Apotheosis

by Joshua Edward Smith

  Charlie was giving her his full attention. “Wow. That’s crazy. So when do you find out?”

  Cynthia shrugged again. “No idea. This has been going on for a couple of weeks now.”

  “How are you doing?” he asked. “I mean, dealing with the stress of it. It must be scary.” He reached over and took her hand in his.

  She looked down at his hand and smiled. “Thank you. Yeah, it is scary. But I have Emma. She’s my rock. Oh my God! I have to tell you this thing that happened.”

  “Please!” Charlie said.

  “Okay, so one of these dreams turned into me yelling. I’ll spare you the details—because you’ll think I’m a total loon—but the bottom line is that I thought there was a man in my room. And I escape this phantom and go running into the hall, and Emma is standing there with a shotgun!”

  “Wait! Is that part of the dream?”

  “No! She was actually there! She heard me scream and came to rescue me. She was like… I don’t know… like Sarah Conner in the Terminator or something. It was nuts.”

  Charlie was smiling and shaking his head. “I… I can’t even imagine.”

  “I tell you. Don’t fuck with Emma.” Cynthia started laughing.

  “I won’t! I’d better get you home by curfew!”

  “So yeah, that was totally crazy. I’ve been having these nutty dreams for a while now, but that whole thing was the tipping point. Time to see a doctor.”

  “Sounds like it. Well, I’m sure it’s all going to turn out okay. You’ll keep me informed?” he asked.

  “If you care,” Cynthia shrugged. “I guess so.”

  They talked and ate until they were both full. Then Charlie cleaned up and hid the picnic basket back in the woods. “Do you want to head back?” he asked.

  “I really should. I have stuff to do. This was really nice, though. Thank you so much,” she took his hands and kissed him gently on the lips. He did not kiss her back, so she pulled away and looked at him. He looked like he was in shock.

  “Wait. What was… what just happened?” he asked.

  Cynthia smiled. Charlie looked at her and then pulled her in for a second kiss. A kiss he fully participated in.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Cynthia was startled when her mobile phone rang. Nobody but her mother ever called her, and even mom knew not to call her in the middle of the day. She looked at the caller ID. It was a local number, but that’s all she could tell.

  “Hello?”

  “Cynthia?” a woman’s voice asked.

  “Speaking.”

  “This is doctor Howard.”

  “Oh! Yes. What do we know, doc?”

  “Can you come in? We can try to schedule an appointment right away.”

  Cynthia’s stomach dropped. “Um, can’t you just tell me right now? I mean, if it was good news, you would have just told me right? So it’s bad news?”

  She could hear the doctor sigh on the other end. “Well, yeah. Okay. The EEG came back normal, but there’s something on the MRI.”

  “What kind of a something?” Cynthia asked.

  “The kind of a something we need to deal with.”

  “Go on.”

  “Well,” the doctor continued, “there is a growth near your basal ganglia.”

  Cynthia felt a wave of nausea flow through her. She picked up the water bottle on her desk and took a swallow. “A growth? You mean a tumor?”

  “Yes. A tumor. We cannot tell from the MRI whether it is malignant. That will require a biopsy.”

  “So, you’ll stick a needle in my head and check it out?”

  “I wish we weren’t having this discussion over the phone,” the doctor said.

  “You aren’t going to fucking stop now! Let’s get this over with.”

  “Okay. So we could do a needle biopsy. However, since you are suffering rather severe symptoms, it kind of doesn’t matter whether it’s malignant. I’d recommend that we take it out. Then we can biopsy it after.”

  “Well, fuck.”

  “I’m sorry,” the doctor said. “We can get you in next Tuesday. Will that work?”

  Cynthia pulled up the calendar on her computer and then realized that whatever she might have scheduled, it couldn’t possibly be as important as this. “Um, yeah. Okay. Is there anything I need to do?”

  “Someone from my office will call you later with instructions. You need to avoid taking aspirin or other pain relievers. I see you aren’t on any other medication—that’s great. They’ll give you the whole schedule. When to stop eating and so on.”

  “Okay. Hey doc?”

  “Yes, Cynthia?”

  “Is it okay if I get drunk tonight?”

  The doctor laughed. “Yeah, that’s okay. But let’s not have any alcohol after tonight until I give you the all-clear, okay?”

  “Okay, doc. Thanks.”

  “Any other questions?”

  “Not right now,” Cynthia answered.

  “It’s going to be fine. We have a team that specializes in minimally invasive surgical procedures. Feel free to call me if you think of any other questions.”

  “Okay. Thanks doc.”

  Cynthia hung up and stared at her phone. She felt hands on her shoulders and looked up to see Emma standing behind her. “Things will work out, child. They always do. The Good Lord takes care of good people like you,” she said.

  Cynthia put her hand on top of Emma’s and breathed deeply. The two were silent for a while.

  “I hope your calendar is clear tonight, because we’re going to the city,” Cynthia said. “I’ll ask Celita to cover the desk.”

  “Yes ma’am,” Emma said with a smile. “Gonna get us some digits?”

  Cynthia laughed. “God, I hope not.”

  ¤

  Emma climbed out of the car, and Cynthia came around to help her. “Pretty fancy, hiring a car to bring us down. Doctor say you can’t drive or something?” Emma asked.

  “No,” Cynthia replied. “Just figured this way we can both drink as much as we want.”

  “Ah. Always planning ahead. Should have known. So, how’d you find this place?”

  “I asked around on Twitter.” Cynthia looked up at the North Beach bar’s sign. It looked like the pictures she browsed online. She held the door for Emma, and the two went straight for the bar, skipping the hostess who took care of the restaurant side of the business. The room was all darkness, and wood, and brass. It had the feel of an exclusive club at an Ivy League school.

  “Bar looks full,” Emma said.

  “Yup.” Cynthia looked around the space. There were long wooden high-top tables with stools on both sides. She took a moment to read the room and concluded that these were communal areas, like the tables at a Japanese steakhouse. She put her arm in Emma’s and headed for a pair of open stools right in the middle of one of the tables. “These open?” she asked a man seated next to the empty stools.

  He turned and looked her up and down. “It’s my lucky day,” he said.

  Cynthia raised an eyebrow and motioned for Emma to take the seat next to Mr. Lecherous. “Sure is, hot stuff,” Emma said as she wriggled onto the stool. Cynthia found a hook under the table where she could hang her purse, and she showed Emma, who exclaimed, “Oh! Isn’t that clever.”

  “It’s a thing now,” Cynthia said. “We should get you out more.”

  “No complaint from me on that. Take me wherever you want.” Emma smiled at her.

  “What can I get you two?”

  Cynthia turned to see the waitress, who had apparently stalked them on the way in. “Oh, I’m thinking wine tonight. Something big and red.”

  “And you?” the waitress turned to Emma.

  “Rusty nail,” Emma declared.

  “Rocks?” the waitress asked.

  “Sure.”

  Cynthia waited for the waitress to leave and then asked, “What the fuck is that?”

  “Scotch and Drambuie. It was Phillip’s drink. Thought it might be nice to have him with me here
tonight.”

  Cynthia squeezed Emma’s hand. “That’s sweet. But ew. Scotch is not my thing.”

  “You get used to it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to flirt with this handsome man next to me,” Emma said with a broad smile.

  Emma turned away, and Cynthia scanned the room. The majority of the patrons were men, and almost all of the men were following the Silicon Valley dress code: khaki slacks, pressed shirt, no tie or jacket. The waitress brought their drinks and Cynthia took a taste of her wine. One good thing about this part of the country was the bars never served bad wine. The man next to her was engaged in a spirited discussion about sports, or rather the business of sports. She noticed the man across the table was eyeing her surreptitiously, always moving his gaze elsewhere as her survey of the room passed by him.

  “I’m Tía,” she said, reaching across the table to shake his hand. The bar was loud, so she raised her voice to be heard. Cynthia never liked raising her voice, because she was afraid the bar might suddenly get quiet, and everyone would hear her yell something ridiculous completely out of context. This had never happened to her in her whole life, but it happened all the time in the movies. So she was uneasy about it.

  He seemed surprised she talked to him. “Oh! Hello!” he shouted back, shaking her hand a little too firmly.

  “Ow,” she said. “Someone needs to teach you how to shake a woman’s hand.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “That right?”

  “Yes. Let’s try again,” she reached her hand back to him. “Hold it firmly, but do not squeeze. Like you’re holding a kitten.”

  He followed her instructions. “That better?”

  “Yes,” she said, taking her hand back. “Also, when someone introduces themselves, it’s customary to tell them your name in return.”

  “Oh my God.” He looked mortified. “I should just go home. I clearly have no idea what I’m doing.” He waited for Cynthia to reply. She didn’t. “Oh! I’m Michael… Mike.”

  “Pleased to meet you Michael Mike. Your parents had quite the sense of humor.”

  He looked at her seriously, “My parents died before I was born.” He waited a beat, then smiled.

  “Okay, smart ass,” Cynthia said. “I guess I deserved that. What brings you here, Mikey Mike? You with someone?”

  He nodded toward the men next to him. “After work thing.” He leaned across the table and added softly, “Not mandatory but mandatory, you know?”

  Cynthia smiled. “Been there. In fact, I guess you could say that’s why my friend Emma is here.” Cynthia gestured toward Emma, who was deeply engaged in conversation with Mr. L. “We work together and I peer-pressured her into coming.”

  “You’re the worst,” he said.

  “I know, right?” she replied.

  “So where do you work?” he asked.

  “We have an inn up in Inverness.”

  “Oh! Nice. So why’d you come all the way down here for drinks? They must have bars up there.”

  “We know everyone up there,” she replied. “Can’t pick people up for anonymous sex when nobody is anonymous.”

  Mike looked at her, shocked. Cynthia said nothing, but smiled a little.

  “I can’t tell if you’re serious,” he finally said.

  “Well let’s keep an eye on these two,” Cynthia replied, holding her hand near her body and pointing at Emma. “If they disappear together, then we’ll know.”

  Michael laughed and shook his head. “I like you. You’re funny.”

  Cynthia smiled and took a sip of her wine. “Thank you.”

  “So what’s the occasion, really? Why’d you come to the city?” he asked.

  “I’ll be dead in a few days, probably. Figured what the fuck.”

  Mike stared at her, jaw slack.

  “Lighten up, Mikey Mike. I did say ‘probably.’ They’re going to drill a hole in my head. That only kills you like, half the time, tops.”

  He furrowed his brow. “Wait… I… Fuck. I can’t tell if you’re serious or you just have a really sick sense of humor.”

  “Says the guy who joked about his parents dying,” she said.

  “Touché. Okay, so you’re joking?”

  “Nope. Well, I am about the odds. I have no idea what the chances of my dying are, but I doubt they are very high, since it’s not like the thing in my brain is life-threatening. Well—unless it is.”

  “Holy shit. You’re serious,” he said. He reached his hand across the table and took Cynthia’s hand in his.

  “Serious as a brain tumor, Mikey Mike,” she said, picking up the wine with her other hand and draining the glass. “I’m going to need another one of these.”

  Mike looked around for the waitress and caught her attention. Cynthia ordered another glass of wine. Emma’s cocktail was barely touched. “Those are on me,” Mike told the waitress, gesturing at the women’s drinks.

  “So you said you work at a little inn. Is your health insurance going to cover it?” Mike asked.

  “I got the COBRA thing when I left my last job. Thank goodness they found this before it ran out.” Cynthia picked up her empty glass and scowled at it. “Thank you, by the way. For the drinks. So what’s your story? Wife and kids waiting at home?”

  He nodded. “Wife. No kids. Not yet, anyway,” he looked at his watch. It was one of those big touch-screen watches that everyone in the valley seemed to be wearing these days.

  Cynthia laughed. “She’s expecting any minute, and you’re out at a bar, buying drinks for strange women, Mikey Mike?”

  “Ha! No. I was just kidding. We’re trying, though. And she’s doing that thing where she texts me and I have to drop whatever I’m doing and rush home and… well, you know.”

  “Do the laundry?” Cynthia asked.

  “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” he replied.

  “You’re the kid, here, Mikey. Maybe you should ask that fancy watch of yours.”

  He held it up for her to see. “Isn’t it awful? I hate it. But I’m also addicted to it.”

  “I feel the same way about yoga,” she said.

  He paused a moment and then laughed. Then he raised one eyebrow, “Yoga seems to be working. You are quite fit.”

  “Thank you, Michael. Stop trying to pick me up, though. I’m not going to sleep with a married man. Particularly one whose sperm is in high demand.”

  “Hey! That’s not fair. Can’t I compliment you without it being a pick-up?”

  “No, Mike. Not really. Not in a place like this,” she said, looking around.

  Mike looked around the room. “Hmm. I see your point. Well this watch is supposed to keep me fit by telling me to get up off my ass every hour or whatever. But I turned that feature off after a day, because, Jesus, I have enough people telling me what to do already, you know?”

  “Who’s this?” Emma asked, nudging Cynthia with her shoulder.

  “Oh, hello Emma. Did you get your digits?” Cynthia asked.

  “Not telling. So who’s this tall drink of water you’re chatting up?”

  “Emma, this is Mike. Mike, this is Emma. Emma, Mike is married and his wife is making him have sex with her all the time. It’s just awful.”

  Emma nodded. “I’m sorry to hear that, Mike. That must be very hard for you.”

  Mike laughed. “You two are a riot. I’m glad you took your show on the road. Your friend here was telling me that she… well…”

  “Oh, go ahead Mike. You can say it. ‘She’s probably going to die next week.’ See? Not so hard.”

  “Oh you hush, child,” Emma scolded. “Ain’t nobody dying. They just gonna put you out, take out the lump, and you’ll wake up good as new.”

  “Are you going to be taking care of her?” Mike asked Emma.

  “Sure am. She’s my newest baby, and a momma takes care of her babies.”

  Tears formed in Cynthia’s eyes. “Oh, fuck!” she said, reaching into her purse to find a tissue. “God damn it, Emma. This isn’t water
proof mascara. I’m going to look like a raccoon.”

  “Oh geez. I’m sorry,” Mike said, looking from Cynthia to Emma and back.

  Emma winked at him. “Don’t you worry, Mike. Momma’s got this.” Emma rubbed Cynthia’s back, as she regained her composure.

  Cynthia took a long pull from her wine glass, then took a deep breath in and exhaled forcefully. “There. Okay. No more of that. This isn’t a pity party. We’re here to chew gum and flirt with boys, and I’m all out of gum.”

  Emma and Mike laughed. “Alright, child. Whatever you say.”

  ¤

  “Hello, Mom,” Cynthia answered her phone with resignation. “Thanks for calling back.”

  “What is it? What’s going on, Cyn?”

  “Promise me you won’t freak out,” Cynthia said.

  “Well now I’m definitely going to freak out. What is it? Tell me!” her mother pleaded.

  “There’s a lump in my brain and I’m going into the hospital on Tuesday so they can drill a hole in my head and take it out.” Cynthia waited. There was silence on the other end of the line. “Mom? Are you there?”

  “I… Yes. Yes, I’m here. Is it,” Cynthia’s mother lowered her voice to a whisper, “cancer?”

  Cynthia laughed. “I don’t know mom, but saying it out loud doesn’t give it power. This isn’t the devil we are talking about here. It’s just some misbehaving cells.”

  “You don’t know? Shouldn’t you know before they go in there?”

  “The lump is causing problems for me regardless. So they are going to take it out. If it turns out to be cancer, then we talk about treatment options. But I’m assuming it’s just benign. Because it’s easier to assume that.”

  “Okay, honey. I’ll be on the next plane. Where do I fly to? San Francisco?”

  “No, mom. Please don’t come. I’m going to be a mess, and Emma can take care of me. If you’re here, I’ll feel like I need to take care of you, and then that’ll make it harder for me to get better.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m your mother. If you are getting surgery, I should be there.”