by Bradon Nave
“Tomorrow morning…ten.”
“You’re dad taking you?”
“Nah, he works. I was just gonna drive—”
“I’ll be there at nine. We’ll grab some breakfast beforehand.”
CHAPTER THREE
“I love you, son,” my dad said from behind me. He set a plate of food in front of me—steak, green beans, and a baked potato, my favorite.
“What’s the occasion?”
“Do we need one?” he asked as he sat in the chair beside me. The dining room was dark and nearly silent. The entire house was usually silent. Noisy wooden flooring and creaking stairs were all that seemed to echo through the halls of our old home.
“Thanks, Dad.”
“I’m proud of you,” he said softly as he cut into his steak. If anything, I wanted to do better for him. He’d worked so hard to give me all I needed, and all he had to show for it was a bandaged kid climbing from denial.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” I said softly. I wasn’t surprised when he didn’t answer. I felt his arm across my back as he pulled me over for a one-armed hug. Resting my head on his shoulder, I found myself wishing I was five, and able to climb into his lap and cry. I wanted to cry and for it to be okay. As a tear escaped my eye and made its way down my nose, I prayed he didn’t notice.
“You’re the reason I get up. You’re my life, boy. You got nothing to be sorry about. Let’s get it figured out.”
“’K.”
“I can take the morning off to take you,” he said as I lifted my head from his shoulder.
“Duke is coming at nine to take me to breakfast.”
“Duke,” my dad chuckled. “That boy…he’s a damn good friend. Did you talk to him about this?”
“Didn’t have a choice.”
“He can be pretty persistent. I need you to clean your plate, boy.”
“Yes, sir,” I replied, eyeing the massive slab of meat in front of me. Normally my mouth would be salivating by this point—not now. I wanted to crawl under my sheets and sleep. Sleep typically offered a temporary escape as long as my dreams behaved themselves.
“Break is about over. You got any plans for this weekend?”
“Nah, Dad. I think I’ll go run or just…I dunno.”
“Aren’t there any parties? Some sort of trouble you can get into?”
“You want me to get in trouble?” I asked, cutting my potato open.
“I want you to be nineteen.”
“It’s weird to hear you say that out loud,” I said.
“That I want you to—?”
“That I’m nineteen. It sounds old.”
“Well trust me, when I say thirty-seven out loud, it sounds old too.”
“You’re not old, Dad. I just…it’s weird that I’m older than him now. He’ll always be eighteen. He was always older until now.”
My father set his fork down on his plate as he swallowed what he had in his mouth. “Eat your supper, boy. I’m gonna turn in early.”
I watched him trash his twelve dollar plate of food and walk from the kitchen. As soon as I heard his bedroom door close, I knew it was okay to cry—I couldn’t be the five-year-old curled in my father’s lap, but it was okay to shed tears.
They fell on my plate, collaborating with the blood and oil that had escaped the medium-cooked steak. I’d never truly understood what the hell heartbreak was. I still don’t think some people know what it means completely—maybe the term is just used too often. My heart literally hurt. There was physical pain not only lurking, but taking up residency in my chest.
My phone started buzzing—Duke.
“Hey, man, it’s not a good time.”
“That’s why I called, dude. Just making sure you’re all right.”
I sat silent for a while. As much as I hated being disturbed, I was thankful for his friendship—relentless as it was. “You’re a good friend, Duke. You’re a good dude.”
“Are you about to ask me out?”
“Aren’t you taking me to breakfast?”
“For sure. It’s a date.”
“Speaking of dates…I thought Lily was coming over.”
“She did.”
“Hookup?”
“Four times. Completely drained, dude.”
“Cardio.”
“Yeah, buddy…nine?”
“Yeah. What do you want me to wear?”
“Ha. Shut up.”
“Night, D.”
“Later.”
CHAPTER FOUR
I couldn’t stop looking at his hands from the other side of his large oak desk. He had to have been at least twenty years older than me, but I wanted to compare his palms to my own. He used his hands to emphasize, so I couldn’t look at them long enough to make comparisons.
“Does that sound right, Jessie?”
“Does what sound right?”
“You seem distracted.”
“My bad.” I thought I was over the “hands” thing, but at breakfast the light on my palms made them appear funny—distorted almost.
“Your symptoms only recently started. Is that right?” Dr. Cline asked.
His office walls were bookshelves packed with medical books and novels. The furniture in the office was beautiful, but leather. It seemed cold and uninviting. He seemed polished. He was a handsome guy, and he seemed nice enough.
“About six months ago.”
“You’ve been to your family physician seven times in the past six months, but not for anxiety.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell me about that.”
“What do you want me to tell you? Isn’t it there? Isn’t it all there in the file?”
“You’re nineteen, and the first visit was regarding…an odd mole?”
“Yes.”
“The second was because you believed you were symptomatic of testicular cancer? Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“I see. The third was because you believed you had the symptoms of stomach cancer?”
“My belly ached for three days straight.”
“Anxiety can do strange things to the body, Jessie. You returned to the doctor to have additional moles examined…correct?”
“Yes,” I said in an irritated tone.
“The most recent visit to your primary care physician was to enquire of a backache you believed to be caused by a tumor.”
“Can I just see your damn hands?” I snapped.
“Excuse me?”
“Your hands. Can I see them? Will you let me compare them to mine?”
He hesitantly presented the palms of his hands as I placed mine beside them on top of his desk. “What are you looking for, Jessie?”
“There’s a condition…it’s called tripe palms. Sometimes cancer patients get it—”
“I’m a medical doctor, Jessie. I know of this condition, and I can assure you that you don’t have it. That condition is rare and typically presents in patients that are triple your age.”
“You didn’t even look.”
He took my hand, looking at it closely. “This looks like the hand of a healthy, well-hydrated, and active nineteen-year-old-boy. You’re fine.”
“What about my eyes. Do they look dingy to you? Do they look off-white? The liver is one of the first places cancer spreads to…do my eyes look—?”
“Your eyes look bright and healthy. You are healthy.”
“You think I’m crazy?” I asked.
“No. I think you’ve been through a lot and you’ve developed an irrational fear. That is to be expected after what you’ve been through.”
“Irrational? Aren’t you scared of cancer?”
“I am, Jessie. However, your fear stems from your personal situation, not because you’re at high risk.”
I looked at him briefly, then turned my attention back to his hands. I wasn’t convinced. He was a shrink, not an oncologist.
“I think we should talk about the situation. Tell me about that.”
“What situation?”
I asked.
“Tell me about Cory.”
I knew this would be coming, just not so quickly. I felt my mind racing, as if it were teetering between the state of anxiety and calm, normal Jessie Kasper. “I don’t normally talk about him.”
“I think it would help. Don’t you? Tell me about your relationship with him.”
“You already know about my relationship with him…he’s my brother. He was my brother.”
“Tell me about growing up. Were you close to him?”
“That’s a stupid question. I’m sorry, but that’s just a really stupid question. He was eleven months older than me. We did everything together. Of course we were close.”
“I’m sorry to have offended you, Jessie. Please accept my apology.”
“I don’t want to talk about him.”
“Not today. Tell me about school. Do you like school, Jessie?”
“I’m ready to be done.”
“Tell me why you’re ready to be done.”
“Oh my God…dude. I’m a senior in high school. I’m just ready to be done.”
“You’re agitated. Were you agitated prior to coming into my office? Do you not want to be here?”
“I’m not sure. I think I need help. I just don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Jessie, you physically removed pieces of flesh from your body that you believed to be cancerous growths. I believe intervention is certainly needed at this point. I want to help you so you can enjoy these years. These years are supposed to be some of the best years of your life.”
“Bullshit.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s bullshit. These years suck. How…?”
“Please continue, Jessie. Tell me why they’re bullshit.”
“How can I enjoy anything when he can’t? How would that be okay of me?” I felt my eyes filling. I turned my cheek to Dr. Cline, crossing my arms.
“It’s okay to cry, Jessie. It’s completely natural. I lost my brother too…I still cry.”
“Does it ever get better?” I asked as my voice cracked.
“No…but it becomes manageable. You have survivor’s guilt. It’s common.”
My tears fell fat and heavy to my pecs from my chin. My voice was gone—my throat ached.
“I need you to understand that I truly have your best interest at heart. If you’ll trust me, I assure you I’ll provide the best treatment possible to mend this situation. Will you trust me?” he asked.
“I will…I do,” I muttered.
“Okay. Then I want to see you twice a week to start with,” he said, standing from his desk. “I think we’ve made a little progress today.”
“You kidding me? I feel like an idiot. Looking at your hands and crying over here.”
“You’re not an idiot, Jessie. And you’re not crazy. I’ll show you out.”
As I walked into the waiting room, I was thankful that Duke was the only one there.
“You okay, Jess?”
“I’m good. I think I’m okay right now.”
CHAPTER FIVE
“It cool if I come hang with you and your mom?” I asked.
“You don’t even gotta ask, man,” Duke replied.
“Dad’s not off until eight. I’ve been bored as hell. This break sucks.”
“It is what you make of it. It’s eleven…you wanna grab some T-Bell?”
“Man, I can’t handle you on some Taco Bell,” I said, shaking my head.
“Subway?”
“We just ate, dude. You’re a garbage disposal. Yeah, go grab you some Subway. I can’t wait to see your mom.”
“Gross.”
“Let me see your hand real quick,” I said, grabbing it before he was able to put his car in gear.
“Wow. Jess. Again?”
“Just real quick, dude,” I said, holding his hand next to mine. They looked the same. His was fuller, thicker, but they looked the same. “’K. Sorry,” I said in a joking tone.
“You’re not sick, Jess. Life’s just waiting on you to realize that.”
“Okay, drama queen,” I said, attempting to shrug the situation off entirely.
“Take a picture of it…put your hand up next to mine. I’m gonna take a picture of it and send it to you. Then you can zoom and expand when you’re…doing whatever you’re doing.”
As he snapped the picture I felt ridiculous—but I was secretly excited to examine the photo on my iPhone as soon as I got home.
He sent the picture as his phone started ringing. “Lily, what’s up, beautiful? Oh…oh yeah, me too.”
I looked out the window, pretending to be unobservant.
“Mmm…nope. Not tonight. I’m hangin’ with Jess tonight.”
“D! Do you, dude,” I whispered.
“Well hell yeah if she’s down.” He covered his phone so she couldn’t hear him. “Sarah’s coming with her!” he said excitedly, grinning as he put the phone back to his ear.
“Jess is down, what time?”
“Dude!”
“We’ll be ready.”
As he pressed End, I couldn’t help but smile. “Sarah? Dude…she’s—”
“She’s coming to hang with you tonight.”
“Whatever. Man, that girl’s incredible,” I replied.
“Jess, you know what the girls at school say about you? Give yourself some credit, bro.”
“Are you hitting on me?”
“Only if we can hit up T-Bell”
“Trust me, D. No…what are we gonna do? Or go?”
“I don’t care, Jess. Mom’s been going to Larry’s house almost every night. I bet she goes tonight too.”
“You cool with that?”
“With?”
“With your mom and Larry.”
“He’s a good dude. I like him okay,” Duke replied.
I said nothing, thinking of my own father.
“Your dad should get out there, man. That dude’s not even forty yet. Dude looks like he’s still twenty-nine.”
“Get out there?” I asked.
“Your dad’s a catch, dude. Good job. Good house. He’s not ugly.”
“Nah…no. My mom—”
“It’s been five years. Five or six?”
“Duke…no. He’s not cool with that,” I snapped.
“He’s not or you’re not?”
“He’s not. Change of subject.”
“Okay…so Sarah,” Duke said, nudging my arm.
“I’m not even in the friend zone with that one, D.”
“Jess, I bet she’s thinking the same thing.”
“Whatever. Go get your lunch.”
***
“I’m gonna grab another one, I think,” Duke said—marinara sauce in either corner of his mouth.
“That thing was massive, D,” I said, referencing the twelve inch meatball marinara sub sandwich my friend had just devoured.
“I’m hungry.”
“I’m not in any hurry. Go grab one…wipe your mouth first, dude. You eat like a twelve-year-old.”
As he walked to the line to grab more food, my phone began vibrating. “Hey, Dad.”
“How’d it go, bud?”
“It was okay. He’s nice enough.”
“You wanna go grab some grub tonight?”
“Um…I was actually thinking about getting into some trouble.”
“That right?”
“Yeah. A couple of girls from school are coming to Duke’s tonight.”
“That does sound like trouble.”
“You at home for lunch?”
“I will be in about twenty minutes.”
“I’ll tell D to hurry.”
“Where are you?”
“He’s eating. I’m just chillin’…Subway.”
“No…don’t tell that boy to hurry. He inhales his food as it is.”
“True. See you in a minute.”
CHAPTER SIX
“Later, man. Thanks again,” I said to Duke through the open window as I closed the car door.
/> “What time you comin’ over?”
“Just text me,” I replied.
“I got nothin’ goin’, man. Just walk over when your dad goes back to work.”
“You sure? I don’t wanna crowd—”
“Shut up. See you in a bit, Jess.”
As he drove off, I turned to see my father standing on our front porch, waving at Duke. The large trees in our yard and throughout the neighborhood provided shade during the summer months. I wanted a few ninety degree days. Everything was cold. I was done with the cold.
“Hey, boy,” he said as I walked up the slope leading to the covered porch.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Did you eat with Duke?”
“I ate breakfast. Not lunch. He ate enough for both of us,” I said, smiling as I stood next to him.
“I’ll make you a sandwich,” he said, reaching for the screen door.
“I’m nineteen, Dad,” I chuckled.
“I have a few months until I’m in this damned ol’ house all by myself. Let me make you some lunch.”
“A few months? What do you mean a few months?” I asked as I followed him to the kitchen.
“You’ll be in the dorms—”
“I don’t wanna stay in the dorms. We’ve talked about this. Campus is twenty minutes from here. That makes no sense. I wanna stay here with you,” I blurted out.
“Okay. That’s perfectly fine, bud. It’s great, actually,” he said. It appeared as though he were attempting to hide his smile, as if he’d been fishing for a reaction—perhaps reassurance I wasn’t leaving the house yet.
“Dad…have you ever thought about…have you ever thought about going on a date with someone?”
“What?” my father asked as he opened the fridge. “You want ham or turkey?”
“Turkey. Have you ever thought about dating?”
“Nope. Mayo or mustard?”
“Well, why not? Mayo.”
“Just cuz…tomato?”
“Yes. Because of me, huh? It’s because of me.”
“What the hell are you talking about, boy?”
We remained silent for nearly an entire minute while my dad prepared my lunch. It was clear he was hoping I would simply change the subject.