Author's Note: I love Gordon's character, especially after the movie. I loved his presence, and the very fact of his existence. I hope this story fulfills my goals for a good drama froma character we've so seldom acknowledge. I hope I'm able to hit your heart as much as Gordon has hit mine. Enjoy reading. Thank you.

Reviews are welcomed, commentary encouraged, criticism highly appreciated. I hold much gratitude from every comment I receive.

My Dignity

Gordon Reed's Memoir

I have never intended to write a memoir and this, I can safely say, will be my first time writing an actual story. True, I had always regarded diaries, journals, autobiographies as a pathetic attempt to glorify the misfortunes of the past. But life moves on and circumstances change. And when you do need to turn to something to confide in, this doesn't sound half bad. I don't like calling it a memoir, but Webster has clearly defined it as that, so I must oblige.

I've always relied on intellect.

The only good thing that comes out when something begins to go for the worst is its eventual end.

The story began yesterday. We were coming back from a long break for Independence day, but more than half just wanted to return to their fireworks, constantly blaming the weather for the "accidental" explosions that seemed to have found its way in the neighbor's lawn. I, on the other hand, couldn't wait to sit back in my little drawing room and do the only thing I knew how. I was completely content being back at work as an alternative to sitting alone at home, eating Chinese takeout.

I walked into our workroom and greeted everyone with an enthusiastic welcome as they muttered back their less-than-hearty hellos.

"You're in a happy mood," said Alysha, standing from her desk.

"Yeah well, it's nice to be here," I responded. I noticed her rolling her eyes, but smiling at my comment. We walked to my cubicle and discussed about what she wanted drawn on her pages. She said the Village Voice wasn't experimenting with a lot of red, so I made a mental note to include it more for the other editors. It wasn't long until our editor-in-chief interjected with an "important announcement." Between you and me, his idea of an "important announcement" was him finding a quarter in the change slot of the pay phone.

"This will only take a minute, guys," said Andrew, as several gathered around him and a new guy. The rest popped their head over their compartment walls. Alysha and I left my workspace and walked up to them. "I would like to introduce to you Steven Rodriguez, your new Graphics and Technology Editor."

A lazy applause surfaced from the indolent staff. Steven tried to hide his grin as Andrew said, "I know you can do better than that."

"Yeah, Rodriguez! You the man!" I cheered, punching the air. A more excited round of applause, and a few laughs, followed.

"That's Gordon Reed, the best Illustrator we've ever had," said Andrew. We shook hands. He had a rough-edge look, dark eyes and black, curly hair. He looked laid-back, the opposite of how I was. Nonetheless, his grin told me that he would be more eager than most of the reporters here. "You two will be working together a lot. Gordon, that cubicle in front of yours? Show it to him. Show him the ropes."

"No problem," I said. I took him to his corner office. A few people greeted him warmly on the way, and he received them quietly. I patted the brick-colored wall of his compartment. "She's all yours."

He looked around the empty space, which only contained a desk and a computer. He didn't say anything for a while, which kind of worried me. I asked him if there was anything he needed to knock on my wall, and I'd be right over. I told him the programs required were already installed and that I would be giving him things frequently to scan and design. I would show him how to paste pages later. He murmured a quick thank you and I went back to my desk.

It wasn't until half an hour later when Andrew returned with another announcement.

"Remember, the Red Cross is receiving blood donations and I volunteered the Village Voice to participate. So, the more people give, the more I look good."

"You going?" asked Alysha, sticking her head in.

"Yeah," I said, slipping in a few more drawings into a manila folder and getting up to give Steven his first assignments. "Are you?"

"I can't stand needles," she said following me to him. I smiled and handed him the folder. He looked confused as he accepted it.

"Each illustration is marked with a page number and a section along with the editor's surname. They need to be scanned, in their proper formats, 170 resolutions. Sizes are included as well," I said.

"Giving him a lot to do on his first day, huh?" Alysha asked looking at him admiringly. I smiled.

"Welcome to the business, Steven," I said.

He grinned. "Call me Steve."

"Are you going to the Red Cross, Steve?" asked Alysha.

He shook his head. "No, I can't. I-" He quickly looked down and turned back to his desk. "I can't."

"That's alright. Maybe we all can catch lunch later," I said. Alysha nodded excitedly and I laughed. We set back to work, trying to get our stories and templates done before the deadline. A lot needed to be done and I still needed a story idea and a photo layout.

When our lunch hour finally arrived, Alysha and I, and a bunch of others, took Steve out to the Life Cafe to get to know everyone. He was kind of a reserved guy, so we did a lot of the talking. I didn't mind it much. I loved to talk and goof around. We asked him some questions to get to know him better. He said he had lived in the Village for some time, but I had never seen him around. He had dropped out of grad school and went from job to job, writing a few articles, but it wasn't enough to make ends meat. So he took a few computer classes, lectures, anything he can find, even though it was taking out more from his wallet than he expected. He became more comfortable as he opened up. As the lunch hour ended, he seemed to have broken himself in for I saw him holding Alysha's hand as we headed out the door.

For the rest of the day, I worked on my cartoon spread template, even though I had no theme, no ideas, no drawings. But I usually pulled through in the end. It was one of those things where inspiration struck at the most opportune moments. Only, my opportune moments treaded near deadlines when Andrew pulled off most his hair. I actually found it amusing. He would be going crazy and jumping off walls because I would have nothing but the headline three hours before we went to print. The next week, he would be praising me as his Illustrator God.

I thought he was bipolar.

I headed to the local hospital after work to donate blood. The nurse handed me a form containing 25 or so general questions. Things like how I felt today and if I traveled out of the country for the past couple years. I happily circled no for most of them, and tempted to circle yes on the question, "Have you ever had a pregnancy?"

I didn't. I figured the doc wouldn't take my blood if I did. Being pregnant is a very serious thing. Especially for men.

I didn't have to wait long before they took me in. The doctor asked if the nurses gave me a quick check-up. I told him they didn't. He sighed, but smiled.

"They don't pay us enough here," he said, "You think they're trying to tell me something?"

I laughed and he took my temperature. He asked me about my health and lifestyle, if I had been feeling ill lately. I said I had been feeling a bit flu-ish, but I worked for a local magazine and was always under stress. He took my pulse and blood pressure, and he asked about family health, past health.

"I come from a perfectly healthy family," I said confidently. It was true. My parents were still alive, both reaching the age of 70. No one smoked in my family. Mom always kept a nutritious meal on the table. He nodded and pricked my finger with a fingerstick, taking a few drops of my blood. He said it was standard procedure, to see if I had enough red blood cells. He left the room.

A while later, he came back. "Mr. Reed, I'm sorry for any inconvenience, but if you would please drop in a few days-"

"Few days? Is something wrong?" I tried not to panic. It was difficult plastering a smile on when inside, you just want to go hysterical. But, this was something you wouldn't expect the doctor to say after he's taken your blood. I knew there had to be something wrong. And I wasn't going to let some medical degree beat around the bush. As calmly as I possibly could, I persisted, "What's wrong?"

He looked at me gravely. It was an expression you'd only see if someone was about to die or something. "You have a low count of red blood cells, but we need more time to establish a complete diagnosis."

My heart skipped a few beats. How could that be? I tried to trace every known disease I could have acquired from family, from anything, but I couldn't reach to anything. "What do you think I have?" I asked desperately.

"I can't tell you that without a complete report," he said.

"Well, what kind of diseases counts for low red blood cells?" I demanded.

"There are many, the most common being anemia, a blood disorder where the cells are destroyed prematurely. I don't know for sure, but if you just go home, get a good night's rest, and try to go on with your day normally...please, the more you worry, the more you dig yourself into your own grave...metaphorically speaking," he quickly added as my eyes widened. "Please, come back on Thursday."

I left speechless, clueless of how this could possibly happen. I had tried to live a healthy life and I never dig drugs. I struggled to find a likely reason for it, but my thoughts were leading me nowhere. I walked around the neighborhood for a while until night reached. The street lamps flickered on and I felt the night chill approaching. I turned the corner and headed home. As I reached my apartment, I slumped onto the sofa. How could I be sick?

"Gordon, is everything okay?" Kellie walked out of the bedroom, and sat beside me, back from her week-long holiday at her parents. I sighed and straightened up, looking into her grey eyes. Her hair was in curls and she was already in her nightgown. She looked so beautiful; I couldn't let her down now.

"Everything's fine," I said, "Let's get to bed." All night, I tried to convince myself that everything was going to be alright. Maybe the disease was curable, or maybe the doctor made a mistake. I wrapped my arm around Kellie's waist, drawing her closer to me. She laid her head on my chest and I slept, loving the fragrance of her shampoo. She was beside me. She reminded me that as long as I had her, I knew I would pull through in the end.