Abby: Strangers
I haven't spoken to John since I asked him to leave, and despite seeing him at work, I pretend that I don't know him, which is sort of hard, since we have been in a relationship for a year and we are on the same shift. He has been a bit different at work, more reserved, quieter then usual. It's not like I am watching him – but I can't help noticing those little details. I haven't really begun to accept what has happened between us, because I just can't do it right now. I have too many things to deal with other then our relationship. Our relationship, if one can still call it that, does not involve filing scholarship applications in order to achieve it, so it is in the last place right now as far as I am concerned. Last night I went through my usual breakup ritual of watching "Pretty Woman" with a tub of Rocky Road thoroughly salted by tears, so I guess that I am definitely on the way to becoming a single woman again. John did not call me names, but breaking up with him somehow hurt more than Luka's harsh words. With Luka, it was easier. We traded insults, he told me what was on his mind, we parted and at least one of us, me, the person I cared about in our relationship, was fine. With John, I have a feeling I cannot explain, a feeling of betrayal I didn't have with Luka. I am not sure whose betrayal it was, his or mine, but I am not sure I can have a civil conversation with him any time soon, which is not very good, since we need to have it sooner or later, the sooner the better.
With John, I have been much more open in some ways than I have been with Luka, but in some ways, I was even more closed off. I think I shielded him from my family too much, in a way. John has known Maggie and Eric when they were on the best behaviors, of course excepting the time Maggie went and tried to rid the world of herself on the way back from Oklahoma. I might sound harsh when I say this, but ever since I came from school one day in 1983 and had to do CPR on her when she tried to asphyxiate herself with gasoline fumes, I feel that I have earned the right to be harsh about her attempts to die. I suspect that Maggie probably played some role in the failure of that strange almost-proposal that I was treated to by John, and Eric's performance at the funeral definitely was the nail in the coffin of our romance, no disrespect intended to Mrs. Carter. Needless to say, my family intervened in my personal life yet again, with the usual disastrous circumstances. Luka had been cool, polite and mostly collected with my mother during her crazed episodes, or at least it seemed so to me, and after being initially disgusted with his apparent coldness about Oklahoma, I am sharing his viewpoint now. They are adults, and I will not take care of them anymore, however it will hurt me. They betrayed me then, shut me out of their little circle of madness, and I have not completely forgiven them. Unless Maggie shows a sign that she has really changed, I will always feel a little bit indifferent and spiteful when she will be up to her old behaviors, but Eric… Eric I will forgive with time.
I visited him yesterday before my date with Richard Gere and ice cream. He was his usual hyper self, and made my headache even worse. I brought him candy and listened to him rant about sex and meds, bit at my nails until my fingers hurt and then kissed him on the cheek and went home, ready to forget that there ever was a time I thought of being Mrs. Carter. I don't know if men realize that the childish ritual of writing your name with his last name persists even when you are old enough to have kids – we women are all such fucking romantic teenage girls at heart. I still have the little scraps of paper with "Abigail Lockhart" scribbled on them from college – hey, it was better then Abigail Marjorie Wyszenski. The scraps of paper with "Abigail Carter" are going into the box with the many Lockharts, Marzynskys (so glad that one did not work out) and Kovaès, along with lesser names that warranted only one or two signatures. When I will get home, I'll continue last night's pity party by renting all movies with great breakups that will come to mind, inviting Jenny from Accounting over – she just broke up with the hot but dim-witted paramedic from Station 48 - and sobbing my heart out over the beautiful breakups of the beautiful people.
My breakups have always been less then beautiful, but still worthy of a movie, or so I think. When I left Richard I broke most of his plates in spite. It is perhaps for the better that Luka and I were not in his or my apartment for our breakup, because otherwise, plates might have flown. It is strange how you get insight into reasons for your breakups two years later, when you can do absolutely nothing about them but feel contrite for your own contribution to the breakup. This particular breakup has been on my mind lately, and I have been thinking it over in order to avoid thinking of John. The summer of 2001 had been a good one, full of quiet dinners, moonlight walks and everything that made me happy yet in the fall both Luka and I exploded at each other and it was all over. I guess we both just held back too much. It's the problem I have yet to find a solution to. It seemed to me that I was open with John and vice versa, but little did I know, and the same old story repeated itself yet again – we hid too much of our proverbial dirty laundry away and then it all blew up in our faces just when we least expected it. It's the oldest relationship mistake there is, probably, but I keep committing it over and over, just as the men I am with. Maybe I should write a book. Maybe I will finally solve the main problem of modern relationships and I will be rich and famous and happy. Yeah, right.
I have come to a conclusion last night, that did explain something about myself, however unpleasant it might have been. When I was breaking up with Luka, I wanted John, and now, when I am breaking up with John, I want Luka. I am never satisfied with what I have, and I always strive to be with someone else, but then I am confronted with the principle of "you don't know what you've got until you lose it." I always strive for something that I cannot keep. I am not sure what it spells out for the future – being back with John after trying to imagine that the last month never happened or waiting for Luka to come back so I can try to understand what I refused to understand before, or maybe even a completely new man in the "Abby and Significant Other" equation.
I felt much better this morning after having a good cry last night. Crying really works sometimes – the pain that you feel inside pours out of you and makes you tired, puts you to sleep so you can begin to forget the reason for your tears. I took a nice long hot shower, had a long breakfast and even curled my hair a little bit to look prettier. I managed to get my mood up, and was ready to drown myself in work to allow my mind to get off the topic of breakups. Unfortunately, to my chagrin, today's shift seems to be the slowest in recent memory. For some reason, the citizens of Chicago are all healthy, not drunk and the fate apparently is being merciful to them, because all we have in the waiting room are a couple of frequent fliers and a businesswoman who sprained her toe, who has been already given to Pratt. I've done everything I could do, and now I am hiding from Susan, who has been giving me strange looks all shift. John has not returned from his lunch break for the last three hours, so I am a happy camper, at least for now.
"Nurse Abby?" a voice beckons from somewhere above my front seat view of several years worth of City of Chicago phonebooks. I narrow my eyes and prepare to switch into polite bitch mode. Yeah, it's really obvious I'm a fucking nurse. I am wearing nurse scrubs, which are worn by every other nurse in this hospital as well. Is it necessary to emphasize it? I look up with my controlled frown and see Luka's friend from med school – Dr. Horvat, I think. A quick glance at her recalls the details I noted earlier - she is about as tall as I am, but her hair's naturally blonde and curly, and she seems perky, probably trying to balance out my misery. "And she's been a doctor since you were in high school," a pesky little voice in my mind adds.
"Yes?" I ask tersely, daring her to get to the point.
"I just wanted to talk to you before I left - I've got to leave right now or the State Department will make Ante leave, with or without me."
"Ah," I say, still not really sure why she wants to talk to me. After an awkward pause, I remember that I should say something with more then one syllable in order to appear polite.
"How is Ante doing?" I ask, trying to make small talk. I've seen the little boy once or twice when Luka asked me to bring some toys he bought at the gift shop up to his room, and he seemed like a nice little kid.
"He's doing great!" she exclaims happily. "He has been doing much better since the operation, and I am certain that he will be able to lead a normal, healthy life now. It's amazing how surgery can change a life – one of the reasons me and Lu- I became a surgeon. Oh, I almost forgot - when you see Doctor Carter, can you thank him for me? I've been trying to find him now, but I've been told that he's out to lunch-"
I manage to keep an expression that does not scream "breakup in progress" and nod. She obviously doesn't notice my forced smile and continues "- he has been such a Godsend along with Luka. He helped to persuade the State Department to let Ante stay for the period of time I felt was necessary for him to get healthy enough to travel safely, and he helped us with the tickets back. It's good to know there are still good people left."
Right now I don't feel anything but numb anger towards Carter, and even his good deeds in Congo and here are not going to make me feel any different about him, at least for a while. I manage a smile and nod again. Dr. Horvat probably thinks I have laryngitis since I have only gotten one multi-syllable utterance out of myself in the last five minutes. I snap out of my little pity bubble and see her looking at me expectantly. Shit, she must have said something while I spaced out.
"Uh, sorry, I had a little brain freeze here for a moment – what did you say?" I mutter, feeling quite stupid.
"I just asked you if you could give something to Luka – I thought I would leave it in his apartment, but I forgot, and now I don't think I will have time to go back." I see a large envelope in her hand and I notice that she looks both nervous and composed at the same time.
I mull over the proposition. I am not sure if I should – I have not even really been friends with Luka this past year, but still, it could give me an excuse to talk to him when he comes back. I decide on accepting it and nod.
"I'll give it to him when he gets back," I say, thinking about that far-off time, and suddenly realizing I don't know when, or if, Luka is getting back.
"Thank you so much – I brought them with me from Croatia and intended to give them to him but they totally slipped my mind with Ante needing surgery earlier then we thought and with Luka leaving," she says, still holding the envelope and not giving it to me. I can see that she is trying to decide something, and wait, wondering what the mysterious "they" are.
"Do you have a moment for a cup of coffee?" she asks all of a sudden, and I am surprised, because I have no idea what she would want to talk to me about, but I decide to just go with the flow and nod. I look around for someone to tell where I am going in case Weaver needs me urgently (which usually happens when I try to eat lunch), and see Chuny chatting up Jenny's former paramedic.
"Chuny, if Weaver is looking for me, can you tell her I am taking my lunch break?" She answers in the affirmative and continues wooing her new conquest, who looks a bit dazed. I join Dr. Horvat and we walk past the charred remains of Doc Magoo's to a new coffee place I've been to once. It strives to be something akin to a cozy European coffeehouse, and at this time of day is crammed with various students arguing the finer points of caffeine and Wittgenstein. I feel somewhat out of place in my scrubs, but Dr. Horvat does not seem to be intimidated and bravely pushes through the students, quickly finding a table with two chairs in a corner. A young man in a skintight T-shirt and pants that are really too small for him comes up to us and takes our order. I order an ice coffee. She orders strong coffee of the kind that would probably give a caffeine overdose to most Americans, and I am once again reminded of Luka. I have not thought of him lately – in fact, I have been trying to erase him from mind ever since I got together with John. I thought that if I eradicated all traces of past affection, the relationship with John would work. However, when I found out that he was leaving for Congo, he seemed to be the foremost thing on my mind after Eric, above John, and I suddenly realized that I have not erased the memory of him as well as I hoped, and he was still there, still in my heart, the heart that has been getting quite crowded these days. I suddenly knew that I needed to say something to him, but all that I wanted to say to him seemed inadequate, and when he hugged me I just did not want to let go, just wanted to keep on holding on to him, smelling his cologne, maybe twirling a strand of his hair around the tip of my finger, doing something not appropriate for a woman in a long-term relationship with prospects of marriage.
"Abby?" Shoot, I must have spaced out again. Dr. Horvat must think I am falling asleep on her with all of the spacing out I have been doing in front of her today.
"Sorry, Dr. H-"
"No, no, don't be sorry. I am prone to occasional deep thinking myself. And please, call me Gordana." The young man returns with coffee, and we drink our coffee, looking at each other and thinking - me wondering why she wants to talk to me, and she perhaps gathering her thoughts.
"Well, you're probably wondering why I wanted to talk to you," she begins, apparently reading my mind. "Well… to tell you the truth, I was not sure if I wanted to talk to you at first, but I- well, I have ears and eyes, and my guess is that you and Luka were together."
I just sit there, slightly bewildered, staring at my ice coffee as if it will explain to me what is going on. Gordana notices my confusion, and continues.
"I am sorry, I know this is probably none of my business, but sometimes I really cannot stay out of other people's affairs, especially when my friends are concerned. I talked with him, and heard some things around the hospital, and I just wanted to say that – well, I can claim that I know him well, or that at least that I used to know him well. Luka's a great guy, but he can do very stupid things. If he did something stupid that caused you pain, I'm sure he felt very guilty over it afterwards."
I don't know what to say, so I remain silent, sipping the ice coffee through the straw and wincing when my teeth begin to hurt from the cold. What can I say to her? What does she want me to say? What is there to say about that awful night when we called each other names?
"He was- he was so happy," Gordana says suddenly and I look up at her, startled. She is looking down on her hands, pulling on a string sticking out from the seam of her jeans, and I can feel that she is trying to find words for something that can't really be described verbally, something for which you had to have been there. I know how she feels – there have been so many times in my life that I could not express something in words and it just stayed inside and ate away at me.
"He- he never told me much about himself," I suddenly blurt, surprising the hell out of myself. Where did this come from?
She laughs, and her laugh is short and sad, without any joy in it.
"That's Luka. If he doesn't want to tell you something you'd have to either be his mother, his wife or his daughter to get it out of him, and they are all dead."
I cringe slightly when she states it so matter-of-factly, because now I have to think about Luka being someone else, Luka before me, before Chicago, Luka as a son, a husband and a father, three roles that I have never encountered him in, three roles in which he succeeded while I had failed to be a daughter, a wife and a mother. Gordana still seems to be far away, her hand clutching the cup so hard that her knuckles have gone white.
"See, to truly understand him," she continues, "you have to understand that he has not always been so cold. You should have seen his face when he played with Jasna. He was a good father and a good husband – it was his life. He was a happy man. He was going to die together with Danijela at an old age. And then the fucking war came and in one moment everything was gone." The cup begins to shake in her hand and she puts it down because the coffee is spilling out on her hand. "I'm sorry. I really shouldn't be talking about this-" she mutters, grabbing a napkin from the table and dabbing it at her eyes.
"Can I see a picture of her?" I say, once again surprising myself. What is it with me today? Who the hell is this woman who actually wants to know about the ghosts in her relationship, who drinks coffee with a stranger instead of making up with her boyfriend? I have no idea, except I feel that this surreal conversation is somehow happening at the right place and the right time, for a reason that I cannot understand but it still needs to happen for both mine and Gordana's sake. Gordana looks up at me, her mascara slightly smudged, and smiles, this time without any sadness.
"Of course." She rummages through her purse and pulls out a photograph out of what seems to be her address book. I take it carefully and look at it, wondering what the stranger who has been my unconscious rival for a year once upon a time, the ghost I accused Luka of being married to, had looked like. The colors are a little bit faded, but the faces are clear, and I know that the woman with curly dark hair who looks a little bit like Carol Hathaway is her, Danijela. She sits in what appears to be a hospital bed, looking young, tired and somehow deeply content, looking at the man sitting in a chair next to the bed who is holding what seems to be a bundle of sheets with a tiny pink face peering out. I look closer at the man, who is (her or mine or no one's?) Luka, twenty years younger, lanky and way too skinny. He is looking at the little face in the sea of white sheets, whom I assume to be his daughter, with an expression that makes something break inside of me, because I remember a positive pregnancy test and a long, drunken night of deciding and undeciding and deciding again, baby names scribbled on the pages of my textbook and crossed out again.
I commit the two faces to memory and hand it back to her, our hands colliding over the table. We both laugh nervously and remember that we have finished drinking our coffee. Gordana digs into her bag and takes out the envelope again.
"Almost forgot, again. Here – I almost forgot to give them to you. I'm lucky that my head is attached to me, I'd forget it otherwise." I accept the thick envelope from her and hold it in my hand, not sure what to say. We smile nervous smiles at each other, and get up from the table, leaving the money for coffee, fighting our way out through the students. Once we are outside, my pager begins to beep, and I don't even bother looking, knowing that it is Kerry attempting to locate me in order to make me alphabetize nurse schedules, or do something equally annoying.
"Good-bye, Dr. H- Gordana," I say, and stand there, not sure what to do now. Gordana looks at me, hesitates, and finally grasps my hand in a firm handshake.
"Bye, Abby." Soon, we have parted and are walking in different directions – she is off to the left, going to Records, probably, and I am walking back to the ER, holding a mysterious envelope in my hand and still feeling like the conversation with Gordana has been a strange hallucination. Just as I turn into the ambulance bay, I come face to face with John, who has apparently found his way back from lunch break, and he looks like he wants to talk…
A/N: So, here it is, the long-overdue next chappie of Resurrection. Please forgive the long break – I had writer's block, Arabic language summer school, a family vacation that had not gone smoothly, and a stressful last semester at college. I am not sure if Abby is in character – I have stopped watching ER a while ago, and my Faulknerian approach to writing long fics sometimes makes my brain hurt, because attempting to characterize everyone right when I only know one character well is really hard. Since I am already about to break down with all the angsting I am doing over my thesis, I will not make much improvement to the fic if I mischaracterize someone, so please be forewarned that I will not be ignoring any criticism on purpose – I will try to correct any glaring errors in the future when the thesis from hell is finished.