Wishing on a Blue Star

by Kris Jacen

  The silence remained, but Mitch kept sending small gifts and cards with notes every couple of days. He found himself telling Aldo in the notes things that he had gone through over the years, small snapshots of his life. He didn’t know if Aldo was even reading them, but they were cleansing to write. It helped him to put things in a better perspective. It was in writing these notes that Mitch understood that he still loved Aldo, that he had always loved him. It didn’t come as a revelation but more of a confirmation of what Mitch had known inside of himself. He thought of sending a card telling Aldo that he still loved him, but he wasn’t a coward. He wanted to face him when he told him. Mitch needed to see his eyes to know if there was any hope or if they were truly over and Aldo felt nothing for him anymore.

  The holidays came and went. He spent them with Cary and his partner, as he always did. The only hope he had was a card from Aldo that wished him a joyous season with a tiny painting inside of a brightly colored Christmas tree. Other than that, he had gotten no response at all, and he wondered if he should keep trying.

  He brought it up to Cary, who studied him carefully.

  “Do you want to give up?”

  “No, but when does not wanting to give up slide into simply avoiding other relationships?”

  “Is that what you’re doing?” Cary’s tone was mild.

  “No, I’m not right now but…”

  Cary laughed. “You’ll know when that happens. You need to give Aldo some time to absorb things. Remember, you’ve been working on things for a long time about yourself and your relationship with him. He’ll let you know when he’s ready for more.”

  Mitch couldn’t look at Cary when he asked the next question.

  “What if he decides he’s ready to be done?”

  “Then you’ll survive and move on. You’re a strong man, Mitch, and you will get over him.”

  What could he say to that? Except he wasn’t sure he was that strong. He looked up to see Cary watching him. He smiled wanly and thanked Cary for listening to him whine again.

  It was nearly a month later that Aldo called him. At first, the conversation was stilted, but gradually, as they talked, it became easier.

  “Thank you for the gifts. At first I didn’t know if I wanted to be reminded of our teen romance, but it was good then. It was only the end that got messed up.”

  “That was my fault.”

  “No, it was your dad’s fault. I’ve thought long and hard about this. We were kids. You never should have been put in that position of having to make a decision about that. I shouldn’t have blamed you for not coming to me with it, either.”

  Mitch could feel tears rolling down his cheeks. “Does this mean…you forgive me?”

  “There’s nothing to forgive, unless we both forgive each other. I should have realized that it wasn’t you talking that last day. It was your dad, and instead of listening to my heart, I let my anger and hurt get the best of me. You did what you thought was the right thing.”

  “No, I should have stood up to my father, and I should have told you what was going on. I thought of you as someone who needed to be protected, but it was me trying to protect myself.”

  Aldo started to argue, and then he laughed. “Some pair we are, fighting over whose fault it was. Maybe it’s time to let it go. We both messed up, so now what?”

  Mitch took a deep breath and asked Aldo the question he had wanted to for a long time.

  “Aldo, would you consider going out with me? Maybe to dinner or a movie? I don’t…whatever you wanted to do.”

  The silence on the other end made his heart sink, but then a hesitant voice asked, “You mean, like a date?”

  Mitch thought about prevaricating but couldn’t bring himself to. “Yes, a date. I want to date you.”

  “Not as friends.”

  It was a statement, not a question, and Mitch understood the risk he took in answering. “I want to be friends with you, but I want more than that. I want to see if what we had before could be better now that we have matured.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?” Mitch had to admit he was a little surprised.

  Laughter came over the phone. “Yes, okay. I want to go out on a date with you. So what about this weekend?”

  “Dinner, Saturday? We could go to that new place on Main Street here in town.”

  It seemed like a dream, and by the time Saturday had arrived, Mitch had run the full range of emotions from excitement to despair, from nervousness to fear, and back to excitement again. He waited outside the restaurant they had agreed to meet at and checked his watch. He had been early, but now it was thirty minutes past the time. The tree he leaned on while waiting had a few leaves that rustled as he shoved away from it.

  Mitch had to face facts: he had been stood up. Aldo must have changed his mind. He didn’t want to believe it after the phone calls they’d had, but facts were clear. Aldo wasn’t going to show. He tried to call, but the phone went straight to voicemail. With a heavy feeling in his heart, he started to walk away. A voice called his name, and when he turned, he saw Aldo coming toward him. His hair was disheveled, and he looked worried. He burst out talking as soon as he got close enough.

  “I’m so sorry I’m late. My car broke down, the cab ran late, and to top everything off, my dad called me to chew me out for hiring an attorney. I got here as fast as I could.”

  “Whoa, slow down. It’s all right, you’re here now.” Mitch couldn’t stop grinning at him.

  Aldo’s body visibly relaxed, and he admitted in a low voice, “I wasn’t sure you’d still be here. I couldn’t remember where I put your number, and then my dad called. I was afraid you’d think that I stood you up.”

  “I did actually, but you got here in time to stop me from leaving. I thought you were having second thoughts about us dating,” Mitch confessed.

  Aldo flushed and looked at his feet. “I did at first. Things between us seemed so ugly. So many mistakes we both made came back to haunt us. But someone said something to me about living in the moment, and that was when I realized that I’ve been letting the past control me. This time, it’s been me running away. No more running for either of us. I want to find out where we are now and if this means something now.” He gestured between them with his hand and looked pleadingly at Mitch.

  The night breeze whispered through the leaves on the tree next to the restaurant, and they seemed to be trying to say something to Mitch. He thought he knew what that they said.

  Mitch smiled, reached out, and took Aldo’s hand. “Let’s find out.”

  Friday, June 4, 2010

  It’s the little things...

  For the last three nights, I cycled around the 10:00 pm hour, which tells me that what once happened early in the morning when no one could see is now wide open for Papa and whoever else to witness first hand.

  I’m no kind of martyr to dutifully suffer in hidden silence, believe me. I just know firsthand how horribly useless one can feel when confronted with a situation like that. No words or touch can make the pain go away, no suggestions of going to the ER will keep my stomach from doing its level best to exit my body, and no amount of crying with frustration will give me the strength to withstand another cycle. Better for everyone concerned to keep that hidden away when it happens, if I possibly can.

  If there is anything good to be found in the unfortunate timing, its that those around me can see firsthand the relief when its finally over. It ain’t much, but like I said, it’s the little things. :)

  Which, happily, I got a handful of last night when I *didn’t* cycle on schedule. Add to that the receipt of a missing paragraph in an audio book I am editing, plus finding and installing a truly nifty off-line back up and sync program (my inner geek is over the moon!) and I felt, for the first time in a very long time, actually *human*. Especially when you consider that I managed to eat an early morning snack, breakfast, lunch, and dinner, (albeit in small quantities) and kept it all right where it belonged! That last bit was the bes
t news of all, until about 12:30 am last night...

  ... when another cycle started up.

  Mind you, these things happen in a very specific, very consistent pattern and the trick is to catch them *before* they get a foot hold. If I can do that, if I can get enough drugs in and working before the pain gets out of hand, then I end up with a wholly manageable, “news from a distant country” thing that leaves me feeling twice as relieved. And I cannot begin to express how good that feels. :)

  I’m always going to cycle, and if the experimental drug fails they will increase in frequency, but knowing I can arrest them at least sometimes, is an immeasurable load off my mind.

  Enough so that I might once again feel like a real live human boy, and not a puppet cast about on the strings of cancer.

  Whoo hoo!

  Patric

  Thursday, June 10, 2010

  Well... Shit.

  I got a call this morning from the assistant at Doc’s office telling me to stop taking the vorinostat. As a recap, that’s the experimental drug he’s chosen as a last ditch effort to combat my cancer.

  One of it’s known side effects is the possibility in some patients for the drug to screw up the body’s electrical timing, for lack of better words.

  In my case, according to the EKG I had a couple of days ago, and comparing it to the base reference we took before I started the drug, my QT Intervals are too long now.

  A brief cursory search reveals that “QT Interval” refers to the time between the start of heart beat and the end. As I understand it, as the heart contracts (pumps) it dumps its electrical charge. Then there is an amount of time necessary for the muscle to recharge so it can contract again. If sufficient time hasn’t passed, or the time is too long, and the heart tries to contract again even though it isnt ready, you end up with ventricular arrhythmia.

  In a nutshell, I run the risk of “sudden heart attack” if I continue the drug.

  Trouble is, if I don’t take the drug (and it actually works for me) then I run the near certain risk of dying from the cancer.

  Which as I see it (unless Doc can find an alternate solution) pretty much means I can either die fast, or die slow.

  Which would you choose? :)

  Patric

  Monday, June 14, 2010

  The Regard of Strangers

  As I sat down to write this post, I was suddenly stuck by which part to start with; my good news, or the generosity that prompted me to write in the first place. It took barely a moment’s thought to realize the gift was far more important because it represents how good others, even strangers sometimes, can be. And damn me for being too cynical, but that sort of thing never fails to impress me. :)

  Several days ago, Papa and I were headed home from yet another “fill the prescription” excursion. Because these are narcotics, they cannot be refilled over the phone. Instead, a new scrip must be written each time. That means a trip to Doc’s office to get them, a detour to fill them, and whatever else we can squeeze into a trip to town.

  As we sat a few cars back from a busy intersection, watching lights change, a pickup started forward when his side turned green, and Papa starts shouting.

  “Hey! Whoa! Watch it mister! You’re gonna... Too late.”

  I surface from my usual internal fog to see what he’s hollering about, sort of tickled that he’s actually yelling at all because there is no way the driver can hear him. The pickup in question apparently dropped it’s load just as it started forward, leaving some kind of heavy siding splayed out behind him.

  In an earlier day I’d have been one of the first to pull to the side and go help the guy re-load. Now-a-days that’s wholly out of the question of course, and the knowledge immediately made me sad because the driver was an older fellow with his elderly wife (presumably) and he’s already starting to yell at her as he gets out of his vehicle.

  It’s easy to presume he’s embarrassed and cognizant of the impatience of the traffic behind him, most of which will simply swerve around him (and more often than not dangerously) to put his problems as far away from themselves as they can.

  It’s a more or less recent development in human nature, this “me first” attitude, that makes my skin crawl and sometimes makes me glad I’m not long slated for this world.

  So of course the driver yells at his wife, right? Meh. The poor thing is maybe five feet tall, and her hair is as white as snow. No way my heart couldn’t go out to her, and oh gods above, is that a grandson getting out of the cab into traffic as well? Shit!

  As I sit, trapped by the failure of my own body, unable to help and too able to imagine what might happen, I am startled to see two hulking bruisers running through the oncoming traffic to get to the helpless driver and his predicament. Two twenty-something guys had pulled over and got out to help, and all I could think, beyond the sheer surprise that anyone *would stop* is that they are gonna get clobbered.

  Instead, they make it to the driver and one immediately take charge, tossing the material back into the truck while the driver and his wife get out of the way. I hope to hell Grandma had the little boy tucked safe. I couldn’t see because still others stopped to help, all while the cross traffic, including a city bus, squeaked by within inches to get around and go their course.

  I noticed the panhandler on the corner, mere feet from the event, did nothing except wave to his cronies (they rotate working that corner) and point to the problem. That right there is all the reason I’ll ever need not to give those bastards a nickle. (Remember my aforementioned cynicism here.) Yes, he had a cane which he use to do the pointing, but at the very least he could have stood and redirected incoming traffic with it. If he can stand on a corner all day and beg, I should think that wouldn’t have been beyond him.

  Papa and I were in the far left lane, so we had to wait for our oncoming traffic to clear and as it did and we turned and drove away, I was left with the real regret that I’m literally physically unable to help as I once could, but that feeling was overshadowed by the fact that someone else did help, against all hope or expectation. Several someones, in fact, and it made me think there might yet be some reason to hang around a while longer on this dusty mudball full of greedy, insensitive people.

  Case in point:

  I got a call this morning from a friend of mine, asking if I had any problems or reservations about someone else utilizing their cash and resources to send take down notices to a few pirate sites on behalf of my books. Piracy is theft, no matter how one tries to justify the futility of fighting it, and I hate it despite my inability to send the notices myself when they come to my attention. It doesn’t take much time to do, individually, but it can literally become a full time job if you are energetic enough, and I flat don’t have the steam anymore.

  Anyway, it seems an author I know but have never read is incensed that *my* books are being pirated, in light of my situation. No doubt they are as adamant about any piracy, but they asked my friend to contact me, not wanting to “bother” me themselves, and see if I was okay with their efforts.

  Wow! First off, I had no idea they even knew I existed beyond the occasional message in an authors group, much less them keeping an eye on my titles, and you could have knocked me over with a feather.

  “Yes, of course I’m fine with it, though I admit them spending money on my behalf makes me a bit uncomfortable,” I say. I also add, “I had no idea they even knew who I am.”

  My friend laughs and says “They said the same thing. They figured you didn’t even know who they are.”

  There is a lesson in there, somewhere, that speaks of how small our great big world really is, and how too often we wrap ourselves in our own little piece of it, unaware of how we might overlap or influence others wrapped in theirs. It’s a lesson I knew only peripherally, which has now been brought fully home due to the regard of strangers, who aren’t so unknown to me after all.

  So let me take this moment to thank the strangers who read these words, comment on them or not as their
proclivities demand, and those who are not so unknown to me, for your unexpected generosity, kindness, and regard. It is a reminder to me that there is yet reason to fight and squabble and rail against the unstoppable while I sit in my quiet little corner and reach for another day.

  And on that note, recall that I stopped taking the vorinostat. Remember too that it takes several days for anything like that to leave your system, and if it caused any damage, still longer to recover from it. This last week was evil. I have no better word to describe how I felt, and if anyone were bold enough to ask, I would have said at the end of them when things were at their absolute worst that I wouldn’t live to see August.

  Since then, the vorinostat is gone and I am recovering from the originally very subtle and increasingly debilitating side effects of the drug. With today’s improvement I am now all but certain it *was* the drug causing the latest round of problems, and for the first time in ages I am hopeful that I can at least gain enough weight and resolve the dehydration issues to once again find quality, rather than mere subsistence in my days. Already I’ve been able to drink more than a liter of fluids yesterday, and even eat a little bit, and keep it all down. That alone is a huge win.

  Naturally, without the experimental drug, and until poor Doc find another last ditch effort ( if he even can) I can look forward to my original year longer instead of just a few weeks, and that’s something I am quite happy about because I’ll have all the strangers, and not so strangers, friends and family, to live with . :)

  Patric

  Friday, June 18, 2010

  The Bottom of the Barrel Hides a Gem

  Caution: Pure, unmitigated sniveling ahead. Proceed at your own risk.

  Yesterday, I got a taste of what it’s going to be like near the end, and it was all the worse because it was so unexpected.