O Kind Readers: So, before I was so rudely interrupted by whatever it was that interrupted me...

I hear you – the radio silence sucked. Hard. (Yep, for me, too.)

Writing for y'all was easily one of the most enjoyable experiences of my life, and I've genuinely missed it.

Suffice it to say, real life is harsh sometimes, especially when you watch the time you used to have for your favorite past-times slip between your fingers, due to work and home and whatever else. But life can also be kind – incredibly kind, even. Take it from me; I've experienced some struggles over the last few fortnights, but I've had some great joys, too. Marrying my best friend in 2010 was one of those. (Her choosing to let me stay married to her is another wonderful – some might say doggone miraculous – thing.)

Plus, if you don't allow that urge to indulge your muse ever fully extinguish, then one day, you can find yourself daydreaming about scraps and threads you've toyed with for more than a little while, then taking to your choice of artistic instrument and picking up where you left off, surprising even yourself.

If you can just forgive the rust, I'd appreciate it. And let me know if you like this act of revisionism; there's more where it came from...really...

Tom


Home

The More Things Change

His mom had warned him that the hospital looked different now, but George O'Malley couldn't have imagined how true those words were until he was in the middle of it. The merger of Seattle Grace and Mercy West had caused a number of big changes, as things of that nature are apt to do. From the logos on the outside brick to the color schemes of the furnishings in the waiting room, there were almost too many alterations to count. And that didn't even take into consideration all the new faces in scrubs and white coats. Almost too many new faces, he thought.

Before taking this excursion, he had dismissed out of hand the idea that the renovations to his old stomping grounds would disturb him. Now he wasn't so sure. Sure, George had seen the pictures and videos of the new construction and renovation projects throughout the campus, and felt genuine excitement for his friends and colleagues about the progress that they were witnessing. Now, actually walking through the finished product during the hustle and bustle of an actual workday had begun to make him feel more than a bit unsettled.

No, he had nurtured the fantasy that the hospital would stand still in time just for him, anxiously awaiting his return. But that didn't mean the fantasy hadn't played occasionally in the back of his mind.

While navigating the narrowing hallways that led toward the open space near the main elevators, seeing the new paint and art on the walls, George's mind drifted to thoughts of summer vacation. For the first ten years of his life, he and his family would take an annual summertime trip to visit his dad's Aunt Jane. A day or so into the trip, when George and his brothers' cabin fever would inevitably become too much for the adults to take, they'd pack into the car and head over to an amusement park called Highland Point.

There were a couple of decently-speedy roller coasters that he was either too small or too scared to ride (neither of which his brothers would let him forget), but there was a cool-looking Ferris Wheel and bumper cars and paddle boats next to a boardwalk arcade with a bunch of not-too-heavily-rigged carnival games. It was a fun place to visit for an afternoon or two, and although the layout wasn't exactly a maze, George and his brothers pretty much knew it like it was their own backyard.

After Aunt Jane passed away, there was no need to head to that part of the country, so he didn't revisit it for another decade. Then, the summer before his third year of college, he and a couple of his buddies decided to road-trip to Highland Point, just to check it out after all these years. As soon as he stepped foot in the park, George sensed that it wasn't going to be anywhere near the same experience he'd had as a boy; in fact, the place seemed on its last shaky leg. The one roller coaster that he'd remembered always wanting to ride was falling apart, the carnival games were rinky-dink and being run by the surliest staff members, and the centerpiece of the park – the Ferris wheel – was gone, replaced by absolutely nothing. The whole place had become, as one of George's friends muttered while they drove home, "a physical representation of crushed dreams."

George had known that the experience of going to the park wasn't going to the same as it was when he was small, but he still felt the loss ring through him.

"Seattle Grace isn't the same place you remember," his mom had said, a grimness in her tone. And she was right. But as he reached the elevators, he found himself coming to another realization – it wasn't Highland Point, either.

Sure, he was dizzy from seeing all the changes, but he could tell that every last one of those changes had produced a more efficient hospital. The patient care focus was even tighter now, plus the technological leaps he saw around him clearly made the medical staff's work easier. The merger had made Seattle Grace better, period, and that delighted him no end.

The elevator doors parted in front of him and he stepped on board, feeling a smile crossing his lips as he pressed the button for the fifth floor. The doors closed tight and the elevator glided upward. As it did, the red numerals at dead center above the door ticked away a reverse countdown.

For some reason, George felt a new internal tension developing, causing his smile to evaporate. Each new floor added one more knot to his stomach, a sensation that he didn't quite understand. He wasn't here to deliver bad news or tell someone off; this was a visit to friendly territory, a trip that he'd been looking forward to making for quite some time.

So why was he getting more and more nervous?

To be continued...