by D. D. Marx
“Wonderful. Welcome, Olivia. You’ll be meeting your team in Classroom D just around the corner to the left.” She hands me my course packet and I head down the hall.
Dan, is that D for Dan or Dumb? Either way, too late to turn back now.
A pile of nerves, I enter the classroom and greet the dozen other friendly faces. People of all ages from all walks of life: a pastor, other consultants, and a few individuals with part-time jobs hoping to strike it big with this writing thing. All brave souls who, like me, are willing to take a chance. What’s the worst thing that could happen? We have fun and laugh.
The thousand-square foot carpeted room is empty aside from a large white board covering one wall and the semi-circle of folding chairs. A little odd. I expected tables lined with chairs in a classroom-type setting. At a minimum, some surface to support our notebooks for writing. I guess that would conflict with the creative part. I take a seat and introduce myself to my neighbors when the instructor walks in.
“Hello, everyone. My name is Craig Campana. Welcome to Second City’s Level One Creative Writing course. I’ve been an instructor here for the last two years. I started with Second City New York Improv Group four years ago and moved to Chicago two years ago to head up the creative writing department.”
Craig is adorable. Six feet two. Sandy brown hair. Handsome. Presumed hilarious. I’m immediately enamored, mostly because he is living my dream. The unfortunate reality is the platinum wedding ring that adorns his left hand. Dammit. All the perfect ones are unavailable. I scan the room to see if there are any secondary prospects and come up short.
Dan? Couldn’t you throw me a bone? I’m taking a giant leap outside my comfort zone, and you couldn’t at least arrange for one hottie for me?
My mind hears his response as Patience, my dear. Remember, you didn’t sign up to meet a husband but to pursue your dream.
Craig continues. “Let’s start with some logistics. The class will meet every Saturday for the next eight weeks from nine to noon. I’ve set up a group email from the class roster so you can get in touch with me and each other outside of class if necessary. Speaking of outside of class, it’s not uncommon for classmates to continue the creativity after school across the street at Byrne’s Irish Pub. It’s referred to by Second City insiders as the backstage. You’ll see many past and current actors roaming around with a pint or two. Not required but socially encouraged. We like to call it team building.” We all laugh and nod in agreement. “Look around. If you intend on taking all five levels of this course, you’ll get to know these eleven other folks extremely well. We keep class lists the same throughout each level of the entire program. It’s all about trust. The more comfortable you are, the less inhibited you will be. Unfortunately, for legal reasons they don’t let us serve alcohol. Again, take it over to Byrne’s Pub. You’re only allowed one absence per level. There are three sections of the level one creative writing courses. The two other groups meet during the week. One on Tuesdays and one on Thursdays. Both meet here from six to nine in the evening. You can make up classes in one of those sections, just let the instructor know. We’ll start with introductions.
I scan the room and see expressions ranging from intimidation, fear, and bewilderment to pure elation. I’m somewhere in the middle. I could certainly learn the tricks of the trade to tap into my creative juices.
#
And so, it began. We spend classes playing games and using different tools to spark creativity. We do a lot of mind mapping and scene writing. Every Monday, I start my week looking forward to spending Saturday mornings with this eclectic and quirky bunch. It’s been a gift, restoring my confidence and helping me feel alive for brief moments. There are still cracks full of darkness, which make me want to retreat and disappear from everyone and everything. This week is one of those weeks. It’s Dan’s two-year anniversary, so I am raw and vulnerable powering through and counting on my class to distract me and keep it together.
There is a co-instructor with Craig this week. His name is Mac, short for Malcolm Hill. Originally from Scotland, he’s visiting from the New York Second City Improv Group. He’s performing with the ensemble here for the weekend so he joins Craig for his weekly rotation of the local classes. The class is fun as usual. Mac helps with all the drills and exercises. After the class, he invites us to join him over at Byrne’s Pub for a pint. Dan, is this a present to distract me? If so, more please. My decision-making skills are already questionable given my fragile emotional state. Combine these factors with alcohol and adorable, hilarious Scotsman and the results could be disastrous.
#
I wake up at three in the morning, naked in bed with Mac in his hotel room. I have a pounding headache and am willing myself out of projectile puking. My mind is completely blank. The last thing I remember is doing shots at the bar with my classmates. That was around four o’clock. Trying to get my bearings, I manage to find my clothes strewn all over the room, so whatever happened, it appears it was steamy. I put my clothes on and leave as quietly as I can. I take the elevator down to the lobby to request an Uber. I make it as far as the front desk and hand them my credit card along and request a bottle of water and two packs of aspirin along with a room to check-in. As I crawl into bed, I look at my phone, which is about to die, to find a handful of texts from Red. I check to see if I can piece anything together. Timestamps are between three and four o’clock.
Guest instructor in class today. Scottish. Adorable. Accent to die for. Doing shots.
Oh boy. Are you ok? Do you want me to come and get you?
Hell no! I plan to climb all over that.
Liv, be careful. Keep checking in, so I know you are ok, please!
Liv?
Liv?
Liv?
The last three are at six, eight and ten. This text should prompt forgiveness.
Omg, I just had my first one-night stand.
Chapter Four
(Finn)
We are getting married at St. Joseph’s Church and Benoit offers to have my reception for almost nothing. The back room will fit the family perfectly. Christine’s family arrives first: her parents along with her younger sister and brother, Maria and Mark, who I am meeting for the first time. I feel like I already know them based on all the stories I’ve heard but I am still nervous. I hope they approve of their older sister’s choice. We get them settled and embark on a full-tour of Paris. Each stop includes a cocktail which only helps with the constant flow of conversation. We spend the day as tourists covering the Eiffel Tour, Notre Dame, the Louvre and the Basilica; fortunately, these landmarks are so beautiful they never get old. It’s always fun to see them again through fresh eyes. I am quickly falling in love with Christine’s siblings. They are just as she’s described. By late in the day, it’s clear that jet lag is setting in, so we send them back to their hotel to get some rest.
Christine and I have been dying to introduce Mac and Julia. They are both single and Mac needs to settle his ways. As fate would have it, Julia’s flight connected with Mac’s flight in New York City. They were able to arrange to sit together, and completely hit it off as suspected. We are all so excited to see each other. The families are doing their own thing today so we waste no time getting caught up. It turns into a mini-pub crawl. It is the first time all four of us are together so all feels right in the world. We end the night at a local watering hole that Christine and I frequent where Julia and Mac proceed to make out on the dance floor. Julia is very tipsy so Mac generously offered to take her back to her hotel. The offer sounds quite chivalrous but he has other intentions. They, of course, hook up and by the rehearsal dinner are inseparable. Julia is already talking about relocating to New York. It may sound ludicrous but I’ve always known they were soul mates. Mac’s comedy career continues to explode. He has an agent now and is not only a writer for Second City but has been approached to be the lead actor for a new sitcom being shot in New York called Roomies. It’s a comedy based on two co
uples, dating long-term, and how each want to be in the other’s relationship. It outlines everyday situations between the sexes and how they are so easily misconstrued and lost in translation. Men like food and sex; women want roses and romance.
Jules is the first to walk down the aisle as Christine’s maid of honor. She wears a long, of-the-shoulder gown in a pale blue color. She looks amazing. Christine’s people did a great job with hair and makeup. Jules smiles from ear to ear. The music changes to the wedding march and Christine’s silhouette appears. I almost couldn’t see her through my tears. The image of her walking down the aisle is one that will be forever imprinted in my mind. She had on a beautiful, strapless white gown with sequins around the waist and a long train that followed her. Each piece of hair perfectly placed, surrounded by an intricate veil that framed her face so delicately. The only jewelry was the diamond earrings I gave her last night as a wedding present. There wasn’t a dry eye around. Her dad placed her hand in mine then leaned in for a hug and whispered, “Take care of my little girl.”
“Forever and always,” I respond.
#
Julia and Mac ended up living together for almost six months before getting engaged.
“Finn, it’s Jules. Oh, it is so good to hear your voice; how are you?”
“Aye, Jules, we’re great.” I motion to Christine and put the phone on speaker so we can both listen in.
“Well, we’re calling to let you know we set a date. Saturday, September sixteenth,” she says.
“Hooray!” Christine hollers.
“Brilliant news, laddie”
“Aye. I have a bit of a break between projects so decided it was the perfect time. And we’re hoping that ye will both do us the honor of being our best man and matron of honor,” Mac says.
“Nothing would make us happier. We are so thrilled for you but you should know that I might need a bigger dress,” Christine states.
“Has the bliss of marriage made you fat, lassie?” Mac says sarcastically.
“No, not exactly, but we do have some news to share. I’m eight weeks pregnant.”
“Oh, that is bloody fantastic! Congrats,” they both chime in.
“We aren’t telling anyone until we are past the twelve week mark to ensure everything is okay, so please don’t share,” Christine says.
“How are you feeling?” asks Julia.
“She’s been really sick the entire pregnancy, but we’re hopeful that’s the sign of a very healthy baby. And, of course, we’d love for ye both to be the godparents,” I say.
“Aww, absolutely. How far along will you be at the wedding?” Julia asks.
“I will be just over twenty weeks, right at the halfway mark, so it will still be safe to travel,” Christine replies.
“Oh, this is so exciting!” Julia says.
Christine has been so, so sick, which we’ve heard is normal, but she had to take a leave from work because she is essentially bed ridden. She’s being such a trooper. She is willing to go through whatever it takes for a healthy baby. Once we get in to see the doctor, maybe he’ll have some advice. My mum and da have offered to come in to help take care of her, but we still have a long way to go, so we’re trying to manage on our own for now.
Work is crazy busy. Chef Andre retired so I have been promoted to head chef at Benoit, which is what I’ve been working my way toward, but the timing isn’t great.
#
Getting into bed tonight, I lean over to kiss Christine goodnight and notice she feels cold so I turn the light on. She is pale and non-responsive when I lift the covers and the sheets are soaked in blood. Bloody hell. I grab her and drive as fast as I can to the hospital.
I’m in the waiting room for hours. The doctor emerges, and I can tell by the look on his face that whatever it is, it isn’t good.
Through my tears, I say, “Doctor, please, please just tell me she is okay.”
He directs me to sit down. “Lad, please have a seat. Your wife is stable and we have her very comfortable but . . . you lost the baby.”
I put my head in my hands. “Is she awake? Does she know yet? Can I see her?”
He continues, “No, she is not awake but that’s not all. I am very sorry to tell you that we had to perform an emergency hysterectomy on her. When we got in there,” he pauses, “her uterus was full of cancer so we took everything out.”
I can hear a voice, but my mind isn’t connecting the words coming out of the doctor’s mouth. My wife is young and healthy; he is surely mistaken.
“Bloody hell. That can’t be possible. How can that be possible? Cancer? Oh my God,” I sob.
“I’m very, very sorry, laddie. We’ve sent everything off to pathology and will need to run additional tests in the next few days to determine if the cancer has spread. We have some good counselors on staff that I encourage you to speak to help you understand and cope with this difficult information. Your wife won’t be awake for several hours. I suggest you go home to get some rest.” I sit lifeless and paralyzed. I don’t know how to move.
How can this be happening? Why is this happening to my beautiful wife? How am I going to break this news to her? Oh dear God, please, please help me. I’m begging you.
#
They finally let me back to see her. She opens her beautiful brown eyes and all she can see is the deep pain and sadness on my face.
Through a soft whisper, she asks, “Honey, did we lose the baby?”
All I can do is hold her hand and nod my head as the stream of tears roll down her cheeks.
“I’m so sorry,” I cry. I am at a loss for any words to comfort her. She doesn’t even know the worst of it yet, and my heart can’t force the words out. All I can do is hold her hand.
Before long, the doctor stops in to check on Christine,
“How are you feeling?” he asks, checking her vitals on her chart.
“Other than sad, I’m pretty sore,” she responds.
“Well, I am sorry to tell you that you did lose the baby.”
“I know,” she says.
“I, unfortunately, have some other news as well. When we went in to stop the bleeding, we found cancer in your uterus so we had to perform an immediate hysterectomy.”
Christine looks at me, dumbfounded.
“What?” I squeeze her hand and begin to sob.
“Yes, I know this is incredibly shocking to hear. I’m very, very sorry. We’ve sent off some samples to pathology and are awaiting results. Over the next couple of days, we will be performing additional tests to determine if the cancer has spread.”
In that exact moment, I saw the light in her eyes disappear. It was as if her heart died.
“We will work very hard to beat this. I’ll be in later to check on you.” And with that, he left our devastated, spiritless bodies to cope with the unfathomable news. We have no words. We just sit and cry and cry.
#
The tests came back and confirmed Christine has Stage III breast and ovarian cancer. We are overwhelmed but realize we need to act quickly. We are determined to fight to beat this, no matter what it takes. We meet with doctors to understand our options. First things first, she has to go in for a double mastectomy. This, along with the hysterectomy, will help to contain and slow the spread of the cancer to other organs. They recommend we proceed with chemotherapy and radiation. We, of course, get a second opinion to ensure we have all the facts before we choose the best course of action. We’ve intentionally waited to tell everyone until we fully process what is happening and decide on our approach. Now, it’s time to make the dreaded calls to our families, Julia and Mac. Everyone is in utter shock. No one can believe the diagnosis and each is more shattered by the news. Christine’s mom is on the next flight over.
They schedule the surgery almost immediately. The painful recovery lasts about six weeks then she will begin her twenty rounds of chemotherapy. She starts out very strong, but each treatment takes more and more energy out
of her. First, she loses her hair and now is very, very sick. I feel like I am watching her slowly slip away right in front of my eyes. We sadly missed Mac and Julia’s wedding but they honeymooned over in France so they could come see us and offer whatever support they could. Christine’s mom is prepared to stay as long as she needs to help take care of her.
Finally, six weeks into this utter nightmare, we receive some fantastic news. The scans show that Christine appears to be in remission. The doctors are being cautiously optimistic but the treatment is working, and there is no evidence of any cancer in her body. They urge us to complete the chemo treatments but will forego the radiation for now, if it comes back. To say we are ecstatic is a colossal understatement. As she starts to slowly regain her strength and spirit, we are still left with the devastating reality that she will never give birth to her own child. We never had time to mourn that loss with everything else going on. We will do our best to find a new version of normal.
Chapter Five
(Olivia)
I never went back to classes at Second City. I was too embarrassed and ashamed. I didn’t have any deep ties so I just closed that chapter. A couple classmates tried to reach out, but I didn’t respond. That was over a year ago, and I haven’t written a thing since. I just dove into my work and slid back into the comfort of nothingness. I need a drastic change to get me to focus again and do some soul searching. In my heart, I know Second City was the right place for me, but I ruined it in one weak moment by hooking up with the instructor. Self-fulfilling prophecy.
Jane recently gave birth to twins, Olivia and Owen, who are my absolute pride and joy. I can’t get enough of them. I want to see all their firsts and be a special part of their lives. The minute Jane told me she was pregnant, I made a deal with Dan. I’m happy to forego marriage if he promises to always watch over them and keep them healthy and happy. It isn’t that big of a sacrifice, considering I don’t have any likely prospects. My big commitment is the hefty mortgage I’ll be paying on my shiny, new, single and ready to mingle condo in the city. Living on an expense account has its benefits. I close in ninety days. The owners asked if they could rent back from me while they wait for their house to close in the suburbs so I have a few more months to stash some cash.