The Paper Shepherd

by Olivia Landis

  Pat knew there were bigger factors then regulations keeping he and Renee apart. The simplest of which was that Pat was ten years older than her. But, more importantly, Pat knew, every person Renee had ever loved or trusted in her life had either left her, or the circumstances of her life had forced her to be separated from them. Every relationship she had was a crazy enmeshment of obligations. Her only boyfriend was also her best friend and more of a brother to her than her two actual brothers. He was now a priest and sat in judgment of her soul. Her boy friend’s parents had functionally been her parents for half her life. Her “father,” Jack Franklin, was also on the police force and had brought a few of her high school friends to the police station for vandalism. Her “mother” Eleanor was complicit in a cover-up of Renee’s first suicide attempt. Pat had no desire to add to that list by being a boyfriend who could prescribe her drugs and who was responsible for her sanity.

  Maybe, he thought to himself, she won’t need me to do that anymore. Maybe, she won’t need any psychiatrist anymore. Her hair was growing back in now and she looked like the strong, smart student he had met in the emergency room waiting area, not the abused stray animal he had sedated in the treatment area. But, Pat knew looks could be deceiving. Renee sighed in her sleep and curled her hands under her chin, rubbing the blanket he had brought her across her cheek. She seemed to be dreaming about some happy, far away world. Pat wondered what a happy dream for a little bird like Tiar Alfred would be. Then he put on his coat and went in pursuit of caffeine.

  “Something wrong with your turkey, hon?” Max looked up at the plump waitress in the powder blue uniform of the Midwater Diner on Elm street.

  “No. Thank you,” he replied politely. “It’s terrific. I’m just...”

  “Not hungry tonight?”

  “Yeah. And I have a long drive ahead. Don’t want to get too full.”

  “Well, why don’t I wrap that up for you, then?” she asked, topping off his coffee.

  “That would be great. Thank you,” he said listlessly, pushing his plate toward her. In truth, Max was starving. But, as he sat at the Eisenhower era linoleum counter in the diner, watching the “o” flicker at a place across the street called “Original Ray’s Coffee”, he knew that the expansive feeling of relief he felt over not finding Tiar at the Fox Tail was simply a ketone induced delusion. Ketosis, the process by which the brain uses fat for fuel when sugar runs short, had different effects on different people. Some people felt very weak or angry when they were forced into ketosis. Max felt elated, free, optimistic. He discovered this during a fast the previous lent. It was better than being drunk. After his silly brush with despair earlier in the fall, silly, foolish, childish thinking! he decided that he had become too comfortable, too content. He decided that he needed to be a little less comfortable and a little hungrier. As his fast progressed, as he went from three meals to two, and then to one and a half, he found he was less convinced there was no God. Some days, he sort of believed that there was, or at least there could be. He could almost, when he hadn’t eaten in a few days, see God. Actually, it was more like he could see evidence that God had been hanging around and just stepped out for a moment—he could see the faintly glowing residue God’s feet would leave if he walked barefoot across a newly washed floor. This was what Max was capable of feeling if he restricted himself to a thousand calories a day.

  Today, Max estimated, he had eaten about six hundred calories. Clearly, he was not unbiased and logical in such a state. Max knew that there were much more logical ways to interpret Tiar’s absence from the strip club than that she had been won over by his arguments and gotten a safer and more wholesome job. It was far more likely that she was dead or that she had dropped out of school and moved to another city. It was even more likely that she had made the conversion from New Testament to Old Testament sin—that instead of merely tempting men to commit adultery with her in their mind, that she was letting them commit adultery with her body. But, Max could not bare to believe any of these things.

  Max knew that if he were in his normal, logical, well fed state, he would have to face these harsh realities: that Miracles probably didn’t ever happen, that God probably didn’t exist or leave footprint across the linoleum of his brain, and that the girl he used to call “Little Bird” was probably in some squalid, drafty apartment with pneumonia and several sexually transmitted diseases. It was far easier to be hungry than to face all that. He took his leftovers under his arm, left a sizable tip, and finally headed for home.

  When Renee awoke the next morning, sun light streamed through the windows. Renee was not unaccustomed to waking up somewhere other than her own bed. However, when Pat sat down next to her on the couch, she was very confused. Fortunately, an ambulance went by and she quickly realized where she was and why Pat was with her.

  “Ready to go home?” he asked her. “Come on, I’m going to walk you to your apartment.” She rubbed her eyes with her hands.

  “Aren’t you on call?” she asked sleepily.

  “My shift is over,” he informed her. “Tiar, it’s Christmas day.” He smiled at her and she smiled back.

  “Merry Christmas,” she said. She sat up and balled up the blankets she had been sleeping under. Then she put on her coat and hat. Pat had already changed and packed up the left-overs from the night before while she slept.

  They walked through the six inch deep snow toward Renee’s apartment and Pat recounted wearily the patients he had taken care of the night before. The snow and merriment had combined to cause quite a few car accidents allowing him only half an hour of sleep for the twenty four hour shift.

  “I suppose New Years will be even worse,” Renee speculated.

  “Fortunately, I won’t be on that night,” Pat said.

  “Do you have plans?” Renee asked. “Cause, I think Salome is having a party if you’re interested.” Pat considered the offer, deeply divided about what he should do.

  “Why don’t I call you about that later?” he suggested.

  “Sure, no biggy,” Renee replied casually, holding onto a sapling planted in the side walk to keep her balance while climbing over a huge pile of snow the plows had left.

  “Can you write down your number for me?” Pat asked pragmatically. “You’re not listed anymore.”

  “Yes, I am,” Renee said. “The lady at the telephone office said I had gotten my submission in in time for the new book.”

  “I looked the other day, Tiar. You’re not in there.”

  “Don’t tell me you couldn’t figure it out,” she said pointedly.

  “Figure what out?”

  “What’s my name in Arabic?”

  “Bird?” he said tentatively. She shrugged at him, cocking her eye brows. “There is no ‘Bird Alfred’ in the phone book. Just a Barbara and a Brad and nothing in between.”

  “Oops,” Renee said with a look of consternation. He won’t be able to find me, she thought. But, who am I kidding? He’s not looking anymore.

  “Tiar,” Pat asked. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” she said flatly. “I guess that makes me ‘Brad.’”

  They continued on through the blinding radiance of the snow covered city. Pat followed Renee into her building and made sure she got into her apartment.

  “You want a cup of coffee or something?” Renee asked, unlocking the door. Pat walked in and dropped the single bag of left over food onto Renee’s kitchen table. He glanced around the small apartment at the spare furnishings, the scrawny plastic Christmas tree, the paper nativity scene. Half of the sheep had fallen on the floor when Tiar opened the door, their shepherd long gone. Pat stood just inside the door frame, marveling at how little she had and how much she was willing to give away.

  “No, thanks. I just want to go home and sleep for the rest of the day.”

  “Okay,” Renee answered lightly. “Thank you so much for walking me home.”

  “It’s the least I could do,” he said, waving his hand in the direction of the remnan
ts of the feast she had brought him. Now, go, he thought to himself, but his feet wouldn’t move. Renee stood in front of him, smiling innocently. Her heavy wool coat now off, her soft gray sweater was outlining her figure perfectly. Tiar, men pay money just to look at you, he had told her once. How much is she worth to me? Everything I have.

  Pat tried again to lift his feet to walk out, but they felt like immovable boulders. He just stared helplessly at Renee. She didn’t seem in a hurry for him to leave.

  “About this party on New Years...” Pat began, looking for a way to excuse his persistent presence. Her brown hair was now long enough to form a tidy bowl around her head. She wasn’t a frightened animal or a tortured show girl anymore. This was the girl who had given him her phone number, who spent one of her precious few dollars to buy him a candy bar. She had approached him. What am I afraid of?

  “Yes?” Renee asked, taking a step toward him.

  “I was just wondering...” he trailed off. Pat avoided looking at her eyes. Wondering what? he chastised himself, looking down on the floor. You need to go. She grabbed one of his mittened hands and stood in the path of his eyes. She was a few inches away.

  “Yes?” He closed his eyes and leaned toward her. He felt her lips warm and soft against his own. He couldn’t think of anything anymore. His thick skiing parka rustled as he wrapped his arms around Renee and pulled her closer. Renee felt warm all over. Warm and happy. She grabbed Pat’s head in her tiny hands, her slender fingers running through his soft, golden hair. It felt so good to be kissing anyone, to know she still existed.

  Pat, his mouth still locked on Renee’s, pulled off his mittens and threw them on the floor, rubbing his hands on Renee’s soft angora sweater. It doesn’t have to end here, Renee thought. Why should it? Why should it? She unzipped his coat and slid her arms inside of it. Between his coat and his fleece pull over, her arms felt warm and safe. He leaned lower to kiss her neck. Renee’s hands reached under Pat’s blue fleece jacket, inching their way down the sides of his abdomen. It was obvious he didn’t stop working out when he left the army. His torso was firm and sculpted like a Greek statue.

  A shiver ran through Pat’s body. It wasn’t that Renee’s hands, which had now worked their way to the bare skin of his back, were cold, but that they were real and that they were hers. This wasn’t a dream anymore. This mystical little sprite who tripped around the edges of his universe was now touching him. He didn’t have to wonder anymore what could have been if he had called her two years ago. He didn’t have to imagine what it would be like to hold her. It would be like this. He put his mouth over hers. He didn’t know how long he could keep her here, how long she could be his. He wanted it to be forever.

  Renee’s fingers crawled up the inside of Pat’s shirt. She could feel his chest expand and contract with every inspiration as she climbed up his ribs. She could feel his heart pounding away as he kissed her. She wanted to love him. She wanted to give herself to him. But, a voice was nagging away at her. Am I just using him? She didn’t want to listen to it. She liked Pat, from the day they met. She thought he was good looking. So, why shouldn’t they both be happy? He loves you, she thought. Love him. It’s right. It’s the best thing you can do. Be smart about this. Just love him. Just try.

  But, even as she pressed her lips against his, even with her tongue in his mouth, tears were welling up, trying to escape the corners of her closed eyes. This is what she had dreamt the night before—every kiss, every caress, only not with Pat. He was looking for her. It was an irrational thought, but one as real to her as the sun and the snow. She had nearly forgotten about Max. It was an active, intentional forgetting. He could not merely slip from her mind; he needed to be pushed. Deposed. Evicted. She had nearly done that, for his and her own good. But, something had changed last night while she was asleep. She was so sure he was close by, so close, she could yell out his name, and he would come running to find her. But, he would never find her, and if he did find her, he couldn’t kiss her. He couldn’t love her. He wasn’t allowed to do that anymore. He didn’t want to do that anymore. Max was gone.

  He’s gone, she tried to convince herself. Max is gone. She wasn’t cheating on him. He didn’t care. He would probably be happy, relieved, if he knew she had found someone else, someone smart and caring. He would feel free if he knew someone else loved her and he didn’t have to worry about her anymore. But, it didn’t matter. She was still waiting for him in her heart. Pat was a wonderful person who really deserved a woman who could love him. She knew the most she could be right now was someone who liked him very much and thought of another man every time she closed her eyes to kiss him. Maybe this feeling that Max was still in her life would only last another few months, maybe for another few decades, but it wasn’t fair to make Pat wait around to find out. Renee pushed Pat away and spun around, hoping he wouldn’t see the tears rolling down her cheeks.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t do this. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. This was my fault. I did this. I’m sorry!” she said, trying to steady her voice and surreptitiously rub the tears from her cheeks.

  “It’s okay,” Pat said walking up behind her and putting his hands on her shoulders. “It’s okay. I...” I what? I don’t mind? I’ve wanted you since the day I met you? “I ...”

  “I can’t,” Renee said, turning to face him. She wanted to explain, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t tell him she couldn’t love him because she loved someone else. He knew who she loved. He knew everything about her. He was supposed to be the one to fix her, to free her from this ludicrous obsession. He’d spent six weeks doing nothing but trying to get her to let go of Maxwell Franklin and everything he represented. If she told him the truth, that she still couldn’t let go, he would feel like she was rejecting him both as a man and a therapist. This is why you’re not supposed to date your psychiatrist, she thought. Renee felt trapped. She cared about Pat so much. She didn’t want to reject him. But if she let this romantic whim go any further, it would eventually fall apart, and they could never be friends again. How can I not hurt him? She racked her brain.

  “I can’t date you, Pat,” she said sadly. “I want to. I wanted to since we first met. But, you’re the only one who has ever been able to help me…over at the clinic. No one else even listens to my problems. They just assume they know the whole story, like they can fit me into one of their neat little models for insane drug addicts. You’re the only one who doesn’t think of me that way.”

  “What about Dr. Colton?” Pat asked, referring to her psychologist. “I thought things were going so well.”

  “They are, but…” Renee stalled. Shit! Think! “But, what if I get bad again? What if I really need drugs this time. Dr. Colton is a great psychologist. But, he can’t prescribe medication for me. There’s no one else I trust that much,” Renee went on, letting all her emotion spill out into her voice. Tears restarted their path down her cheeks and she did nothing now to stop them. “Pat, I’d love to be your girlfriend. But, you’ll always be too important to me as a doctor. I can’t risk losing that. You’re the only one who knows me. You’re the only one who can even say my name right…” Renee saw Pat’s face soften into sympathy. He took a step toward her.

  “It’s okay,” Pat assured her. He pulled her to his chest, this time unmistakably in the embrace of a friend. Damn! So close! “It’s okay. You know you being healthy is more important to me than anything else. You know that I’ll always be there for you.” Renee now let herself cry into the front of his soft fleece jacket. Her tears were of sorrow and relief—for the man she wished she didn’t love and the man she wished she could love. At least she had grown up enough now not to destroy everything good around her.

  49

  The sky was battleship grey as Renee put on her woolen cap and pulled her hood up against the February wind. Salome’s New Year’s Eve party had been exciting despite Pat’s absence. Somehow Renee managed not to think about what she could have been studying to get ahead for the next semester. Instead,
she watched the live TV feed from celebrations all around the country. Still acutely worried that someone from campus would recognize her particularly fluid way of moving her body, she was careful to stay away from the make shift dance floor created by pushing all the living room furniture into Sal’s bedroom. In the six weeks since the first of the year, Renee had seen Pat only once when she was in the waiting room of the Behavioral Health Clinic, waiting for her psychologist, Dr. Colton.

  Otherwise, everything returned to normal for Renee in Brighton, New York. Classes started up again and Renee started working ten hours a week for Ray who was delighted that she had come back. The only thing that was not lovely was the weather. It was Brighton lore that if Eskimos have fifty words for snow, Brighton students must have a hundred words for gray, as this was the color that predominated the sky and landscape for three quarters of the year. Renee, who was finally making a concerted effort to make acquaintances other than Salome, was delighting in this new vocabulary she had somehow missed for two years. For the past week, the sky was a color Renee liked to call Moses Beard, a much lighter shade than the current one. She didn’t care much for the February pallet. She looked forward to April with its bluish-gray Rainbow bass and the soft greenish-gray asylum wall, which heralded thunderstorms.

  Renee walked through the battleship day to the library where she met Salome. When she approached her friend, she was studying in the atrium, her dark brown hair pulled back in a pony tail and her reading glasses on. As soon as Sal heard Renee’s footsteps, she took off her glasses and her hair clip, suddenly transforming like a superhero from academic to sultry.

  “Ready to go, birthday girl?” Sal asked, putting her books into her back pack.

  “You better believe it,” Renee said with feigned enthusiasm. The tradition of getting inebriated on one’s twenty first birthday was one she understood in the abstract; and yet, she dreaded the head ache she expected to have tomorrow morning.