And closing my eyes, I think of my awakening today. So much is still fucked up, but it seems like maybe there can be a little hope somewhere.
I think Mack understands what my family is really like, and what I'm up against. And he seems like he’s ready and willing to help me fight them, too.
And then there’s Z. He’s still here, for whatever reason. Still smiling, and still laughing with me. He’s still kissing my lips, and acting like he actually wants to be here. He’s still calling me 'Sweetheart' and he’s still kind and wonderful.
Why is he here? What did he mean by 'he owes me'? He owes me nothing, but I owe him everything.
"Stop thinking. Sleep, sweetheart."
Grinning I close my eyes tightly, exhale, imagine the Relaxation Response as Z taught me, and slowly feel the pull toward sleep.
I know I'm almost there. I know I'm falling...
Saturday, June 18th
CHAPTER 23
My night was filled with endless interruptions. Many doctors and nurses constantly in and out of my room with many, many questions, followed seemingly minutes later with many, many follow-up questions. Apparently my surgery was a complete success, and things look good for me and my recovery. Blah. Blah. I just wanted to sleep.
Every time I was interrupted, or the door banged open, or the lights from the hall momentarily blinded me, Z was there. Every time I looked to his chair, he was watching me until I made eye contact and then he smiled at me in reassurance. He never left. He was always right there beside me.
God, Z would be so easy to love, I think. He would always make me feel special, I think. He would always make me feel, I think. Z would be the happiest my life could ever be.
I know deep down it can’t happen between us, and I'm sure he wouldn't really want it to... but just thinking about loving Z makes me feel such happiness and pleasure, it's like I'm light, or elated, or whole, or something that resembles all those words together. I can't even describe it properly.
I just know that if there was ever a moment in my life when I could love Z completely, I would want to die in that exact moment of pure bliss and completion... Just so I could take his love with me when I'm gone.
Unlike the lover of Porphyria, I wouldn't want to kill him if he loved me completely, but I would want to die, at that precise moment of complete love and adoration, just so my last memory of Z, was of him loving me completely... Of him being mine forever.
At that moment, I would leave this earth fully alive with my true, healthy, beautiful love for Z, surrounded by the only happiness I had ever known. Because I would know that there would never be anything more or less than Z’s love; to stay with me, forever.
==========
When I awake, Z is still here, whispering with Mack and they’re having a yummy looking breakfast together. I wonder if they were talking about me. I wonder if it was bad. Shit. Maybe Mack and Z have changed their minds about helping me. Should I ask them?
"Relax, sweetheart. Mack and I were merely discussing the superiority of the Knicks, over the tragic Celtics. That's all." Oh.
"I lean toward the Celtics myself. Sorry," I whisper.
"Ha! Sucker! Two against one. We win!" Barks Mack.
Oh, funny. I can’t help but laugh at Mack. They're like kids or something. I think Mack said something about knowing each other for years. They seem like it. I think Mack must have even brought Z some clean clothes, because he’s changed this morning. I wonder if Mack brought his breakfast too.
"You break my heart, love. That is the deepest cutting remark you could have ever said to me. And to think I had Mack bring you your own clothes, and a delicious breakfast... all before even 8:00am. But you slice me deeply with the Celtics... You have GOT to be joking! The Celtics?!" Jeez... Z even places his hand over his heart with that one.
"I really am sorry, Z. But we Chicago girls would never, ever be a fan of the Knicks. It's entirely against our religion." Oh, this is neat. I'm like playing or teasing or something.
"I knew you were awesome! From the moment we met, I just knew there was greatness in you." Ha! Mack has his hand on his heart now, too.
"You boys are highly dramatic little girls it seems... At least where basketball is concerned."
"We are..." Oh my god. They just said that in unison. Too funny.
Bursting out laughing, the 'boys' join in, as Z rises, kisses my lips gentle, and begins moving a tray of food toward me. Oh, it looks good and I’m absolutely starved.
"Dig in. We ordered a bit of everything. I didn't know what your typical breakfast was, and I couldn't find Apple Jacks on such short notice but there’s almost everything else." Yum-my... It all looks so good.
"Thank you. I think I'm starving."
"You probably are. You’ve been on a drip for 2 weeks now, so you haven't had a single thing in your stomach. It's probably shrunk a little, so don't overdo it. Plus, eat and swallow slowly. Your throat and gag reflex needs to adjust as well." Really? I wonder if I’ve lost weight? "You've lost some weight as well, but you could gain it back in a few weeks, I'm sure." What? Cool. Why the hell would I want to gain it back? Christ! What a man thought!
"Ahhh, I'm good. I could stand the weight loss, and I'll take it easy on the food. Though it does look amazing. Thank you very much Mack for all this, for me and especially for Z."
"No problem. Eat up."
As I eat slowly, chewing and swallowing with a daintiness I don't actually possess, I listen to Mack and Z change arguments from basketball to golf. Golf? Ugh. Now that's a boring sport.
Oh god, I used to hate when I went to my father’s Country Club to watch the fine art of golf. What a pretentious ass he was. I hated going there. I hated my mother and her nasty two-faced friends, and I hated my father and his stupid fucking friends. Golf is such a boring, pretentious, useless art, if ever there was one. Fucking Idiots!
==========
"What's wrong? What are you doing? FUCK! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Z yells.
"What?" I jump.
"Sweetheart, talk to us. What's bothering you?"
"Why? What do you mean?" What the hell is he talking about?
"Sweetheart, give me the knife... Now."
Oh, shit. What have I done? Opening my hand, the knife is imbedded in my palm. Shit. Even as I try to pry it open, my skin tears and peels with the knife. WOW! How hard was I gripping the knife? It looks like I'm nearing the bone, actually. Ooops.
"Jesus Christ! Mack! HELP HER!"
Open my hand quick; like a band-aid. "Ow, SHIT!" I can't help but yell out as I open my palm fully.
"It's okay. Let Mack look at your hand." Fuck. There's blood pouring from my hand.
"Sorry... I didn't mean to... I didn't know I was holding it like that. Sorry," I apologize to Mack.
"Please give me your hand to look at. Z, I need you to get a nurse at the nurses’ station. Tell her to bring a prep-kit and sutures."
As Z leaves, I look at Mack closely. Is he mad at me? But Mack just smiles, while holding my hand in a strange, kind of upward position, as the blood continues pouring down my forearm.
"What were you thinking about? Why were you so tense a moment ago?" Um...
"It's nothing actually. I was just thinking about my father and mother and his Country Club and golf and their stupid friends, and how much I hated it. You and Z started talking about golf, and I just remember how much I hate golf." Oh, it does sound stupid.
"Good to know. I'll tell Z how you really feel about golf. Between golf and the Celtics, he'll be devastated."
"Are you teasing me?"
"Just a little," Mack says with a wink. Oh, how fun.
"Thank you."
"For teasing you, or for talking about the one sport guaranteed to make you stab yourself?" Oh. What?! I can't help but laugh.
"You are very un-doctorly, Mack." I giggle at my lame word.
"I know. Isn't it awesome?" God, Mack is so cute, I just reach out and hug him. I can't help it.
"What'
s wrong? What happened?!" Z yells while walking back into my room.
"Well, she hates golf so much, she stabbed herself. It's sad really." Mack says direly shaking his head back and forth.
Just as Z yells "WHAT?" Mack and I both burst out laughing. Oh, Z looks really mad at us. Ooops. I stop laughing almost at once.
"Sorry, Z. I didn't mean to make you angry."
"YOU didn't. Mack, however, is being a real idiot right now." Another little giggle escapes.
"We were just joking Z. Mack was distracting me from the pain, I think. Weren't you?"
"I was. And I succeeded until a certain hyper-sensitive golf aficionado killed the mood," Mack says winking at me again.
"Could you PLEASE stop joking, and help her. She's bleeding everywhere!" Oh, another clipped tone toward Mack.
"Z, I'm fine."
"You’re NOT fine. That looks very bad. The nurse is on her way. Is it bad, Mack? It looks like it’s bad. Is it?" God, Z sounds very tense right now. I don’t really like tense Z.
"It's bad, but I've seen much worse, and I'll have it fixed up in minutes. So, why don't you sit down and relax, Z." Mack seems to impart his own tone into the room.
"Ah, sure. How do you feel, sweetheart? You barely touched your breakfast."
"I'm fine, and I'm stuffed. Before I did this, I did actually eat enough."
As the nurse walks in, she seems to take in my room with a strange mixture of shock but professionalism. It's like she wants to say something insubordinate to Mack, but she can't. Oh, I know how that feels. I’ve been biting my tongue since I was born… frustrating, isn't it?
The nurse prepares a bowl of water with something else, while Mack puts a needle deep into my palm. Exhaling a long breath, I wait for the needle pain to end. Once he has finished with the needle, the relief is almost immediate. My hand no longer burns.
Mack and the nurse take turns doing ‘stuff’ to my hand, while I turn my head away on my pillow and relax as best I can. Every once in a while, or actually, fairly frequently, I try to sneak a glance at Z, but I always meet his eyes. He’s sitting in his chair watching my face closely. We smile at each other from time to time. God, he is still so beautiful to look at.
A while later, Mack is done. My hand is wrapped up tightly in gauze, bandages are applied, and a sling is placed around my neck, holding my hand high against my chest. Apparently, it was a deep, long wound requiring more than 20 stitches. That seems like a lot to me, considering I've had 6 to 8 stitches before. Weird.
Deciding to change my gown and bedding, the nurse asks Mack to assist. As Mack lifts me gently, while keeping me covered, the nurse quickly and quite efficiently removes the bottom sheet and replaces it just as quickly. Placing me back on the bed, the nurse and Mack begin adjusting my wires, and catheter bag again- ugh, still super gross.
Without being asked, both Z and Mack turn their backs to me, as the nurse unties and lowers my gown from the back. God, I would kill for my own clothes, but sadly they aren't exactly catheter friendly. Once I have a new gown on, she again adjusts certain wires and tubes, props my pillows, raises the bed again, and draws a clean sheet over top of me. Yay. All done. She even managed to retie the sling around my neck.
Afterward, the nurse makes a few notes in my chart with Mack signing a few papers and initialing the chart. With a nice smile at me, and a little pat on my thigh, the nurse finally leaves. And then there is nothing but silence.
"Um... sorry, again. I didn't mean to be..."
"You weren't bad. It was an accident... clearly. But I would really like to discuss what happened? Would you like Z to stay or leave? Remember, everything is your choice to make."
"It's really not a big deal. I told you I was just thinking about golf and my father’s Country Club. Z can stay. There's nothing to really discuss."
"Are you sure?”
Mack looks so serious suddenly. Oh, I don't like serious Mack as much as silly, teasing Mack. Looking over at Z, he nods at me. What? What does the nod mean?
"I can go, sweetheart. I'll just be outside if you need me. It's nothing. Would you like me to stay or go?" I already said stay. What the hell?
"Stay." I think that sounded a little snarky, so I tack on, "Please."
Again, he just nods and says nothing more.
==========
"Z and I were talking about golf, and you began thinking about... what?"
"Golf. Then my father and his friends. And my mother, and her nasty friends, and his Country Club, and the art of golf. That's all."
"What about golf bothers you?"
"I don't know. Nothing, I guess. Golf is just... golf. Boring. Who cares? It's not like a real sport. It’s just kind of a place to network or something."
"Who would network?"
"My father on the course, and my mother in the Clubhouse."
"And where were you while they were 'networking'?"
"I don't know. Around, I guess. I just kind of hung out and waited to go home."
"Where did you hang out?"
"The lounge, mostly. Sometimes, in the gift shop. Sometimes, I went for a walk. Sometimes, I waited in the car and read if I was super bored. Why?"
"I'm just trying to understand your reaction to the Golf Club." What reaction?
"I don't have a reaction. It's nothing. It was just so boring for me. That's all. I heard the same lectures time and time again. The importance of golf in proper society. The importance of golf as a corporate outlet. The importance of wheeling and dealing during such a civilized event. Just crap like that. My father would lecture me the whole way to the Club, and my mother would lecture me on the return trip."
"How did their lectures make you feel?"
"Bored enough to take a golf club to my father’s head?" Giggle.
"And your mothers lectures?" Oh, no longer teasing Mack. Right! Gotta remember that.
"She drove me crazy. She was such a nasty, judgmental, two-faced bitch at the Golf Club. She would speak with every woman there, turn her back, and trash every woman she was friends with minutes later. She never stopped. She was all delicate Mrs. Beaumont and an evil wicked BITCH, moments later. It was almost amazing to watch, but I hated it. I used to listen for a while, and then I had to leave because my stomach hurt from all her meanness. She was truly horrible. I'm surprised to this day that she maintains the very large circle of friends, acquaintances and followers that she does…" Oh NO! "…Shit! What's today's date?"
"Saturday, June 18th... Why?"
"It's her birthday today. She loves it when her birthday falls on a weekend because she gets to go double-time on her lavish parties. If she could, I swear she would change the Gregorian calendar each year to place her birthday on a weekend... like it’s a national holiday or something." She really is ridiculous.
"Can we talk about the Club a little more?"
"Um, sure. But that's it. There's nothing more to tell."
"Okay... just bear with me. When you wandered around the Clubhouse, who did you talk to?"
"I don't know. Lots of people. Everyone spoke to me because I'm a ‘Beaumont’. Ah, I think I actually hated being a Beaumont. It was kind of exhausting. I had to always speak a certain way, and act a certain way. I always felt like if anyone saw me do anything wrong, even just for a second, they would run and tell my parents. I could barely breathe at the Club... My mother’s friends all spoke to me like I was some fat little embarrassment for my dear, sweet mother. And my father’s friends hit on me, all the time.” What?! Huh. I forgot that. Holy shit! They did, didn't they?
"They hit on you... how?"
"Um... They would hug me, a lot, and talk to me... Oh, oh shit! I remember Mr. Allister talking to me about gross things. I remember wanting to get the hell away from him, but my mother’s friends were watching, and I couldn't get out of his hug, without causing a scene. I was kind of trapped and he knew it. Actually, I think he liked that I was trapped."
This is so awkward. Don't look at Z. Don't look. I'm so afrai
d he is looking at me like I'm gross. Just keep looking down. No eye contact!
"What gross things was he talking about? You can tell me, it’s okay."
"Um... I remember something about his... p-penis. Something about the size, or something. It was gross. I was young, like twelve. I barely knew what a penis looked like at the time, but there he was talking to me about his, holding me at the bar in a tight side-hug."
"What else did he say?"
"That's it, I think..."
"Could you try to remember back? Could you try to remember if there was anything more? Anything else that you can remember?"
"I’m trying. I don't know. It's like I remember, but not really. It's kind of fuzzy in my head. I remember his smell, his cologne, and his hug... But the words are kind of like an echo, or something. Dammit, I’m so confused right now.”
"What you're experiencing is typical of a kind of traumatic ‘tunnel vision’. Sometimes in a stressful situation, we process the events incompletely, or even strangely. We may remember scents and feelings, but not all the details. You're doing fine, and just know that this is completely normal. We're just going to have to figure out a way to get all the information."
"I d-don't think I really want to. It was just creepy to me."
"I know, but we really need all the pieces of the puzzle. I'm trying to help you, and without ALL the information, I can't help you. Can you keep trying?"
"I guess so."
Ick, I feel so gross suddenly. Thank god, Mack seems to understand and he gives me a minute to settle this gross feeling a little.
"Do you remember anyone else at the Club speaking to you inappropriately?"
"I don't know. Maybe...” Oh! "…Um, Mr. Stephens used to talk to me about my baby tits..." Flinch.
"You're doing really well. What else did Mr. Stephens say to you?"
"I don't know. That's it, I think. He would rub them and say he loved my ‘baby tits’..." Oh, SHIT! What the FUCK was THAT? “I remember that! He actually touched me.” Breathe, Dammit. Don't do this.