You couldn't picture a more different group of best friends if you tried. All things considered, it was amazing that we got along at all. Izzie was tall and blonde, but even though her looks opened the world to her, she could still be unconfident and clingy. Meredith was Izzie's polar opposite in every possible way. She was a very independent woman, her darker edged looks helped her to move around in the crowd and get her work done without much notice.
My position was somewhere in the middle of my two greatest friends; a buffer of sorts. I filled the slot of the strong willed red head. I came off as independent, yet I needed my friends around me at times or I would crumble.
We were doctors. Day in and day out, we worked together in the same hospital. We formed somewhat of a pack. When they were younger, our children were even a part of it, playing in the hospital daycare center.
We were doctors. Being doctors, we all had the general hero complex that we could fix anything broken that came along. However, sometimes, that isn't the case. Sometimes, what is broken will always stay broken. And sometimes, the heroes are among the first to break.
The day it happened started out just like any other day. After it was over, whispers could be caught, little snatches of conversation where people wished that they could have done it differently. The truth was, there absolutely nothing that we could have done, because none of us ever saw it coming.
Sometimes, you don't dare to blink.
OoooooooooooooO
"Good morning, Dr. Montogomery," the barista chirped through the drive-thru speaker. "Your usual on this fine day?"
Quickly scanning over the menu, Addison responded, "Maybe something new. The pumpkin spice latte sounds interesting. I'll have one of those."
"That will be $4.22. You can pull around and we'll have it ready for you."
Addison's daughter, Lanie, rolled her eyes and stared out the window. "Don't get me anything," she muttered. "That's fine. It's not like I wanted anything anyway."
"You don't need caffeine," Addison told her as she pulled up to the window and handed off the credit card. "You're hyper enough already."
"Mom! I am so not a morning person! And who seriously pays for a four dollar coffee with a credit card anyway? I mean, come on, Mom."
"I don't believe in cash," she answered, taking the coffee the man was holding out the window. "If I had cash, I would spend it. I'm less likely to spend on a credit card."
Putting the cup down into the holder, Addison managed to slosh a little of the piping hot liquid onto my hand. "Ouch!" she yelled, fighting the urge to use stronger language. She pulled away from the drive-thru, sucking on her hand where the coffee had spilled.
Lanie eyed the coffee cup. "Can I at try some of yours?"
Addison waved her wounded hand at Lanie in dismissal as they drove towards the high school. "If you burn yourself, don't blame me."
Watching out of the corner of her eye, Addison saw Lanie take a careful sip. "Oh," she said, putting the cup back into the holder. "Interesting."
"See," Addison said, "I know you well enough to know that you aren't a coffee person, no matter how much you try to convince me."
"Whatever, Mom," Lanie replied with another eye roll.
The pair pulled up in front of the high school, the car blending in with dozens of other parent cars. "Do you have a ride home?" Addison asked. "Your father and I are both working late tonight, but one of us can take an hour off to get you if you need us to."
"Don't worry about it. I can get home. I'm a big girl." Slinging her backpack over one shoulder, she slipped out of the car and disappeared seamlessly into the crowd.
It was different for Addison. This was the first year she would get out of the car without a hug, or even so much as a goodbye. Apparently, fifteen was the age where they stopped wanting to admit that they came from parents. Fifteen was the age where every teenager began questing for independence.
Unable to see her daughter anymore, Addison pulled away from the curb and took a sip of her coffee. It was the beginning of another ordinary day.
OooooooooooooO
Checking her watch, Meredith pushed aside the morning paper and her cup of coffee and walked up the stairs. Her son's room was dark when she opened the door. Crossing the room, she yanked open the curtains to let some light into the room. Rich was curled up in a ball, the blankets wrapped tight around his body and pulled up almost over his head.
Meredith pulled the blankets off of Rich's head. "Rich, you're going to be late."
"Ugh…." he moaned, pulling the blankets back over his head.
Reaching up, Meredith yanked the covers down again, a little more roughly this time. "You have half an hour to go 'till first period starts, and I do not want you speeding, so you had best drag your butt out of bed right now."
He rolled over, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with his fists. "When did morning come? It feels like I just went to sleep."
"How late were you up?" Meredith questioned, going over to the top dresser drawer and throwing some jeans at him.
"I don't know…twelve? One? I was doing SAT prep. My test is this weekend."
"Uh-huh," she said. "Get dressed."
"I was!" he exclaimed, gesturing over at the desk where all his prep books was strewn around wide open. "See?"
"Okay, okay," Meredith relented, throwing her hands up in the air. "So long as you get to school on time. I have to head to work."
"Always," Rich laughed. "Say hi to everyone at the hospital for me."
"Will do."
OooooooooooooO
Doug rearranged the items in his backpack a third time, trying to figure out how to make everything fit. The angry words of his mother and father drifted up to him from the kitchen downstairs.
"You're the one who's letting him get away with being ordinary!" George screamed. "For pities sake, Izzie, the boy hides in his room all day and you do nothing about it! Make him get out, make him join a club, make him do something, anything! We aren't such bad parents, our kid doesn't need to be like this, it's not…"
"We aren't bad parents," Izzie whispered, sitting down at the kitchen table with her morning coffee. "Doug is just…different. It's okay to be different."
"Not this different!" George roared. "Have you seen him lately? His hair is black, Izzie, black! And I ask him to dye it back, and what do I get? The door in my face! The door in my face, by my own son! I don't even know him anymore!"
Doug carefully folded up the letter he had written on torn out notebook paper at five am and put his mother's name on the front, tucking it into the computer keyboard.
"He knows what you think of him. Did you ever think that maybe that's part of the problem?" Izzie asked.
"What are you talking about?" George snapped.
"He knows you think he's a disappointment. He knows! I can't believe you think it has nothing to do with you! I can't believe you even think this way at all! You were different too, George, you of all people should understand!"
"I have to go work," George said, grabbing his bag from under the kitchen table. "We can talk about this later."
"That's it, George," Izzie taunted. "Run away. Run away, again. It's what you do best."
Finally satisfied with the arrangement and selection of his backpack, Doug slung it over his shoulder. As he started down the stairs, he heard the backdoor slam. Izzie sat in the kitchen, her fingers still clutched around her cup of coffee. Opening the cupboard door silently, Doug grabbed a pop tart without speaking.
"How much did you hear?" Izzie asked.
"It's okay, Mom," he said, crossing the kitchen to give her a quick hug. "I have to get to school."
"Sit for a minute?" Izzie pleaded.
He carefully set down his backpack by the door before pulling out the kitchen chair next to his mother. "A minute. Seriously, I have to get to school."
Izzie put down her cup of coffee and turned slightly so that she was eye to eye with Doug. "Doug?"
"Yeah?"
"What your father said…"
"Mom, it's okay. Don't worry about it." Doug took a quick bite of his pop tart, shoving the rest into his jacket pocket.
"You aren't a disappointment," she insisted.
"I know, Mom, I know. Like I said, it's all good." He looked at the digital clock above the kitchen table. "I have to go," he said, getting up and grabbing his backpack.
"I love you, Doug," she said.
"I love you too, Mom," Doug answered as he put his backpack back over his shoulder and slipped out the door.