June, 2002
"How are you feeling?"
Julie looked over at Adam, now resting comfortably on the couch.
The panic of the afternoon was a world away as they sat in his cool apartment, dusk settling over the city. Still, she couldn't shake the worry. The reminder of how much more fragile his life had become was hard to forget.
"Heh, I'm fine."
"You're sure?"
"Of course." He smiled, reaching for her hand.
.
The explanation for it all was simple enough. His body could no longer regulate temperature as well as it once did-everybody but Julie already aware of this. Now, hot summer days were a recipe for heat exhaustion, rather than just embarrassing sweat stains.
It really wasn't the end of the world, in the grand scheme of things.
He needed to be more careful on those sweltering afternoons. And he was fine now, merely a bump on the head to show for all of the commotion he'd caused. But for Julie, it was an unwelcome reminder of reality. Such a cruel blow for a guy who's possibilities had once been so infinite.
"You scared me to death."
"I'm sorry."
Julie shook her head.
"If I would have known, I wouldn't have been like, dragging you all over the city. You should have said something..."
"I wasn't going to ruin your weekend.
"Besides," He continued, squeezing her hand as they sat there, side by side on the sofa. "I'm still tougher than I look."
Julie scooted closer, no longer able to bear the sea of IKEA canvas separating them.
He was a part of her; even after two years away-even with everything, the world was nicer snuggled up next to him. She leaned against him, the sound of the shower running in the next room.
"The only thing that could ruin my weekend is something happening to you."
"Well, I'm fine."
"Positive?"
"Very."
She looked into those familiar blue eyes; the parts of him that mattered the most still as attractive as ever.
His sandy hair still begged to be tousled; his whole face still lit up when he smiled. His cheeks were ruddy and pink, everything about him a monument to a certain type of life.
"And your head is okay? That looked like a pretty hard landing."
"I don't even have a headache."
"You've got to take better care of yourself..."
Adam sighed, his posture stiffening.
"You make me sound like an invalid."
"I didn't mean it that way."
"Yeah. You did."
"I really didn't..."
"Of course you did."
"What?"
"You act like I'm a toddler."
"That's not what I meant."
"Of course it is. That's all anybody does now."
"What?"
He shook his head, looking down at the floor. Staring at a spot on the rattan rug.
"I'm 22 years old, and all you or Laura or anyone else can do is crawl up my ass about how I shouldn't do this or I shouldn't do that. I was a fucking NHL prospect, and now I can't piss without somebody there to lecture me about my own body. I want my old girlfriend back. I want my fiance back. I want my friends back. I want...I want my life back."
"I-I was just worried about you."
"Don't be."
"I can't help it..."
"I'm not going to die just because the wind blows the wrong way...
He leaned back against the sofa, doing his best to fight off the tears welling in his eyes. Doing his best to fight off the feelings of how much he'd lost.
"And if I do, so what? I'm tired of this. I'm tired of living like this. I'm tired of being alive. None of the people lecturing me would want to live this way..."
The room grew quiet, only the sound of the shower filling the air between them.
Julie looked him up and down, the SIGMA CHI SKI LODGE shirt and track pants he'd changed into after the park doing little to disguise his problem areas.
It was obvious how his right shoulder slumped; his wrist and elbow protruding now that the muscle had wasted away. His shirt was two sizes too big at the chest and shoulders, yet it hugged his tummy, riding up to expose his paunch and a bit of plastic catheter below his belly button any time he moved the wrong way.
He may have been the eternal prom king, but stripped of the royal vestments, his reality was pretty bleak.
.
As everybody else's lives were beginning, as their possibilities were opening, his were closing.
It had been easy to forget that; he was good at covering over everything. Good at swiping his AmEx so that everybody could forget what had happened. But now, here, alone, it was easy to see how thoroughly his universe had been demolished. As Julie looked at him, she found herself acutely aware of the fact that her clothes still fit; that she could still go jogging in the mornings, and that she could still live the life she'd imagined for herself.
.
She thought of walking home from the bars on those perfect fall evenings.
And skating out onto the ice.
And all of the physical demands of being a doctor.
But mostly, she thought about how her clothes still fit; about dancing with attractive boys in frat house basements, and how when she took her clothes off at the end of the night, she didn't have to worry too much about what the other person was thinking. It was nice; looking the way that society expects people to look. Recognizing the person staring back in the mirror every morning.
Looking over at him, she realized that he could no longer say the same. Living not just with the pain and practical limitations, but with no longer being the person everybody had loved.
Laura or no, he'd never again be able to take his clothes off in front of somebody without being uncomfortable. He'd never again get to throw on shorts and a t-shirt without thinking about it, or go to the lake without people staring. In more ways than one, his life was never going to be the same.
.
"I'm sorry-" She began, the tears welling in her eyes.
Adam scooted closer, putting his good arm around her as she leaned into his shoulder. He took a deep breath, holding her as tightly as he could.
"I'm-I'm sorry, Jules. I shouldn't have said anything."
"No, it's-"
"I'm fine, Julie." He assured her, brushing her hair back as she burrowed into his chest; the sound of his heartbeat thumping in her ear. "I'm fine. Really."
"No you're not."
"I promise. Everything is wonderful."
Julie shook her head, her face still buried against him.
"Isn't that a song?"
"Probably. But really, everything is wonderful."
"I know you're just saying that..."
"I'm not."
"I love you."
"I love you, too."
"And I'm glad you're still alive."
"I'm glad I am, too."
"You're pretty amazing, you know..."
"Not as amazing as you, Cat Lady. Not as amazing as you."
"You did rip my favorite purple backpack."
Adam looked down, his eyebrows arching outward as he remembered that afternoon, and what it felt like to be on the receiving end of things just a few months later; the indignity of Larson trying to beat him up on the playground the kind of thing that was hard to forget.
.
For the last 26 years, he'd given little thought to that era-there were always bigger things to worry about, and besides, that was boys being boys.
Kids bullied each other. It was what they did.
But now...now his own kids were that age.
He thought back to Will coming home crying, and how badly he wanted to go deck the fourth grade twerp who'd caused it. And he thought back to the parent-teacher conference that came a few months later; coming face to face with Mrs. McCowan, the now-elderly science teacher who'd survived Scott, Adam, and Tucker.
Now hunched over and favoring orthopedic shoes, she muttered 'What a family of assholes' as Adam walked in, clutching the crucifix around her neck as he came closer.
When asked how Tucker was doing in science, she simply let out a long sigh before explaining that, in the grand tradition of Banks males, science was the least of her worries.
.
Apparently during frog dissections, he'd paid another kid $5 to eat formaldehyde-soaked intestines, and then called the kid a pussy for throwing up. Another time, he started chanting 'Go back to Notre Dame, Hunchback' at her until the whole class joined in.
Adam started to laugh until Laura pinched him under the table.
Still, a sense of relief washed over him on the ride home. It was nice to know that he wasn't the only person his kid could be an asshole to, and besides, Mrs. McCowan did look like like a hunchback.
.
"Shit. I actually am really sorry about that one. Forgive me?"
Connie chuckled, reaching over to give his thigh a squeeze.
"Nah. I've just been been pretending to be friends with you for the last 25 years so I can plot my revenge."
"Playing the long game, huh?"
"Yeah, you're going to end up with gum in your hair when you least expect it."
"Well deserved." He agreed, giving his bangs a shake. "Even if my hair is the one thing I have left..."
"I'll make sure you can keep enough for like, a sweet mullet or something."
"Hell yeah. And that's why I've been friends with you for the last 25 years."
A couple of feet away, Guy just shook his head.
"You're going to facilitate his mullet, yet you won't let me get one?"
"I don't have to be seen with Adam."
"You say that now. Laura will have him living in our guest room until it grows back out."
"That is true." Connie sighed, looking at Adam's $100 haircut ruefully. "Fine. I guess no mullets for anybody."
"I think you're secretly dying for us to both get mullets. And to follow you around the whole time, wearing shirts that say 'I'm with her'."
"I think Laura will need you to stay back in Minnesota to help with the kids."
"She can handle a month or two without me. Anything to uh, show you how much you're appreciated."
"He's right. We can have male bonding time. With our matching mullets."
"Jackasses."
"I mean, you can get one of those she-mullets if you want to join. We're pretty awesome..."
"I'm starting to think my mom was right about you."
Guy shook his head.
"And that's why we're staying in Michigan."
"So my mom can't tell you when you're being a dumbass?"
"So your mom can't keep comparing me to Thad."
"Okay, she does ask about him a lot for that to have been a six-week relationship." Connie shook her head. "I think it's because I always brought home the Olive Garden leftovers."
"Remind me to pick up some breadsticks for her next time."
"No kidding. Her love is pretty cheap to buy."
June, 2002
Julie sat next to Adam as they approached Liberty Island, a breeze blowing as Lady Liberty stood watch in the distance.
.
After the previous day's misadventure, they'd decided to come up with a safer activity; one that carried less risk of heat exhaustion and a trip to the ER. Chartering a sailboat to see the Statue of Liberty had sounded like just the right bit of Americana; spacious seating and winds from the harbor a perfect escape from the sauna that threatened to swallow the city.
"This is kind of amazing."
Adam rested against the seat, reality once again hidden beneath McConnell's linen.
"She's very green." He agreed, adjusting his sunglasses as they slid down his nose. "I wonder if her arm gets tired..."
"Dork."
"I feel like her arm gets tired."
"Yeah. That's why they have all of those debates about immigration. They're worried that she's tired."
"It's a valid concern. You try keeping your arm raised about your head for 100 years."
"Okay, yeah, that would be really unpleasant..."
"Seriously." He shook his head, pouring himself another drink from the bottle of champagne sitting nearby. "She should have thought this through. Like, didn't she ever play freeze tag in school? Because I'm pretty sure if she had, she would have picked a more comfortable position."
"Yeah, but it wouldn't really give off the same vibe if she was just sitting on the couch, giving a 'What's up?' nod to everyone as they arrived."
"Less majestic, but way more practical."
Julie sat back, taking another drink of her own champagne as she looked out over the glimmering harbor. Out on the horizon, she could see seagulls diving for lunch.
"You're kind of the greatest, you know..."
"Heh, I figured I needed to take you to do something fun after yesterday's great journey to the ER."
"Come on. If that's not nostalgia, I don't know what is."
"Good point." Adam agreed, his hair wavy with salt spray. "It was weird having to actually give them my name and insurance information, instead of the nurses just giving me the 'what's up' nod."
"They'll know your name and policy number by heart soon enough."
"Very true. I feel like that's hard to achieve in a city the size of New York, but if there's anyone who can do it, it would be me."
"I have full faith in you."
"Thanks."
"Come on, this is you we're talking about." She reminded him, reaching over to pick a stray hair from his shirt. "Like, not even counting hockey, how many other people could have set the microwave on fire in home ec?"
"That wasn't my fault. I think it was faulty wiring or something."
"The aluminum foil didn't help."
"Whatever." He chuckled. "They should have included a warning label."
"Yeah. Like how they should have included a warning label on the Gelsingers' dock?"
"It was really slippery...
"I think the fifth of Captain Morgan played a bigger role."
"Don't forget that there were a few intervening factors." He smirked, recalling that a certain cat lady had been the one to land on top of him that evening; his head apparently the perfect thing to break her fall, and the cartilage in his nose providing a nice resting place for her elbow.
"Okay, yeah, on second thought, those bottles of Captain Morgan should definitely come with a warning label."
"I'm pretty sure they already do."
"Whatever. Your nose was back to looking normal in like, a week."
"You sound like such an abusive husband...I think I'm going to have to go hang out at one of those battered mens' shelters for support. Tell them about how you hurt me."
"Well, maybe if you hadn't started pouring shots at noon."
"You're blaming the victim here."
Julie leaned against his shoulder as they continued to joke about his accident-prone nature and resulting celebrity within emergency departments, concluding that it was only a matter of time until an oil painting of him hung in the ER of Weill Cornell, thanking him for his constant patronage.
.
He hoped that the portrait would be flattering, ideally featuring him from the chest up, and maybe reducing the size of his nose by about 5%.
Really, it's the least they can do...
He contemplated just how many creative liberties he could convince the artist to take; whether slipping a wad of cash would be enough to make the scars along his neck and the slight ridge across his cheek disappear.
Ideally, he realized, the plaque below would specify that 'in addition to the patronage Mr. Banks has provided Weill Cornell, he also has an exceptionally large penis'.
While not true, he couldn't think of too many people who were going to fact check that assertion. And if they were, well, that sounded like a potentially nice time, too. At least, assuming that all of the fact checkers were attractive women.
Julie stood in front of the trophy case, a younger version of herself staring right back.
Things had turned out the way they were supposed to. She couldn't really get around that.
.
She remembered watching the jobs in banking and law dry up in 2007. She remembered old classmates losing their jobs, and the ones who remained seeing the rungs of the career ladder disintegrate in their hands. She remembered how those friends she'd been so envious of-the ones who were able to buy houses at 23 and 24-saw those house values plummet, leaving them underwater on their mortgages for most of the next decade. She understood that even those were the privileged ones. That plenty of friends back in Bangor would never have to worry about the lack of opportunities for advancement at Price-Waterhouse, or dropping house values in the suburbs.
And, of course, there was the fact that there were no great personal tragedies.
At 36, her biggest problem was that her knees could be stiff in the mornings, and that an extra 10 lbs. had slowly settled around her hips; making it so that all of her clothes still fit, but none of them fit right.
That one really was the great annoyance that wouldn't go away-there was no way to justify buying a new wardrobe based on that, so she'd just keep making do with castoffs from the Kohl's clearance rack, telling herself that she'd buy real clothes once she lost that pesky ten pounds. But it had been eight years now, and she hadn't lost an ounce.
Still, in the grand scheme of things, not the biggest problem in the world.
But it all just...
She stared at that photo from the 1999 National Championship, her cheeks still glowing with excitement.
She was going to be the best. She was going to be an amazing doctor-the kind who was revered as a pioneer in the field. She was going to make such a difference. And she was going to do exciting things, too. She wasn't going to be like Connie, dreaming only of granite countertops and a convertible-she was going to go places. Places other than Cancun.
She was going to have lots of exciting friends. They'd do interesting things together-things that people in Maine and Edina had probably never even heard of.
And it was going to be great.
And then real life happened.
June, 2002
"Ah, it's WASP-y Jesus."
"What?"
Adam looked over at Laura, a baguette in one hand and yet another bottle of champagne in the other.
He didn't recall her packing these items, but then again, that was par for the course: Over the history of their relationship, he'd concluded that her single greatest gift was making snacks and alcohol appear out of thin air.
A practical talent if ever there was one.
"Loaves. Champagne. All you're missing is sushi for the trifecta."
"Good point." She nodded, standing there in one of his old button downs. "Sadly, no sushi. So I guess I'm like...Party Jesus?"
"You'd be a very good Party Jesus."
"I do what I can. Plus, it seems less likely to result in crucifixion."
"Yeah, I don't even think the Jews can argue with Party Jesus..." He agreed, reaching for her hand as he guided her down onto his lap. "Plus, you're definitely more pro-Capitalist than the original."
"Reaganomics Party Jesus?"
"Exactly."
Julie shook her head, noting their matching outfits and boat shoes.
.
They'd morphed into one since his accident; a single pink and blobby entity, champagne always on their combined breath.
.
"Okay, yeah, you two were made for one another."
"Don't worry." He assured her. "You can be the saint in charge of like, giving to the poor disabled homos or something."
"So...in other words, people like you?"
"Okay, that's it, no sainthood for you, Cat Lady." Adam chuckled, sitting back as he adjusted Laura on his lap. "At least, not until you get de-clawed."
"Jerk."
"You're the one making fun of the paralyzed guy."
"You do always pick very convenient times to be paralyzed." Laura reminded him, one arm around his waist as she took another drink. "I feel like it mostly comes up when you're in trouble for being cantankerous, or when you want me to get up and fix you another drink or something."
"Want to be an even more lovely Party Jesus fix me a gin and tonic?"
Laura laughed.
"I think I want to become a lesbian."
"Yeah, but then who would open jars?"
"You can't open jars."
"Heh, good point." He shrugged, leaning forward to give her a kiss on the cheek. "Going gay probably would be a net-positive in your case."
"It really would. I should go get a job. Start saving up for a Subaru."
"Larson's mom always drove a Subaru..."
"Larson has probably turned quite a few women gay over the years."
"Yeah, come to think of it, his high school girlfriend did get really into softball after she met him."
Laura nodded, leaning back into Adam's lap.
"Playing Magic: The Gathering with a guy who sleeps on Ninja Turtle bedsheets will do that."
"So true." He shook his head. "And it's like, a sneak attack, too. They think they're getting a normal dude. And then boom, they find the Ninja Turtle bedsheets."
"And then they go out for the softball team."
"Exactly."
"Hampden-Sydney's least datable..."
"I'm so hoping you don't think any of those guys are datable."
"Don't worry." She giggled, reaching back for his hand. "I'm not leaving you for any of them. No matter how good they say they are at opening jars."
"Bastards are probably lying anyway. Their little handbook probably just tells them that they can impress girls by saying that they know how to open jars. Hand them a jar of mustard, and they're as fucked as I am."
"I like the specificity of this plan."
"They're picking up girls from all-girls' schools." He reminded her, his fingers entwined with hers as Lady Liberty neared. "In that context, I feel like the ability to open jars is really something you want to lead with. That and like, prowess around a barbecue grill. And ability to kill spiders. Important stuff like that."
"You're...not good at any of those things."
"Neither are most of them. But you didn't realize what a loser I was until it was too late."
"Good point."