Second
Chances by Dismal-Spectre
Chapter 1: The Burdens We Carry
Heaving a heavy sigh, Dr. Mario sipped absently on his cappuccino, barely aware of its rich aroma or bitter taste. About him medical personnel milled about the cafeteria, catching up on the latest gossip before being thrust into another shift of sheer pandemonium. Like he, they pretended to be busy, trying to shake off the depression of not being allowed to spend the holidays with their loved ones.
He had spent most of the night waiting. And yet he didn't believe that she would come. Heck, she never did and this Christmas Eve was no different. The simple truth was Mario was stood up. And the empty green leather booth across him testified to that.
No doubt Pauline was strolling down some European walkway, fawned over by photographers and designers alike. And despite her promises to return back to the States there was little chance that they would be kept. For the fashion world, Christmas was the season for a new line of clothes and that meant all models were on full-time.
And yet Mario could hardly blame her. There were times where he failed to keep his promises too. The long hauls in the emergency room, the sudden call of duty in the middle of the night; it was a wonder how Pauline put up with it all.
At first, they found the other's absences somewhat irritating and disappointing. In time however, there grew a silent agreement between them to not hold grudges. There was a mutual understanding that sometimes their line of work drew them away from each other. And for a while it worked, at least that was what they told themselves. Yet the absences grew longer and the excuses became more complicated.
It wasn't until they hadn't seen each other for three months that Mario became concerned with their separation. And yet each time he suggested they at least meet up during Thanksgiving or some other holiday Pauline went on the defensive, explaining she couldn't miss this gala premiere or event. As he continued to insist, she finally snapped at him, accusing him of being so possessive.
It was in that quarrel that Mario realized what had happened. They had put their work before their relationship and had ignored the warning signs. Words that should have been spoken were left unspoken and resentment festered between them. In the end silence drifted them further apart.
The truth was their romance was over.
Still in desperation Mario wanted to redeem himself. He wanted so much to believe that there was still that attraction between them. It was the reason why he sat here in delusion, waiting for her that would never come. Although his mind knew that it was over, his heart would never stop loving Pauline, even after the first nail in the coffin had struck when the international newspapers reported her tryst with a Dutch banker.
Perhaps if he had broken the silence or made an attempt to compromise, she would still be in his arms.
"I let her go," Mario mumbled to himself, burying his head in his arms. "She couldn't find what she needed in me so she ran to him instead."
And yet this was only one among the other problems he was coping at the moment. Long tiring hours working at the Brooklyn General Hospital, the discouragement of losing patients he had fought to keep alive, and the impersonal interaction between himself and his staff as they had to deal with the ever growing number of holiday accidents had taken its toll on him as well. At times Mario had almost forgotten the reason why he chose to become a doctor.
Long before his breakup with Pauline, Mario had seriously considered retiring from the medical profession. He yearned for a simpler lifestyle, one that was not so demanding as to take him away from his girlfriend. He loved using his hands to build things and he had a particular aptitude for using tools. There was no shortage to the need for individuals of that nature.
And yet it was because of one reason alone that kept him from making the career change.
His inner reverie was interrupted as the corner of his eye caught sight of a figure in pink robes. With ease it slipped into the booth across from him. "Fancy meeting you here of all places, Chief," the off-duty nurse mused. "Mind if I join you?"
He smirked. "You're welcome to…if you don't mind the crappy coffee. It tastes more like dishwater than anything."
Nurse Peach nodded in sympathy. The break up was still hard on the doctor, and yet she saw it coming. There was something phony about Pauline that Peach sensed during the rare times the model strode into the hospital. Turning on her charms, Pauline had drawn all of Dr. Mario's attention from his patients to her own "plight" of keeping off the pounds that "jeopardized her career." The woman used him, taking advantage of his kindness and naivety, all for her purposes. Despite Pauline's arrogance, Mario still managed to love her sincerely and so the pain was sharp when the relationship ended. What Mario saw in her was beyond Peach's understanding.
Despite all the illnesses and injuries Dr. Mario could cure, he could not deal with his own wounds. Nevertheless, Peach knew better than to pry. He would share when he was ready. It just troubled her that the kindly physician was not himself as of late. The quiet reassurance he gave to his staff and the patients was replaced with mutterings and curt orders. Yet seeing the doctor reduced to this piteous condition was more than she could bear.
It's time he moved on, or at least be aware that there is life beyond Pauline.
She had to try. Mario needed something to snap him out of it. Laying a gentle hand on Mario's weary shoulder, Peach implored him, "You've been here for 3 hours. At least get outside and breathe the city air once and a while."
"It's carcinogenic as you well know."
"Everything gives you cancer nowadays."
Eventually he complied as Peach pulled him unto the Midtown Bus. Curiosity got the better of him as he pondered what destination the pink-clad nurse had in mind. He smiled in appreciation of her efforts. Within the three months since she first was employed, Mario and the rest of the medical team found her to be one of the most sensitive, understanding individuals they met. The patients took to her at once for this very reason. People just felt better when she was around.
As the bus creaked its way over the Brooklyn Bridge, Dr. Mario soon realized where they were going. Below the three storied, bricked tenant homes huddled together in a futile attempt to keep warm. Yet despite their dilapidated appearance and the worn narrow streets between them, every cracked square cubic of cement was packed. Strings of lights heralded the festivities. Enticing odors wafted from the small restaurants along the road. Rich aromas of roast beef and lasagna lingered. The tang of spicy sauces drifted among the produce vendor stalls.
This hour drew many crowds and every seat was filled. Boisterous young people swarmed the streets, enjoying the night life and open air cafés. Radios blared out amorous love songs from the mother country, competing against the heavy rock of modern music. Italian flags and statues of the Madonna were sold alongside pirated videos and CDs. To any outsider it was chaos. But as for anyone who lived there knew Little Italy carried its own unique and vibrant beat among the many ethnic claves in Brooklyn.
The rhythm of Little Italy raised their spirits, and soon Mario was gesturing at each sight, giving Peach the Italian name of each object. Though she had taken a recent liking to Italian food, Peach spent little time exploring the city within a city. The constant responsibility of being on-call at the hospital drew her away from such luxury. Yet her beeper remained thankfully silent for now and she allowed herself to enjoy the moment.
"I'm beginning to see why you moved back to Flatbush," she noted as she drank in the sights.
"Manhattan has it charms I assure you," he remarked. "But it's a lonely place. Everyone is too busy to socialize. They're out chasing money or trying to up their neighbor in home décor."
"It is strange how two parts of the same city can be so different."
A broad smile crossed Mario's lips. "You notice it too, huh? But don't assume it's paradise on earth. As simple and beautiful it is on the exterior, Little Italy still has its problems. I grew up here with the hunger, the freezing nights without heat, and the arguing of my parents over the bills. I told myself that I would work my way out of it one day. It's funny how I came back regardless of it all."
"So after becoming a physician, you decided to return here to give something back to the community?"
He blinked. "Not entirely. At the time I just wanted out of the poverty my parents went through. It's hard to sympathize other people when you're in the same mess they're in. Not until later did I felt I need to help others out. As for my choice to become a doctor, well, there's a different story to that. Mama always thought I made that decision because I wanted to make lots of money. And she's partly right. But there was something else that motivated me as well.
"You see, my parents spoke little of their former life back in the mother country. Maybe it was government problems or a harsh poverty that drove them across the seas, they never say. Yet it was on every All Souls day that we'd pray for the dead of the family. Only then the stories of my deceased aunts, uncles, and cousins would come up and I get an idea of what was life like in Italy.
"Once, I discovered an old photo wedged in the album. Though it was a bit yellowed, it showed that me as a baby was playing with another child my age. I asked my parents why the two of us were dressed similarly. Papa was silent and avoided my eyes. But Mama finally told me the truth."
Mario heaved a sigh as he drew the collar of his coat against the biting winter wind. "I had a twin brother at one point, but he died before reaching his 2nd birthday. Young as I was, I could have sworn I remembered him. We were playing in the nursery when a coughing fit seized him. He wouldn't stop. His breathing came labored and my parents feared the worst. I remember his desperate cries, Papa shouting, the frantic trip to the village doctor. By the time we pulled into the emergency driveway, my brother's skin was cold and pale. He lingered, but in the end the pneumonia consumed him. He died three days later."
Peach wisely chose not to say anything. She didn't need to. She knew where the story was headed and had sympathy for her colleague. To see death at so young an age, there was no doubt the profound effect it had on Mario. She could only phantom his frustration, his helplessness at not being able to do anything as he watched his sibling fade away. His career as a physician was, if not all, was done in memory of the brother he never had.
Gazing wistfully at the cold night stars, Mario's mouth set grimly as his eyes fixed on Peach's. "Since then, I was determined that no other child will ever have to go through the loss of a sibling. Not if I can help it."
"Now it's your turn," Mario stated as their appetizer was served, a rich frothing vegetable soup known as minestra di verdure. "I've been burdening you with my life story so far. What brought you to New York?"
The fact was the doctor knew very little about his new charge, except what she wrote in her resume. She had served in missionary work in Nicaragua and Belize after completing her studies in Sydney, Australia. Oddly though, she had no accent and spoke little Spanish. And when asked further to explain her experience in the third world countries she served, she gave little detail. Perhaps she had witness such poverty and illness and did not want to speak of it. Her interaction with the patients of Brooklyn General Hospital supported this theory, for she tended and cared for every individual with utmost care that seemed beyond human.
But it was the look in her eyes that spoke volumes of her true nature. Though her sapphire blue eyes radiated such light, within its depths there was a shroud of pain and sorrow. It was as if she took on the suffering of those she treated. Every once and a while her gaze became troubled as her work had reawaken the painful memories of others she had treated in the past, perhaps those who died despite all her efforts. It was a look that Mario knew too well.
Peach averted her eyes as she picked at the flakey crust of the cannelloni. "I guess it's the burnout really. As much as I loved my missionary work, there's just a time when you can't help but feel discouraged. On top of fighting an outbreak, there's the constant fear of being attacked by militant groups. And then there are the shortages of medical supplies and the frustration of losing what little you have to raids. But," her voice quavered. "Those are minor compared to what I had to see everyday, the stack of bodies of those who perished before they could receive treatment. And the cold stares of the decease…" Peach buried her head in her hands. The tears didn't come. They had all been shed long ago. But the agony remained in her frame.
At once, Mario began to regret bringing up her past. He began reprimanding himself inwardly. Stupido bastardo! Is that anyway to treat someone who has helped you so much? Is your curiosity worth the grief you're causing her? Idiota!
Yet in that moment, his problems melted away. What was his failed romance compared to the horrors that Peach witnessed? Suddenly things were put back into perspective again and he no longer felt the need to be consoled. Without thinking he reached out, his gloved hand rested atop her slender ones.
Dr. Mario's gaze softened. "You don't have to carry the burden by yourself," he murmured.
Peach gave a surprised look but nodded in appreciation of his gesture. However, she slowly removed her hands from his. A sad smile crossed her features as she shook her head gently, as if Mario knew little of the consequences of the words he spoken.
"Unfortunately it is something I alone must undertake…for the sake of my people."