"You're a man of many moods, Jimmy," Greg said while ignoring the butter and syrup dripping down his chin. "Taking into account what you have told me here today, and your rather sordid history, I have to say that in more than a few ways, you're more fucked up than I am."

"Thank you, Dr. Drug Addict," I said, the words coming out sharp enough to saw through the table.

"You're welcome, Dr. Brokeback," he retorted without missing a beat. "Your juvenile name-calling is doing nothing to restore that little innocent Jewish boy image you so like to project on the unsuspecting world. Did you turn to me because all the girls got sick and tired of hearing you whine about your divorces?"

"No. Why do you have to make everything sound so perverted?"

"Did you even tell them you're divorced? Probably not," he continued with no sign of slowing down. Once he gets started, the only way to stop him is...impossible. "I think I've figured it out. After the papers were signed, the property was divided and the dust finally settled, you realized I'm the only friend you have left. Not all that many people will take an admitted adulterer in, no matter gosh-darn cute he is, will they?. You found that out the hard way. Now it seems you want go another round. A regular glutton for punishment, you are."

"I said I couldn't promise it. That doesn't mean I actually will."

"It doesn't mean you won't either. Here's another piece of advice: you better stop feeling sorry for yourself and make up your mind about what you want real damn quick. Because I'm losing my patience with you, and, I'm going to say this once, you walk out that door, you're not coming back. Ever." He meant every single word of it. The solemness of those words dripped down the walls.

"You said you couldn't promise either," I said pointedly.

"I'm not going to kick myself out of my own apartment," he replied. "I have nothing lose. But I hope a roll in the hay with some bimbo in a pink thong is worth it, Jimmy." With that he finished off his breakfast and carried his plate to the sink. Then he turned and threw the plate into the wall where it shattered into a jumbled pile of shards. A piece flew over and cut his cheek. He didn't seem to notice. I was frozen in place, couldn't move a muscle. He probably would have hit me if I did. "You fucking selfish prick," Greg hissed, a trickle of blood dripping onto the floor. "I should have known I was just another one of your toys. Now you're tired of me and want another plaything. You son-of-a-bitch. It's nice to know what our friendship means to you." He stalked out of the kitchen. A few seconds later, the bedroom door slammed.

I spent an ungodly amount of time staring into the soggy remains of my pancakes. I had done it again–hurt the person I cared about most. This was the perfect time to really hate myself. I cried into the table, tears puddling all over the surface.

Eventually I got myself together, scraped the pancake remains into the trash and washed the plate. Thankfully I still had some clothes hanging in the closet of the spare bedroom. By the time I left for the hospital–nearly ninety minutes late–Greg still hadn't come out of the bedroom.


There are times when it becomes completely necessary to shed all your troubles and concentrate on the task at hand. My patients deserve my full undivided attention and I gave it to them. Why I can't do that for anyone else is still a mystery. Unfortunately I can't skip to the last page to find out. My heart felt like it was being twisted by an invisible fist, but I gave my everything, and that's something to be proud of, as sad as that may sound. Needless to say, I didn't really feel like patting myself on the back when I climbed into the Volvo and drove back to 221B.

Greg never showed up for work.

I was honestly surprised to find the curb empty of trashbags full of my stuff. I stood at the door, expecting the locks to be changed. Holding all my things hostage while I camped out in my office with nothing but the clothes on my back and Chicken McNuggets for dinner. Another surprise, the key slipped into the lock and turned easily, just like always.

No lights, I fumbled for the lightswitch. No television, no piano, no radio. Completely quiet. I glanced into the kitchen as I walked past. The shattered remains of the plate still littered the floor.

The bedroom door was still closed but unlocked. I quietly pushed it open, waiting for the smack of the cane across my legs that never came. Lord knows I deserved it and the bruises that would come along for free, but I'm still glad it didn't materialize.

Light from the hallway stretched into the room and I could see Greg asleep on top of the covers, still wearing his pajama bottoms and tee shirt from the night before. The ghostly glow from the hallway made him look pale and gaunt, hollowed out circles under his eyes. If I didn't know any better, I'd have to say I hadn't been the only one who cried today.

I stepped to the bedside lamp and switched it on, then settled on the edge of the bed as he stirred. The scratch on his cheek was now a dried red-brown. He regarded me for a few moments with a combination of sleepiness and icy detachment as he narrowed his eyes.

"Your suitcases are in still in the spare bedroom," he said with his usual apathy, propping up on his elbow.

"I'm not going anywhere," I said.

"Really. No candy-stripers to take the poor doctor in? Has Doctor Midas lost his golden touch? That must be devastating for you, no panting girls to wrap around your finger."

"I'm sorry." Ignoring his sarcasm was getting tougher by the second.

"For what?"

"Everything."

"Are you now."

"I wouldn't be here if I wasn't."

A trace of genuine seriousness and caring crept into his voice and expression. "You came back for a reason, but it's going to take more than a half-assed apology to convince me you're truly sincere in what you came back for."

"You may have nothing to lose, but I sure as hell do," I said as my voice began to waver. "Our friendship means everything to me, its all I have left, and if I lose that then I have nothing."