Getting to the airport, I made sure not to look at anyone. I wanted to get to New York unaccompanied. No instant boyfriend or Mr. Hunk for me. My face was back to normal and I had other things on my mind than Jeff Aldridge. He was now definitely part of my past, never to resurface again.
On the plane, I was surprised to find an empty seat beside mine. It was the middle of the week, between Christmas and New Year, and not too many people were going back to their New York lives yet.
Looking out the window as we flew over the city, I thought of our Christmas dinner. Mom had outdone herself once again. Nothing was missing. Turkey cooked to perfection, all the trimmings (and then some), a fantastic dessert, and then the cognac and chocolates with Dad. My brothers and I always relished that hour with my father. He sat in his big chair and we sat around him while he told us stories about his own childhood or experiences. Sometimes the conversation would veer to a political subject, which would engender an inevitable debate between the three men in my family. But nothing like that happened this time. I guess my brothers were getting older and perhaps the presence of their girlfriends had something to do with them being respectfully silent. Of course, the subject of me having no boyfriend–or not one good enough to bring home–came up. I had to smile inwardly. If Jeff had been willing to come for a drink with the family, that is if he hadn’t been called on some kind of home emergency, I would have invited him. But there was no use crying over spilt milk, was there?
Chapter 4
I suppose there are always upsides to any of life’s tribulations. Mine was the day I received a letter from one of the best hospitals in Washington, D.C. As I said, you never know which of your applications will be considered positively or even make it anywhere near the top of the pile. But mine did and in a big way. I was now to be called Dr. Williams or Ms. Heather Williams, M.D. Wow! That sounded fantastic. But what did not sound so fantastic was the fact that I had to leave New York, start a brand new life in Washington, D.C., and I had to find somewhere to live not too far from the hospital. Getting a car, on my prospective salary was still out of the question. Besides all of that, I had to leave my roommate, my friends, my apartment–such as it was–and everything that had been playing a part in my life for the past six years or so. I would miss my tutors, professors, and all of these people that had furnished my existence with a diversity of interests and a career for which I was to be very proud.
Allie came home that evening with a big smile on her lips. She had been my roommate and confidante ever since I moved to New York. We clicked the minute we met in chemistry class. Soon afterward, to cut down on expenses, we moved in together and began six long years of studying. We got drunk once in a while when the pressure would become much too much to take. We went clubbing as often as possible, just to loosen up. And every morning Central Park’s trails saw us jogging or walking to get us out of our seats. We kept up with that insane but necessary routine with indestructible faith that one day our names would be followed by those two wonderful letters: “M.D.”.
Allie rushed to the kitchen counter and said, “That’s it, girl! I’m moving, too.”
In a way, I was relieved. At least I wasn’t going to leave her behind. Both of us were going places as it appeared.
“Where?”
“Chicago,” Allie replied, looking at me. She searched my gaze. She wanted my approval.
She got it. I dropped the knife on the chopping board and gave her a big hug. “That’s great, Allie! A bit farther than D.C. but I’m sure we’ll find a way to meet somewhere in between.”
“Yes, I know. But, you know, Hattie, we’re both going to big hospitals. We’re lucky. I talked to Jerry today and, poor guy; he’s been accepted in Portland, Maine. Can you picture yourself working for some old duff in Portland, Maine?”
“Who says he’ll be working with some old duff? Maybe the chief of surgery is a gorgeous blonde with big tits.”
“I guess there’s always hope, isn’t there?” Allie looked down at the crock-pot on the counter. “What are you making?”
“Something hot and tasty. Vegetable stew with all the veggies I could find at the market this morning.”
“It’s nice, isn’t it?”
“What is?” I asked, adding yet a couple of mushrooms to the stew.
“Being able to go shopping for our meals without having to grab an order of sushi from around the corner before hitting the books for the night.”
“With that, I totally agree. But there’s a lot I’m going to miss about the student life.”
“Like what?” It was Allie’s turn to question my thoughts and reflections.
“Like not having to worry about anything else than food, lodging, and studying. Now, we’re going to be faced with making decisions with the lives of our patients. We are going to be responsible for every single move we make. Good or bad, we will have to face the consequences. If we don’t make mistakes in the first six months, I’m sure we’ll be okay.”
“Gracious, Hattie, are you sure you didn’t put any sour lemons in your stew? You sound like Professor Devon. He was always talking like that–about assuming our responsibilities and making sure of everything we did.”
“Exactly, Allie. And although we didn’t like it, the old guy was absolutely right. We’ve got to be blameless and ensure that we’re right before, way before we take the lives of our patients into our hands.”
“I suppose that’s why we’ve been admitted at big hospitals. I haven’t known either of us making any sort of mistakes when we were doing our practicum.”
“Like the time I almost diagnosed that woman with drunkenness before she passed out, when what she was really suffering from was the start of hypoglycemic shock.”
“Yeah, I remember that one,” Allie said, a smile draping over her lips. “Thank goodness I didn’t open my mouth either. I was about to tell Dr. Vanier that we should let her sleep it off for the night, when he examined her eyes.”
Allie and I recalled the incident as if it happened yesterday. The woman would have died if Dr. Vanier hadn’t intervened. That night, I went back to my books and crammed until dawn. “Let’s hope we remember everything we learned; otherwise, we’ll be in trouble.”
“You can say that again. Anyway,” Allie went on, “let’s plan our moving out of here as soon as we can. But not before our farewell bash, of course!”
Spring was nearly over and the weather was getting warmer. It was the right time to move. Allie took a trip to Chicago and came back with a copy of a lease on her new apartment. It sounded great and, looking at the pictures online, it was better than one could have expected for the rent she was going to pay. As for me, I was going to do the same the following weekend. I had been busy selling most of my furniture and only kept the TV and stereo for as long as possible. Our closets were practically bare and our moving boxes practically full. We were really moving out and moving on with our lives.
In between packing and running errands, some of our friends came over to spend a bit of time with us. One person in particular made sure he was available at a moment’s notice. Robin had been a little more than a friend for some two years at that point. I wouldn’t say he was my boyfriend, but we always had great sex together. Going to medical school and sacrificing most nights to studying didn’t mean that a girl pronounced a vow of celibacy as soon as she stepped through the doors of university. And for me, Robin had been my answer to my occasional sexual urges. He was good in bed, and he loved to see me enjoy myself. He was a beautiful man (not as good-looking as Jeff, mind you, but he would make the grades anytime).
Our last night together was a memorable one. We knew we wouldn’t see each other again. Robin had been accepted at L.A. Medical Center and working at opposite end of the country wouldn’t make for a flourishing relationship. So we were both hungry to make our lovemaking last as long as possible. It was four in the morning when we finally caught up with some sleep.
When I got off the plane at Dulles airport the
next morning, even as tired as I was, a fleeting thought crossed my mind. Where is Jeff now? What is he doing? I hadn’t forgotten our night together, but I hadn’t thought about him in months. He was definitely a fond memory.
Getting to the neighborhood surrounding the hospital, I asked the cabbie to stop at the nearest McDonald’s to pick up the local paper. I took it out of the box and ran my gaze down the classifieds. There were only three apartments that really fit the bill. As for the internet, the choice wasn’t that much broader. Since one of the criteria was to find a place as close as possible to the hospital, I asked the cabbie to drop me off in front of the nearest rental building to it.
I looked up at the three floors fronting a small yard and wondered how happy I would be to live here. Never mind the answer to my question; I could not be a chooser since I was still a beggar. The landlady was a buxom woman who seemed used to young people passing through, as it were. She didn’t seem to trust the fact that I was a medical practitioner now. For her, a doctor should be able to afford a better place than what she had on offer at the moment.
Nevertheless, she took me through the apartment. It was more spacious than I had expected. The bedrooms were large enough to fit a queen-size bed and the kitchen was modern and well maintained. The stove, fridge and dishwasher were all brand new by the looks of them, which was something important to consider. There’s nothing more annoying than a dishwasher breaking down in the middle of the night and flooding the kitchen before you open your eyes the next day.
“So, what do you think?” Mrs. Camborne asked me. “Do you think it’s big enough?”
“Sure is,” I replied, smiling. “I’ve got two more places to visit and I’ll call you later this afternoon…”
“Well, if it’s still available.” she countered, shrugging her shoulders.
“Of course. Anyway, I’ll phone you and let you know one way or the other.”
When I came down the stairs and walked onto the sidewalk, I turned around. I looked at the building again. It was an older construction, but, like everything else in the place, it seemed to have been well maintained.
As I walked down the street to the second address, I noticed an older couple holding hands, ambling their way in my direction. I smiled at them as we crossed path. They returned the smile, which made me happy. This looked like a friendly and peaceful neighborhood.
The second house was charming. The apartment occupied the entire third floor. One of the bedrooms was definitely small and the kitchen was missing a dishwasher. If two people have to share this place, I mused; I don’t think I want to be left with washing someone else’s dishes.
So, even though I loved the outside of the house and its meticulously maintained front yard, I had to give this one a miss.
The third apartment was altogether less appealing. It was a bachelor pad withut a spare bedroom. Having your roommate sleep in the living room was definitely not on.
And that was that. Of the three apartments available for rent near the hospital, Mrs. Camborne’s was the one I had to rent. An hour later, a copy of the lease in hand, I phoned for a taxi to pick me up. Since the nearest taxi stand was located at the hospital, four blocks away, I didn’t have to wait. By seven o’clock that night, I was back in New York, watching TV with Allie. Since most of our cooking stuff was already packed, we were back to eating take-out-Chinese.
It brought back ample memories. But none so vivid as the one of us eating greasy egg rolls on top of my bed with our anatomy books opened in front of us, trying to memorize the name of every single bone in the human body. It took us a couple of hours and quite a few forkfuls of chicken Chow Mein before we reached our goal. But we were thoroughly happy. We had the world by the tail. Our future was traced; we just had to follow the arrows to reach our destination. Now that we were at the starting line of another run, another marathon, we were going to part ways.
“Don’t they say that parting is like dying a little,” Allie remarked with sadness in her voice.
“Sure, but they also say that distance makes the heart grow fonder, don’t they?”
Our farewell party was a huge success. Since five of our friends were also going to different parts of the States, we decided to pull our resources together and have a huge bash at Michael’s house. The guy was loaded. His house in the Hampton’s would have been large enough to host a party five times the size of ours. We invited everyone to come for a pool-party. The weather couldn’t have been better. It was warm and perfect for a swim. Once everyone had enough sun-tanning and drinks around the pool, we moved to the terrace of the house where everybody spent most of the rest of the night eating, drinking some more, and passing out.
I must say, I was plastered. When I woke up the next morning, I thought the ocean waves were actually crashing through the house, so intense was my headache. My stomach was not faring any better. I needed some Alka-Seltzer in a big way, and some strong, black coffee.
Michael and Allie had been up for some time already by the looks of things. When I got to the kitchen, they were ready with all the remedies known under the sun for hangovers. None really works until your system has had time to absorb the alcohol you consumed during the night. But one had to have faith and try.
I must admit Michael’s concoction, which he appropriately called a “red eye”, worked like a charm on my digestive system. When I asked him what it contained, he said, “I’m not going to tell you because just the thought of it will make you throw up.”
I knew Canadians had some tricks up their sleeves when it came to drinking (or sobering up quickly), and since Michael was a true-blue Canuck, he must have gotten that recipe from his grandmother, or maybe his grandfather; who knows. What ever was the case, I felt a lot better when I left the kitchen to have a shower and change into the jeans and t-shirt I had brought with me.
A few hours later, after we had repaired the minor damages our guests had done to the garden and house–inevitable when you’ve got over fifty people roaming your place and pool for hours on end–and cleaned the kitchen, Allie and I left that piece of paradise to return to our place.
It wasn’t going to be “our place” for much longer, though. We were due to leave on Wednesday, the first of August. Our moving boxes had been picked up by the transport company and we each hoped that we received our own boxes at the other end. I wouldn’t have known what to do if I received Allie’s belongings in Washington, D.C., and if she received mine in Chicago.
“Are you nervous?” Allie asked me as we were comfortably ensconced in the backseat of the taxi that was taking us to the airport. Allie’s flight was an hour apart and probably at opposite end of the airport from mine.
“A little,” I replied quietly. Truth be told, I was nervous as a bride on her wedding night. My insides were churning up all the possible scenarios that my mind was throwing at it. There wouldn’t be any relief in sight until I had at least one day under my belt as a medical practitioner.
Thank goodness the flight to Washington, D.C. was not departing from a gate anywhere near the one I had gone through on my way to Nebraska. Yet thinking of Jeff was inevitable. Although this was Wednesday morning, there were quite a few people at the departure gate. Most of them I figured were regular commuters who had business to attend to in D.C. on a weekly basis. As I looked around me to see who was likely to sit in the seat next to mine on the plane, my eyes rested on two ladies who appeared intent on discussing what looked like knitting patterns in a magazine. I silently prayed to God that they wouldn’t be allocated the seats beside me. I don’t think I could take even an hour of their endless prattles. But, I guess the good Lord must have listened to my prayer, for I had a couple of businessmen taking the seats next to mine. They didn’t say a word during the whole flight. As soon as they sat down, they opened their laptops and began working. I read the next couple of chapters of my Stephen King book in blessed peace and wondered what the next day would bring.
Chapter 5
Mrs. Camborne, my
new landlady, was expecting me. She opened the front door of the apartment building as soon as she saw me step out of the cab. She looked very pleased to see me for some reason.
“So glad you’ve made it,” she said as she held the elevator doors open for me. Although there were only three floors to the building, a few of the older tenants appreciated the facility. And so did I, at the time. Lugging two heavy suitcases up three flights of stairs was not part of my exercise routine, unless, of course, I was looking forward to pulling a ligament in my shoulders or doing damage to my spine.
“Yes, Mrs. Camborne, I made it as you said. It’s been nothing short of an exciting ordeal, if I may describe it that way.”
Smiling and nodding, she said, “Well, you’re here now and I have a surprise for you.”
That announcement had me worried. Did she change the appliances in the kitchen; decide to make huge repairs in the bathroom or perhaps renovate the whole place? “You know,” I said, smiling demurely, “I didn’t expect anything…”
“I know, I know, dear, but a young lady like you, moving to D.C. for a new job and all that, needs a bit of looking after.”
“Well, thank you,” I said, getting my bags out of the elevator while Mrs. Camborne held the doors open for me again.
As we stood in front of the apartment door, my landlady rushed to open it and affixed a big grin on her face as she let me step inside of my new residence. I couldn’t have been more pleased. There, right in front of me, in the living room, were a couch, a coffee table, a chair and a side table with a very nice lamp on it.
Destroy (A Standalone Romance Novel) Page 3