“You want to see a magic trick?”
“Is it good?”
”You tell me.”
“I guess I will tell you. Especially if it’s bad.”
Tyler smiled heroically while Mark shuffled and bent the stiff cards. The boy laughed, placed a hand on his head, then laughed again.
“Do you have a Sharpie?” Mark spun around and snatched an Expo marker, asserting his own question. He then took a card and showed it to Tyler, who gently smiled.
“What card is this?”
“King of Hearts?”
“Yes, now write your initials on the card.”
“Steady it on my cast!”
Mark did what he said; when those initials were written, he snatched the card back and showed Tyler another.
“Now what card is this?”
“The King of Spades.”
“Good, now I’m going to write my initials with a message.” Mark took the marker and wrote his initials in the bottom right of the card, next to the spade. “What should I write?” Mark looked up, smiled and scratched his head.
“I don’t know.”
“It can be anything!”
“Really?”
“Yeah, whatever you want.”
“Sexy beast.” Tyler smiled and Mark wrote the message on the card, with the heart monitor occupying the silence. When he finished, he gave Tyler the King of Hearts.
“Okay, now look it over and make sure it’s your card.” Tyler did what he was told, and confirmed that it was. “Now I’m going to take this card I signed.” Mark openly showed the card to Tyler and began to tear the card into little bits, onto the ground. “And I’m going to tear the card up. You better pick that up.”
“Are you crazy? I might contaminate the ground.” Mark and Tyler both laughed, then they stopped and Mark spoke.
“So everyone enjoys sending letters, either to a girl across town, a close friend, or even your mother. Now the cool thing about magic is that I can also send messages, but without a mailbox.” Mark shuffled the cards and spread them over the bed. “Pick a card without looking, and put it with your other card.”
“I’m not sure I can trust you.”
“It’s magic, of course you can’t trust me.” Mark smiled, and Tyler, while trying to see him through, swiped a card from the deck. He took his time and placed the new card with the other, thinking what this new card might be.
“Now close your eyes and say a magic word.” Mark clasped his hands together while Tyler squeezed his eyes shut.
“What’s the magic word?”
“Whatever is magic to you.” Mark gently smiled while watching Tyler think of a magical word. He thought for three minutes; Mark thought he has fallen asleep, until Tyler finally spoke his magic word. A word that could define and save his life, that could lead to a thousand possibilities, with only this one goal.
“Cured.”
“Okay, then say it louder.”
“CURED.”
“I’m a little old, I can’t hear you.”
“I SAID I’M CURED!” Tyler screamed aggressively, and Mark’s eyes watered, but he held them back. Tyler wouldn’t appreciate tears, rain. Kennedy behind the door heard his scream and silently cried, not even a sound. Then she left in a hurry, back to the front desk and away from her shame.
“Check the ground, Tyler,” Mark spoke with a firm voice. Tyler opened his eyes and peered under Mark’s feet. The bits from the card were gone. He looked up with amazement. Mark gestured him away. “Don’t look at me, you’re the one who said it.” Mark boldly stared at Tyler and smiled. “Now check your blankets, Tyler.”
Tyler reached under the sheets and felt the two cards. He slung them in front of his eyes and found Mark’s card intact, with the words “sexy beast” gone. The message flew onto the other card, his card, with a few extra words. It said:
TC, you are a Sexy Beast! From your favorite old man, MW.
“Wha—How did this happen? I must have gotten too much morphine.” Tyler looked over the cards and the ground again. Mark watched him struggle to comprehend the miraculous trick and plainly looked under the bed. That was where he’d kicked the card bits. Mark quietly laughed and stared back at Tyler.
This shocked me, children, because he hadn’t been happy like this in a long time, and I mean a long time. That’s one depressed man! But as I’ve explained, he didn’t always have this old, tough personality. Mark was once gentle, kind, romantic, and godly. But he hit the road one day and died. Of course not physically, but you understand. His kindness died, that’s what I mean. When Mark lived his life in kindness, around the time the second colonoscopy test rolled by, Mark and Mary celebrated. He was nineteen, and she was eighteen. They were both still so young with the future in sight. Oh, and of course it was negative. I got carried away, sorry about that, how clumsy of me.
Anyways, she was home alone, and heard the doorbell ring. Sitting upright outside her door was a bouquet of flowers, a huge bouquet, with a note. It read:
Put on something pretty. If you have trouble, just know that with you in it, it’s perfect! Meet me at the park in an hour, you know where I am.
Love,
Your Hand Mitten
◆◆◆
Mary used the entire hour that day painting her face with makeup, fighting for perfection in eyeliner, mascara, liquid foundation, blush, lipstick, and loose powder, juggling to rush through the door and see Mark with her normal routine complete. She always took obsessive amounts of time just to impress him, even though he’d proven to Mary that looks were not everything to him. Mark loved who she was, her natural appearance. The park was a golf course; its terrain was filled with hills, slopes, and an occasional lone golfer. Naturally, it was empty, since the old and outdated course had only two holes, cheaply produced grass, and accidental cactus obstacles. Golfers were now attracted to the much newer and modern courses with lakes, turf, and trees. When she arrived, Mark wasn’t hard to spot; the light bouncing off the ground from the sunset made him seem like a light at night. Mark watched her slowly make her way up in a large red dress.
“I thought I told you to wear whatever you’d like,” Mark laughed and swatted a fly from his face.
“I thought you’d come down here and help me.” Mary looked up and smiled. She watched him take his time down the hill, raving on about how she can make gourmet meals but can’t do this simple task. But while Mark babbled, Mary glanced down, and purposely snagged her dress on a short cactus near her feet. “Mark, my dress is caught! Mark, this is a very nice dress!” She panicked. Mark trotted over with a sense of care in his steps, like a quail to its partner.
“It’s okay, I got it.” He calmly ran down the hill and knelt on one knee to untangle the dresses threads from the ground. Mary smiled, lifted a leg in the air, and balanced while watching Mark pick out the last few needles from the dress. When the cactus was fully removed, Mary pushed him down the steep hill, thrusting with her legs. Mark yelped and gripped the grass before rolling down the hill again.
“Mary!” He yelled while Mary cried in laughter.
“Oops, my bad. My foot just slipped.”
“Mary!”
“Sorry, I can’t hear you, the air is too thin up here.”
Mark called her name a third time. She froze. Something was wrong.
“Mark? Honey? Are you okay?”
“I fell on a cholla, it’s everywhere.” Mark moaned and rolled over. A cholla is a cactus with an obvious tree-like base that grows fairly tall. It drops little spiky six-inch limbs on the ground, and when you’re caught, the cholla hooks in the skin, making removal very difficult. The typical way is to take a fork, let the teeth go in between the area it penetrated, and yank it out. Then you run your scars through water, hoping it doesn’t later burn from the bacteria on the edge of the thorns, depending how old th
e limb was. Mary ran over in a small panic.
“I’m sorry, I’m really sorry. I thought it would be fun, I’m so clumsy, it’s my fault.”
Mark rolled over on top of the wound but never screamed. He smiled, frowned and screamed again.
“It’s on my leg, agh! There’s a lot.” He looked up and found himself in a hug with Mary.
“I’m sorry.”
“Mary, my leg.” He patted her back while moving the wound. She ran over and searched for the cholla, but there was none.
“Hun, where’s the cholla?” Mary looked back and found him smiling deviously.
“There is none.” He lifted his leg and kicked her off the hill. She lost her balance and grabbed Mark’s shoe. He took hold of the grass, but for the second time, it ripped and left them rolling down the hill, flopping over each other. This time no one stopped, they both continued to roll off, until the incline disappeared, and they were on flat ground. Mary pinned Mark to the ground. Her dress was stained by the grass, and hair thrown out of control, with a leaf tangled inside.
“So much for your dress.”
“So much for the cholla. I thought you were dying!”
“I had things under control.” Mark smirked while his eyes wandered to the side, but they found their way back to her.
“I’m pretty sure I have you pinned to the ground. I could do whatever I’d like right now, and you can’t do anything.” She smiled, because it was a lie. He looked around, at her thin arms, small body. Then toward those beefy biceps, long outstretched legs a foot past hers, the weight difference, and looked back into Mary’s eyes.
“Yep, nothing I can do.”
She leaned in and kissed Mark, who took her fingers into his hands. “I like your nails. It reminds me of your art.”
Mary giggled and let him look them over. They had palm trees bending in different directions for every individual nail. There were sunsets as well, with yellow and orange colors reflecting off the sandy beach below, as well as little white dots that were without a doubt coconuts, with almost unnoticeable coconut holes, punctured by pink bendy straws.
“Thank you! It took me days to draw in the little details.”
“But it’s missing something.” Mark frowned.
“What is it?” Mary threw her other hand in eyesight and looked very closely at the details
Mark reached deep in his front pocket and without trouble, pulled out a ring and slipped it on her finger. The diamond wasn’t large, and the band was thin, although on the side there was an engraving that said: Forever.
Mary’s eyes looked away from the nails, saw the ring, and began to cry. She spoke in a whisper. “Mark. It’s beautiful.”
“Well? Is it a yes? Life is going to take us, but wherever it does, I want to go with you.”
Mary spoke under his arm. “Just please promise me one thing.”
“Anything!” Mark yelled enthusiastically and watched her rise and stare in his eyes.
“Let’s adopt, no child deserves what I—”
“Yes baby, yes. We’ll adopt.” Mark felt her kiss on his smile and began to tear up. “We’ll be okay. I promise with everything I have. We’ll make it out all right.”
“Mark, it’s okay to cry, I’m here, I’m here, baby.” Mary fell back into a hug, and Mark lightly tugged the back of her head. In one way or another, Mary wanted him to cry.
“Why cry? The world is so great.”
“Just don’t bottle up.” Mary pushed up with her arms. “I’m here for you.”
Mark snickered and pushed her messy brown hair behind an ear. “You’re beautiful.”
They continued to talk, flirt, and plan a future while lying together on that golf course. That day they told everyone of the big news. Family and friends gathered from thousands of miles away to the wedding six short months later, and when Mark swooped Mary off her feet for a kiss, the crowd cheered. It was an event where even God clapped and blessed their wedding without a doubt that their hearts were completely made for each other; many called it the perfect wedding, because they were the perfect couple.
◆◆◆
The day was slowly dying, and in the distance came another storm brewing through the mountains in the east. In the distance, black clouds with streaks of rain poured down onto the range, another quiet night of rain approaching, without even the howls from wolves at the moon. The hospital still sat under the glaring sun, vaporizing the past storm’s residue, but not for long. Soon the sun would set, the houses would close, and the storm would begin again with rage. On the second floor, in a vacant room, Aaron and Kenny argued while Mark finally made the decision to run up the stairs toward Tyler and to later perform a magic trick. The heat of the argument was escalating to a climax. Kenny paced in a circle, shouting down to Aaron who sat on a wooden stool listening to every word. Tom walked back in and groaned lightly. They were still arguing, and he wasn’t in the mood for their bickering over simple solutions, so Tom walked out and left it for Mark.
“You told me he was under control, you told me he wouldn’t have another episode!” Kenny yelled. “Then he assaults my entire staff and turns my hospital room into a battleground! That’s not civil, that’s not justice.”
Aaron closed his eyes and slowly nodded with grief. “I know.”
“Then also covering the fact that his blood pressure is skyrocketing from his last visit. Have you made sure he’s taking all medications?”
“Yes.”
Kenny’s voice shifted from a scream to an outdoor yell while wiping the sweat off his face. “Aaron, I’m sorry, but I can’t let him stay on the force this time, I can’t cover for him, even if he’s a community resource officer. He’s become a danger. You can’t control him.”
Aaron stood up for the first time and whispered, “But Kenny, this is all he has. It was my fault. I let him chase that call.”
“What if the next child dies? Is it still okay?” Kenny’s voice rose again, and Aaron fell back down into the seat.
“No.”
“Also take in account that both of you are now being exposed for committing international crimes that could throw you both in prison for life. Have you thought of that? Do your emotions change for Mark now?”
Kenny walked to a clean metal counter, leaned over with his palms far apart, and stared at a wall with his back toward Aaron. The room was quiet for minutes. Aaron watched him fold a napkin that was on the counter into a perfect square and take a huge breath that filled the blank, clean room with noise. He then spoke in a quiet voice. “Mark has serious issues. He needs to see someone even if he refuses. This needs to be done. It’s better if I arrange this before a third party does.”
Aaron stood up again. “But Kenny, what about the risk?”
Kenny shifted his body around and yelled back, “The risk? There’s already too much risk. This is something we have to do, no matter how much it’ll hurt him! He’s forgotten who I am, is periodically inattentive by conscious dreams of the past, and can’t take care of himself without steady watch. He’s getting worse. You understand?”
Aaron sat down and whispered, “Yes Kenny, I understand.”
“Make sure he goes to the psychiatrist I prescribed, who has every right to diagnose him with any mental disability or gain access to any medication. He’s a good friend of mine. Please don’t argue with this decision,” Kenny said calmly. “And don’t think I’m a bad guy, feel blessed I was on shift when it happened, that Mark and I are not close enough for him to be transported to another doctor. Mary is a big part in his life, I would agree with anything he’d diagnose Mark with and any method he would use that he deems necessary. This is the only way we can help him and always was. It is good to start now than to never at all.”
Aaron jumped up a final time to speak, his heart pounding with nerves. “I can talk to Tyler’s parents and straighten things out�
��”
“NO!” Kenny yelled. Aaron flinched like a spooked horse. Kenny closed his eyes with a slight pinch to his nose and began softly. “No, Aaron. Please don’t interfere anymore. You will only make it worse. There are times in life when you cannot make the circumstances any better than they are, you can only prevent them from becoming worse. If you speak to Tyler’s parents a day after the accident, nothing will be resolved. There will only be uncontrollable emotion and irrational demands.”
Kenny walked over and placed a hand on Aaron’s shoulder, then he froze with a motionless gaze toward the ground. Kenny groaned under his breath and turned pale, but before Aaron could speak, he began. “Aaron, it’ll be okay. We’ll all make it through. Just please, if Mark gets exposed, try to act as if you didn’t know.” Kenny’s old, wrinkled face to Aaron wasn’t noticed often, but the light from a dim bulb and his burdened features struck it in a way that exposed his age, those deep wrinkles, gray hair, and old brown eyes. Aaron nodded and stood up with a sense of dread, walked to the vacant room’s door, then stopped. Aaron grabbed the frame of the doorway to his right and rested his head with closed eyes and anguish.
“Don’t get excited, Kenny,” Aaron said while he tapped his head on the frame, as if he were trying to ignore the sounds around him. “Mark hasn’t changed.”
Aaron didn’t head toward Mark but to the cafeteria and ate. He ate like a madman, devouring the meatloaf and Indian-style rice, with a bread roll and an eight-ounce carton of milk. There were crumbs on his lips and pasta sauce on a faded Beatles shirt, of the four stepping across Abbey Road. Frozen in time with their hypnotizing and internationally recognizable pattern. Aaron didn’t worry about Mark because he ate swiftly, without hesitation, without time to think about the taste of the fluffy bread roll or the unopened soy sauce packet to the side. In the winter of 1982, three months after the stunt girl argument, his father was singing “Hey Jude” while opening the front door to their house. Aaron’s eyes were glued to the show Hill Street Blues, wondering with slight childhood curiosity what it would be like to be a police officer at Hill Street Station. The control and authority were what he loved the most. He remembered his mom screaming in the kitchen as his father pulled her hair and took her outside, singing “Hey Jude” with ease, pulling his mother’s hair as if it were like brushing his teeth. Aaron burned with uncontrollable fury while he watched the outdated box television, and instead of either turning up the volume or running to his tattered mattress on the ground of his room, Aaron turned off the world in Hill Street and Captain Frank Furillo, rotating toward the screams of his mother.
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