Impatience Is a Virtue

by Francis Gideon

  “We were talking about the twelve days of Christmas during work.”

  “Oh yeah?” Marshall says. Jack hears more clicks on the other end of the line. “What did you come up with?”

  “We were modernizing it,” Jack explains. More clicking and the same distance in Marshall’s voice. “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing,” Marshall says again playful. “Your Cyber Monday just gave me an idea.”

  Jack balls his fists, feeling the same thrill of childhood run through him. He even allows for Marshall to lap into silence again while he contemplates a few things he’s been eyeing at Target for Marshall, too. He now begins to consider the new Lady Gaga album, even if Marshall will always deny his enjoyment of her.

  “Jack,” Marshall says on the other end. “What does viajes mean in Spanish?”

  “Travel. Why? Are you getting me a ticket to Mexico to fly away from here?”

  “I can neither confirm nor deny that statement. But I figure you can probably help elucidate how many days, minutes, and hours there are in several languages keeping us apart.”

  “Tres semanas, y seis dias. Oh, and,” Jack adds in French, “Trois semaines et six jours.”

  “Oh, some things never change,” Marshall says with real sentiment in his voice. Jack feels his heart swell. When they had opted not to live together when he moved away, it was because the hospital was still inside the same state. Jack was still under a lease (and still is now, until May) and they had only been together for a year. That seemed like a lot to Jack, but it really wasn’t by comparison. They were barely thirty, and being together for one year did not constitute enough of their lives to consider it serious.

  “Consider the move a test,” Marshall said when he brought up the idea.

  “You always think in tests,” Jack teased him. “You know, it’s okay to not measure your life against what you had in school.”

  Marshall had rolled his eyes. “If we make it, we make it. If we don’t. We—”

  “Start again. At the beginning with someone else.”

  “Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars.”

  They had joked about it, Jack knew, to make the distance easier. Now, after a long day of joking about his Doctor Sexy and the hypothetical trips to sunny lands, Jack is tired. He just wants to be with Marshall.

  The silence soon gets to Jack, and he confesses, “I miss you.”

  “I do too,” Marshall says. Jack hears a clicking against the phone, as if Marshall is nodding along and his glasses are hitting the receiver. “Don’t ever think that I don’t. I just get so busy here.”

  Jack nods. “It all just seems so foolish, you know?”

  “What? Getting paid? Having jobs?”

  “Being away from you,” Jack says. When he hears the same strained sigh from Marshall on the other end, Jack changes the topic quickly. “Do you know what I was thinking about earlier today? Just when I thought I couldn’t stand working anymore?”

  “What?”

  “Remember when you showed up at my place, wearing nothing under your coat?”

  “I also had flowers, if I remember correctly.”

  “You did. But I wasn’t thinking about just the flowers. You were…awesome that night.”

  “Uh-huh?” Marshall asks, seeming to recognize the sultry tone in Jack’s voice. There’s a rustle on the phone line and Jack envisions him sticking his hands in his jeans. Jack keeps the mental image right at the center of his mind, as reiterates the memory in full detail from before.

  “You were there, in the front hall. I could barely take my clothing off to keep up with you. Do…you remember?”

  “Fuck,” Marshall says, his voice ragged on the other end. “Of course I do. How could I forget that? I was so nervous the entire way over.”

  At first, Jack dragged out the memory to start a phone sex session. But now, the idea makes him sad. As sexy as Marshall is—and was back then—Jack didn’t recall that memory for the sheer sexiness of it alone. It was also the last time Marshall had been impulsive, romantic. It had been the last time they were together because they wanted to be, instead of out of sheer desperation.

  “I miss you,” Jack says again, his voice a little shaky.

  Marshall’s breathing changes. “I know. I miss you too. I thought you knew that?”

  “I do. I know. But I sometimes feel things, all of a sudden, as if I was numb to it before.”

  “You have to stay numb sometimes. Or else…”

  “Or else what?”

  “Everything overwhelms. We just…”

  “Need to be patient?” Jack says, not hiding his cynicism. Marshall sighs on the other line.

  “Yes. We do.”

  Jack is quiet, unsure how to proceed. He’s tired and cranky, but more than that, he’s so in love with someone who is so far away—both physically and emotionally. He doesn’t know if he can take this much longer.

  “When I see you again,” Jack starts, biting his lip and not knowing where this will take him. “I want to reenact the front hallway scene. Only this time, I’m going to take off all your clothing with my teeth.”

  “Oh,” Marshall says. His voice get a little husky, and then tight with tiredness. “I’d like to see the acrobatics of that.”

  “You didn’t see me run through aisles today. I’m a stunt man now. And I could do lots of stunts with you.”

  Marshall laughs, but doesn’t add anything to further the image. Jack sighs. All he can keep his mind on, if not for the image of Marshall naked on his doorstep, is the time remaining in minutes and days, all in Spanish.

  “Yep. Only trece semanas y…”

  “Jack,” Marshall says, tired and almost angry. “Please. I know the date and time. Patience is a virtue. Think about exercising it.”

  Jack is startled. He didn’t think his counting the days was really that annoying. What was so bad about being so excited to see the one person who understands you again? That’s why he emails his Marshall when he can’t get him through texts, sends him links to funny stuff online, and falls asleep with Skype on so they can be in the same bed again and the laptop can provide some warmth. Jack’s excited. Jack loves Marshall, and he knows Marshall loves him back.

  “No,” Jack declares, but it’s not spiteful or angry tone.

  “No?”

  “No,” Jack repeats, balling his fists at his side. He closes his eyes and sees the flash of the man with his daughter, running out of the store—and getting what they wanted. His heart beats fast in his chest, as if he’s running too, and trying to catch Marshall before he disappears again. “I don’t think patience is a virtue at all. Never have, really. Moms just say that to their kids to get them to shut up. Really, if we’re talking virtues at all, impatience has to be the one I’d rather strive towards.”

  “Really?” Marshall asks. Jack can’t tell if he’s annoyed or playing along. “Explain yourself, then. I think you learned something today.”

  “Impatience…is needed. So I saw this guy today,” Jack begins, and recounts the whole Dora the Explorer backpack scenario. When he’s done, he hears Marshall scoff.

  “And you think this is model behavior? The guy seems like a dick.”

  “But this guy got what he wanted. We just tell people platitudes when we want them to shut up. This guy refused to shut up.” Jack pauses, regrouping his thoughts. “Impatience isn’t always a bad thing. If you’re impatient, people see you. They may even comply to your needs and desires. If you make enough of a fuss, and it’s for a good cause, people notice you. None of this ‘meek shall inherit the earth’ crap. I don’t want to be meek, they inherent nothing. So isn’t being impatient a good thing?”

  When Marshall seems quiet on the other end, Jack presses on. “Yeah, I know. It makes the days pass slower, it makes your thought process a little skewed because all you can think of is what you’re waiting for, but why suppress that? I want to see you, Marshall. I really want to. I want to be with you all the time, not
even always by my side. Just to know that you’re accessible. I want to know that you’re not lost down a hallway with a million other medical interns that are just as bad as those people on Black Friday. People here may fight over toasters and break arms, but people in med school will throw people under a bus to save them and dismantle their own friends if it means they can get ahead.”

  Marshall laughs. “That reminds me…”

  “No,” Jack says. “No. Let me finish. I love you, but I need to talk too. It’s not always…you, you, you. I feel some days as if I’m always waiting for you to answer me.”

  “I do…” Marshall says quietly. “I do answer you.”

  “But you don’t know what it’s like to always be waiting. Even when you called me—I was just the guy at the desk. Just trying to work and then you came in—”

  “And messed up your life?”

  “No,” Jack says. Emotion oozes from his voice. He knows he’s taking his much too seriously and that he should have eaten a better dinner. Should have had a nap before he called. But he can’t help it; now he’s on a rant, and desperately trying to get Marshall to be on his side again. “No. You didn’t ruin my life. Never.”

  “But I made you wait.”

  “You gave me something to wait for. It’s just…When you’re this far away, I feel the need to email and call you because I don’t know when my next chance will be, and I may as well take it now. I’m counting down the days until I see you almost meticulously because it’s good. There is feeling behind it. And there is no feeling behind patience. It’s just suppression and avoidance. Repression. I think we’ve been repressed enough in our lives don’t you?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “So why on earth would patience be a virtue?”

  Jack listens closely to Marshall on the other end as silence passes between them. He doesn’t hear Marshall’s expected trademark witty quip or comfort. He doesn’t hear anything but his breathing, along with the faint click of a computer mouse.

  “So, I take it you don’t quite share my feelings,” Jack says. “Or are you being like this for dramatic irony, making me wait again?”

  “No—I get it. I really do.” Marshall pauses and there is more clicking on the other side. “It’s like that with our rounds, with the patients, everything. We’re in the middle phases. More power than the students, but not enough to be doctors. We waffle back and forth a lot.”

  “That’s how it is to be a sales associate too. But I think you already knew that.” Jack sighs as he leans against the apartment wall, feeling each ache in his knees, back, and hands from the day. He simply can’t fight his exhaustion anymore—and Marshall’s still silent, still clicking away. “So what are you doing, Marsh? It better be a flight to Mexico, because that’s all I want for Christmas.”

  “And will you run through a crowd of Black Friday to get it? To come to me?”

  “Of course,” Jack says, swallowing hard. “But the real thing I want to know is if you would do that for me?”

  Jack knows that, like the question of ‘are you ready?’ that night with the flowers, this is another answer that could make or break their relationship. If Marshall is willing to run after him, in spite of the odds, in spite of what it may mean to his career and future, then they’re not wasting time with one another. Jack counts the beats between his breaths, and the seconds that pass by.

  “Of course,” Marshall says. “But I’m not booking a flight. Not right now, at least.”

  “What are you checking then?”

  “A bus schedule,” Marshall says, pausing. Jack thinks he can hear the smile on the other end of the phone, but he is probably dreaming.

  “And?” Jack asks when Marshall doesn’t finish.

  “A bus leaves in about an hour and can be there at your place about four am. I don’t have to be on-call until Monday and you don’t have Target until—”

  “I can call in sick.”

  “What?”

  “To Cyber Monday. I can call in sick. Maura owes me one.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. So, when you go in for the on-call, I can hide under the covers.”

  “You’d be waiting for me, though,” Marshall adds, his voice quiet. “And travelling across the state again.”

  “I’d be waiting with you this time around. Much different.” Jack smiles and holds his chest, his heart beat so fasts it feels as if he could explode.

  “Well then it’s settled,” Marshall says. “I’m sick of counting the days, too. And you’re right. I should learn a little impatience myself. I want to see you, so I’ll come tonight.”

  Jack makes a squeaky noise that he hasn’t done since he was six. His body still aches, but it feels as if he’s been given a second wind as excitement rushes through him.

  “Jack?”

  “Yes?” Jack says.

  “I love you.”

  “You too. But you should be packing, Marshall. Go get your bus!”

  “I will. But I want to know what you’re doing right now. I expected more…enthusiasm, I guess.”

  “Oh don’t worry. I’m just trying to figure out how many hours and minutes until I see you.”

  Marshall sighs. “Thankfully, those pass much faster.”

  There is no real goodbye between the two of them on the phone; Jack hears Marshall’s shuffling as he attempts to pack and soon lets him go. When Jack replaces the receiver on the other end, he’s about to start cleaning his kitchen, when the Skype ringer sounds from his bedroom.

  “I thought I could see you while I packed,” Marshall explains when he comes online again. He runs a hand through his messy brown hair and smiles again. “You never quite finished your story about the twelve days of Christmas, or Black Friday for that matter. I feel bad for interrupting you now.”

  “Oh, shut up,” Jack says, joking. He falls down on his bed, propping himself up on his elbows and grinning. “I can get into all of that when you’re here.”

  Marshall nods. He lifts up one of the hideous jumpers his parents give him every year as a joke and holds it up to his chest before packing it. “What do you think?”

  “I think,” Jack says, “that there are cuatro horas y quince minutos until you’re here.”

  “I better hurry, then.” Marshall pauses in front of Skype, his fingers touching the side. Jack runs his hand over them too and smiles weakly.

  “Yes, you better.”

  “One more thing,” Marshall says before he closes the laptop.

  “Yeah?” Jack asks, his eyes wide.

  “Shave! You look like a hobo or something and I want to kiss you, not your beard.”

  “Yeah,” Jack says, laughing. He runs his hands down his cheeks. “I think I can do that.”

  When Jack closes the laptop, he moves back to the kitchen to clean. Maybe this holiday won’t be the traditional kind with turkey or cranberry sauce, but it will be one where they can hold the other person’s hand and sleep in the same bed. Yeah, Jack thinks, this is all I really wanted.

  Jack runs his hand down his stubble, remembering his last task in a flash. He goes into the bathroom, runs the water in the sink, and begins to shave.

  Fifteen minutes later, there is nothing left to do but wait.

  Epilogue

  The alarm rings. Marshall squirms over Jack’s chest and he shuts it off quickly. The sun is already out and Jack guesses it’s about mid-afternoon. He can smell dinner cooking in the neighboring apartment, and though his stomach rumbles, he doesn’t move. Marshall places a kiss on Jack’s lips and then on his neck, slowly waking him up.

  “You’re feisty this morning,” Jack comments. “Well, as close to morning as it can be.”

  “It’s morning for us. And I’ll take what I can get.”

  Jack’s hands slide down to meet Marshall’s face, pressing a kiss to his lips in reciprocation. Marshall smiles at Jack before he trails his lips and tongue lower, across Jack’s nipples. Though the action is sensuous, Jack can tell that Marshall
is also caring as he does it. He goes slowly, not to drag out the sensation and drive Jack wild, but to make it last even longer. Jack counts to ten slowly in his mind by the time Marshall’s mouth meets his again. Then he loses track of their embraces altogether.

  “So what do you want to do today?” Jack asks. “We can go out, get a turkey, and brave the crowds for Saturday shopping. You know, if you’re into that kind of thing.”

  Marshall smirks. “I think the only thing I want is you right now.”

  “But food? The holiday season?”

  “Shh,” Marshall places a finger over Jack’s lips. Jack sucks on the finger. They both grin at one another before their lips meet again. This time, there is no restraint as their hands find one another’s bodies.

  When the alarm clock goes off again, Marshall shuts it off instantly. He pulls the cord from the wall, so it won’t bother them again. Jack smiles and feels like, for the first time in a long time, they’re alone together.

  “Happy Thanksgiving,” he whispers into Marshall’s ears.

  “Happy Thanksgiving.”

  “I love you,” Jack utters. He waits as Marshall kisses his neck, removes his boxers, and then caresses his cheek before he replies. Though the silence between the words and their response stretches on, Jack knows for sure he will no longer be kept waiting. Not anymore.

  “I love you, too.”

  They kiss again, before they hide under the covers, inside their own little world for the morning. Jack holds Marshall in his arms, and knows that for a while, everything will be good. And that’s enough to be thankful for.

  THE END

  ABOUT FRANCIS GIDEON

  Francis Gideon has pulled his weight as a student reporter at both Arthur Newspaper and Absynthe Magazine, where he covered local writers before he decided to become one. When he's not editing his sister's MA thesis, he's busy with his dogs and his boyfriend at the local park. If he can't sleep, he's usually hiding in his attic bedroom and writing crime fiction until the sun comes up. He lives in Canada, drinks too much coffee, and has an unshakable obsession with NBC's Hannibal.

  For more information, visit thedovekeeper.com.