himself. If he concentrated too much on Andrew’s statement, his general lack of control could lead anywhere.

  “Nice try, but I share my moisturizing secrets with no one.”

  Chapter 31

  “You seem agitated today, Robert.”

  “I suppose that could be a word for it. Yes, I’m agitated.” He glanced over at Dr. Zuniga behind her desk and pulled out his cell phone. Sitting on the edge of the couch in her office, he tapped his foot as he slid his finger across the phone screen. “Very agitated.”

  “Do you want to tell me why?”

  “With your impressive degrees, I’m sure you’ve heard the phrase of a picture being worth a thousand words. Why tell you, when I can show you.” Robert stood and dropped the phone in her hand. He folded his arms. “Look at that.”

  The lack of shock on her face irritated him further.

  “A picture of Natalie asleep?”

  Technically, it was. She had her right cheek on the pillow and her arm shoved underneath it. But that wasn’t the problem.

  “Look at her,” he demanded.

  “I am. I apologize, Robert. I’m afraid I’m not seeing what—”

  “The hair. Look at what she’s done to her hair.” Robert returned to the couch. “I came home three days ago to her whistling in the kitchen. I walk in excited that finally she’s turned a corner. And this is what I find. She hacked it off. All of it.”

  Was it odd that he was so devastated about Natalie’s hair? He couldn’t deny that he was. She’d always had beautiful, long golden hair. Granted, she’d been tying it back and it’d often been greasy and ratty, but it had been there. Once or twice he’d seen her with it down, and it made his skin tingle. Before the accident, he loved to run his fingers through her hair. He’d sit with her head in his lap and lose himself in caressing it.

  “And where is it now? Where? At the bottom of a trash can with gum and banana peels?”

  “Did she say why she cut it?” Zuniga asked.

  “She said it was hers and she was tired of it. I don’t understand. There was this time, Doctor, when she went to get her hair done, and they cut off four inches instead of two. Four.” He held up his fingers. “It was still past her shoulders, but she cried for a solid week.”

  “This was before the accident?”

  “It’s always before the accident. And how could she do this? I thought she needed my written approval to make changes to her body.”

  “For permanent changes, yes. But we can’t stop someone from getting a haircut, Robert. You couldn’t have stopped her from that before.”

  “She wouldn’t have done it before. My Natalie would’ve never changed herself in any way I didn’t like.”

  “Maybe she thought yo
u’d like the new hair. Did she ask if you did?”

  “No, she didn’t seem to care.” Robert chuckled to release some pressure. “And that’s not all. I couldn’t get a picture of her in her new clothes.”

  “You’d said before she’s been wearing sweatshirts and baggy pants, not her normal attire?”

  “Oh, it’s worse. Much worse. She’s taken to wearing this spandex undershirt underneath men’s shirts – polos and dress shirts. I asked her about it, and she says the undershirt is designed for athletes and she wants to take up running.”

  “Well, that sounds like the old Natalie, doesn’t it?” Dr. Zuniga slid Robert’s cell phone across the desk. “She wants to stay in shape for you.”

  “She knows I don’t like that.”

  “What’s not to like?”

  “A beautiful woman jogging along the side of the road. People looking at her. It’s not safe, and she shouldn’t be doing that.”

  “Robert, in no way am I meaning to upset you further, but don’t you think you’re being extreme here? Women go running, and there are many beautiful women with short—”

  “It may appear extreme to other people, but it’s not to us. These are things we were on the same page about. There are specific things and roles Natalie and I agreed on.”

  “She promised you that she’d never cut her hair?” Zuniga raised an eyebrow.

  “She promised that she would invest in herself for me.” He leaned forward. “She doesn’t have to look at herself every day. I do. If she wanted me to grow my hair out or stop shaving, I’d do it for her.”

  “But this isn’t permanent. Perhaps she was—”

  “No, no that doesn’t help. Why she did it doesn’t change that it’s done.” Robert leaned his elbows on his knees and covered his eyes with his palms.

  It’d been awful to see Natalie so disfigured. And he knew that, yes, the hair and body were hers, but he was still affected. Didn’t she care about him anymore?

  Before she did anything new, she always consulted me. Like Brigman said – that’s my role: protector, provider, and caretaker. She’s not just changing her image, she’s challenging my position. And that’s not Natalie.

  “Robert, I understand why this is so upsetting – that hair is a symbol of your wife, and you connect it strongly with a person you love.”

  “Yes, that’s right.” He leaned back on the Chesterfield sofa and closed his eyes. It was nice to be understood. Natalie used to understand him – used to anticipate his every feeling and thought. Almost like they were the same person.

  “I think she’s acting out. It’s like a teenager getting a nose piercing. After a trauma I see many of them regress to an immature state. Think of it like going through puberty.”

  “Puberty?”

  “As awkward as it sounds, you need to be her guide through this. That’s one of the main reasons the conservatorship is established. They need structure and control. You need to step in, like a father figure.”

  “A father figure?” But he didn’t want Natalie to be his daughter. She was supposed to be his wife. The mother of his child. “She’s twenty-eight. We’re married and have a son. It’s not my responsibility to raise her.”

  “That may have been the wrong phrase, I apologize. She needs your guidance. Again, she’s been through a substantial trauma. You don’t think what Natalie experienced would make her consider her life and question herself? Remember how you told me when you found out about the accident?”

  That day had started like an ordinary morning. He’d been at work adding notes to a remodel bid.

  And the first phone call came at 10:23am.

  “Mr. Keller, your wife and children have been involved in a serious vehicular accident. We need you to meet the ambulance at Savannah General—”

  Had he responded? He couldn’t remember. He hadn’t heard anything else. He’d been gone. Out the door and speeding down the highway, the tachometer redlining and redlining.

  What had been going through his mind was his family. Natalie. Simon. Michael. My wife and children. My wife and my little boys.

  I’ve never felt my role more strongly than right then. Protector, provider, and caretaker.

  And if that car would move fast enough, if he kept pushing his thoughts toward them—

  The second call came at 11:04am.

  “Mr. Keller, I apologize, sir, but if you can meet one of our officers at the police station that would be best.”

  “What about the ambulance? The hospital? Is my family okay and I can pick them up?”

  Robert would somehow gather all three of them into his arms. He’d hold them close and never let them go. The world was a horrible, unsafe place. Its only light came from his wife and his babies.

  “It’s just no longer necessary for you to be at the hospital.”

  On the freeway he’d almost caused a pileup by coming to a complete stop in his lane. The brakes squealed and his car fishtailed. Horns blared and cars swerved. But he didn’t care.

  “Who’s dead?” Robert whispered.

  “I’m sorry, sir. What was that?”

  “Who’s dead?” The words came through clenched teeth, and with each sentence they were louder. “Which one of them? All of them?”

  “Mr. Keller, please come to the police station.”

  He threw his phone across the car. It bounced off the passenger window and into the seat. He folded his arms over his steering wheel and sobbed. He’d lost everything.

  In Dr. Zuniga’s office, Robert looked away from her and rubbed his temple with two fingers. “Yes. It was the darkest day of my life.”

  “That didn’t change you?” she asked.

  “It did. I told Natalie it did. And that I’d never take her or Simon for granted.”

  “So let me ask you, Robert. While I can empathize with how upset you are about Natalie cutting her hair and wearing different clothes, would you rather have her with short hair or not at all?”

  He’d confided a lot to Dr. Zuniga. Many of his feelings as well as the happenings at home, albeit usually a condensed version. But he hadn’t told anyone of the wicked thoughts that’d played through his head after he’d pulled himself together to drive on to the police station:

  God, if there is a God. Please don’t take my wife from me. If you leave me anyone, leave me her. We can have other children, but I can’t replace Natalie.

  And he’d never reveal to anyone how on walking into the building and seeing only Simon, his heart had broken again. He'd held the boy to his chest and cried into his hair, partially because his son had been the survivor and not Natalie.

  The guilt over recalling this calmed his anger. “You’re right. She’s alive. And it will grow back.”

  “That’s right.” Dr. Zuniga smiled and nodded.

  “But I don’t want her to do anything else. Anything. What if she comes home with a tattoo next?”

  “I assure you, Robert, that won’t happen. She can’t permanently change her body without your authorization.” The doctor wrote a note on a separate sheet of paper before handing it to him. “This medication adjustment I’m recommending should help quiet her mind so she can concentrate more on recovery, less on adolescent distractions.”

  He glanced at the paper. It looked like the others – a list of medications, with a place for him to sign at the bottom. He signed as he always did. This suggestion seemed especially fitting.

  “Yes, that’s the problem. Her mind isn’t quiet enough. Like it used to be.” Robert passed the paper to Zuniga. “Is there anything else that can be done? That I can be doing?”

  “It’s a delicate process.” She tucked the paper inside a file folder. “But continuing to engage in old activities and interaction with others will help reinforce her role. Is she still seeing her friend Shelly?”

  “She’s gone out with her nearly every day.”

  “Well, that’s good. Didn’t you say she seems better after being with her?”

  “Yes, not like her
old self, but she is happier.”

  “I’d encourage her to keep spending time with Shelly. Perhaps you can also integrate the family aspect by having Natalie invite Shelly and her husband over, or the four of you going on a date.”

  “That’s a good idea.”

  “And if you get the chance, you might consider pulling Shelly aside and talking to her. Perhaps she could provide some insight regarding anything Natalie is struggling with specifically.” Zuniga flipped through pages of the folder. “I’ll be honest, Robert, she’s not very open with our doctors. Very reserved when it comes to discussing her feelings.”

  “She can be shy and doesn’t like to cause trouble or feel she’s inconveniencing anyone. I’ll talk to her about being more honest. Has she said anything about Simon?”

  “Not that I’m seeing here.”

  Robert looked at the floor. Their son had been gone for over two weeks and not once had Natalie asked where he was or when he was coming back.

  The school bus stopped not five feet from our mailbox. She’d wait at the curb for him, and was as excited for him to come home as he was.

  “I still think having Simon stay with your mother was the best course of action,” Dr. Zuniga said. “Even if it’s unusual that Natalie hasn’t asked about him, keep in mind the original reasons behind it. Motherhood is a huge responsibility, and she needs to become accustomed to that aspect of her life, but a slow reintroduction would be more effective. Didn’t you say Shelly has children?”

  “Yes. Three boys and one on the way. She’s a good role model for Natalie.”

  “I agree. And I’d definitely push for Shelly to involve the children in activities. We also can’t forget that your wife is grieving. That could be another reason she’s having a difficult time reattaching to Simon. Does she talk to you about Michael? She doesn’t mention him in sessions either.”

  “No. She hasn’t asked about him.”

  A shelf hung on the wall in the living room upon which, among family pictures, sat a white box. On top of the box was a sculpture of a winged angel kneeling beside the small bed of an infant. The angel’s head was tilted to the right as she looked at the sleeping child’s face.