I first met Daniel at a house party in college. His eyes looked like red saucers and he was sitting in front of a huge plate of cocaine. Some rap song was playing outside and people were dancing, a bunch over privileged white kids grinding on each other to songs about privation and crack dealing. I remember the music as being like a deafening hum, I was wasted and everything seemed murky and dangerous. All of the lights were dimmed in the room and my roommate's boyfriend had promised us shots of Captain Morgan's. Cosmic Charlie by the Grateful Dead was barely recognizable over the bass line from Cop Killer. It was practically shaking the walls. He had taken a blanket and cut a hole in it, he was wearing it like a poncho. He was sniffing and rubbing his nose. I remember him licking my face.
I saw him a couple of weeks later and it seemed like we were two totally different people. He liked to talk about socialism, he was always planning to go to the next WTC summit and never following through. I can admit now that our relationship probably wouldn't have lasted. We probably still would have gotten married or possibly just have lived together for along time if he hadn't been diagnosed, but we were never really comfortable with each other. I can't really recall a quiet moment, a moment where I felt truly content. There was always this urgent itch just under the surface that we could never really scratch. I didn't mind it as much at the time but thinking back, he was almost always high. It was easier to focus on schoolwork when my boyfriend really didn't want to go out and do things. I'd spend nine hours straight on my Organic Chemistry homework and he'd just be there, watching the same movie for the fiftieth time. We had boundaries we didn't cross. We had things we didn't demand of each other. He was probably the first truly sweet, tender person I'd ever met. He was the first person who had absolutely no demands or expectations. His…lightness was just intoxicating. If anything, my obsessive compulsive behavior was even worse back then; I'd have nightmares about showing up late for tests, about forgetting homework assignments, once I woke up in a cold sweat because I dreamt I forgot about an entire class until finals week. Daniel would just smile, make a joke.
We shared a bedroom in a house we rented with six other people. Joe was almost always late with his part of the rent, eventually someone took over his share and he couch surfed for two years. I spent most of my time at the library, hiding up in the stacks. I'd come home and curl up with Daniel in the bed, the sickeningly sweet smell of incense doing a poor job of masking the overwhelming odor of pot.
It was definitely love but it wasn't adult, comfortable love. It was immature, frantic, everything was new. I think it crushed me so badly because I knew from then on that I'd never have that again. I don't even know if I would want that again, we never owned a life together. I feel like maybe I used Daniel as a break from the crushing pressure of trying to get into med school. I never viewed it as a commitment with a time limit though, at the time I truly believed that we were going to be together forever. Everything with Chase wa softer, more contemplative, even when we were fucking each other in exam rooms. With Daniel, I imagined the type of equitable, loving family we'd have. With Chase, it doesn't seem like such a far off, impossible dream.
When he died, I took a semester off. I did some things I'm not very proud of. I remember sitting in front of the liquor store, waiting for it to open. I remember doing bong hits with Joe and sprawling out on the bed, closing my eyes, seeing colors and patterns. If I looked at picture of myself from that time, I'd feel like I was looking at a stranger. Joe and I only fucked once and that was after Daniel died. He started crying half way through it and I held him like a child for the rest of the night. I can't remember what kind of pills we took. It might have been Oxy.
I went to therapy. I started learning how to compartmentalize. I started making the Dean's List. I started coming to terms with my grief. Sometimes, I'll think of him and I'll still feel a pain in my chest.
When he was sick I wanted to know everything. I'd get high and call the hospital, asking them about various vitals I was getting from medical text books. I went on the internet and researched every experimental treatment I could find. I emailed research labs in India. I probably could have actually set up an oncology practice, I was so well informed. I remember seeing annoyance flash in the doctor's eyes, while he was trying to maintain a caring, calm façade. Our parents couldn't be there for us. Daniel's mom wasn't in the picture and his dad couldn't take much time off from his job. He worked at a plant and was constantly on edge about losing his job. My dad was filing for bankruptcy at the time and neither of my parents were too happy about the marriage in the first place. They were still sympathetic, they hugged me, but I just couldn't help but notice the general feeling of disappointment when I was in the room with them. They probably thought I was going to drop out and start stripping or something. When you need someone's love, they have way more power over you than they realize. My parents never realized how easily they could destroy me. In their defense, I needed to toughen up.
House and Chase don't know this story. They know the story of Saint Allison Cameron, the stupid, sweet little girl who married a dying man. I don't like to talk about it. Chase knows that it affects me but it isn't who I am. House saw it as a symptom of some past damage, he was probably mostly interested in how it related to my abilities as a doctor.
I'm in bed next to Chase, staring at the ceiling. He's having a dream and I can't decide whether it is nightmare or not. He talks in his sleep. Sometimes nonsense, sometimes he speaks in Latin. I set my tea cup down on the nightstand and curl up behind him, pressing up against his back. I run my hand over his chest and it seems impossibly smooth too the touch. I like sex. I like seeing how people bend, the noises and expressions people make in their moments of pure elation. I run my nails over his hip bone and he shivers a little bit. I stop, he's tired and I shouldn't wake him up just for sex. I like to try to catalogue everything; the way he breathes, the way sweat mists on his temples, the way he looks me in the eye and there is this dark, needy anger there sometimes.
I like it a little rough. I like it when he pins my wrists down, I like it when he slaps my ass. Sometimes he'll fuck me from behind and he'll lean over and whisper incredibly vile things in my ear. I feel his hot breath on my neck, he'll nibble on my earlobe and I'm in Heaven. It really is the one part of our relationship where I feel like we communicate perfectly.
He'll be up in less than an hour and he'll have to get ready for work. I decide to slip out of bed and make him some breakfast. I grind some beans for espresso. Chase likes it. Some people like those huge, computerized coffee machines but I prefer a traditional Italian stovetop moka pot. I like to feel like I'm actually making something and not just pushing a button. It helps me wake up in the morning. I love the smell of the beans, right after they're ground. We do have a Pasquini Moka Commercial Coffee Grinder, so dosing the beans is pretty much idiot proof. Chase gets angry if I play around with the grind settings. He has it set up exactly how he likes it. I like green tea these days. I get bags of loose tea at Whole Foods. I love the smell. Sometimes I'll grind up some pot really fine and make marijuana tea with some green tea leaves, some whole cream, some mint, and a little butter. I'll drink a big glass and feel like I'm falling off the face of the earth.
Chase eventually wakes up and comes downstairs. I can't really hear him moving around because the house is so big and new. He comes over and gives me a kiss, he tastes fresh again. I crack a couple of eggs into a pan with some margarine. I've got turkey bacon going in the microwave. He must have a little time.
"I'll be pretty late tonight. We have to figure this out," he looks like he didn't get enough sleep. He yawns as he fiddles around with the espresso pot.
"Maybe I'll bring you some lunch. I haven't left the house in days. What's it like out there?"
He rises from the table and walks over to me. He puts his arms around my waist as I stand at the stove, ineffectually poking at the eggs with a spatula.
"You're going to burn yourself," I giggle but it sounds raw, ugly.
"I've missed you so much this week. You should stop by. I think Dr. Scott wants your autograph." I still find it hard to believe that anyone really respects me that much but it seemed like the way my colleagues looked at me changed after I published my findings. People who I knew were ten times better than me gushed and offered me jobs I didn't deserve. Before House, this would have made me the happiest person in the world but now, every short fall, every mistake is magnified and every triumph is a whisper. I'm content this way though, I wouldn't be where I am today if I had been happy with myself. I try to keep things light.
"Is she hot? If she is, you should invite her over. I've always wanted to have a threesome with you."
He smiles, kissing me on the cheek. I decide to talk to him about House. I might as well just get it over with.
"Did you, uh, get any weird calls from Princeton in the last couple of days?" I can't read his features. I don't know if he's confused, I don't know anything and I hate that about him.
"House called me. He was stoned out of his mind. He said I was cock blocking him. It was sad. It reminded me of…some things." He sounds almost wistful, I can hear the contemplation in his voice but I don't know exactly what he's contemplating.
"He called me too but I didn't answer. I think I was scared."
"Why?" That is the million dollar question.
"I've just…I've been content and I didn't want to get snapped out of it. I didn't want to start questioning all of the good stuff in my life, you know? I question the bad stuff enough as it is."
"You still think he has that kind of power over you?" I think he's sad, or disappointed. I hate to think that I've disappointed him.
"I know he does," it isn't what he wants to hear.
I'm sliding the eggs onto a plate and draining the bacon. Something sad is hanging over the room. I recognize that feeling of failure, like an old friend. Chase's voice suddenly cuts through the silence. He sounds strong, in that subtle way that makes feel strong as well.
"I'm not going to tell you that you should talk to him. Maybe I don't open up enough but I want you to understand that I get it, or at least I think I do. I just can't watch another person give up. I don't think I would survive it."
"I'm not giving up."
"Then…just rejoin the world. I know you. You can't be happy as a retiree at thirty four."
"Why couldn't we have just had a nice quiet breakfast?" Is he right? Is he wrong? Maybe there really isn't a right or wrong answer to these kinds of questions. Sometimes it is more about what we have and what we don't have.
He reaches over and runs his hand over my cheek. It feels tender, and loving, and right. I feel guilty, like I don't deserve it.
After Chase leaves for the day, I pick up the phone and call House. I get more nervous with every ring. I almost don't want him to pick up the phone when he finally does.
"Cameron! Oh, how long has it been?" If I analyze this, I can keep it away from my psyche. If I analyze every word, I can keep us on an even playing field. There seems to be more pain in his voice. He seems strained.
"I don't know. A couple of years I think. I got your calls."
"So you've finally worked up a plan? I can tell by the fact that you're making sense that it isn't the Bob Marley plan. That didn't go over too well with Wilson huh?" I guess he's a little manic today.
"You and Wilson talked about that?"
"We're bros, we talk about everything." I'm rapidly losing control of this.
"Look…I felt obligated…"
"Of course you felt obligated. I bet you're ten times guiltier now than when you left. What's it like being hated by white guys with dreadlocks? They burn you in effigy outside of the WHO yet?"
Something happens and I feel totally at peace. I hang up the phone and turn it off. I'm just not willing to put in the effort, I just don't care enough to fight with House anymore. I'm going to make Chase some lunch. I'm going go to my study and write. I'm going to be happy.