Chapter 2- Cold Feet
I had no real concept of what time it was other than to know it was way too early for me to be awake. Daylight was still streaming through the window and I lay on my back with my arm across my eyes to block it out. It felt like streams consisting of hundreds of tiny daggers in my eyes. I swallowed and noticed how dry my mouth and throat were; I hoped for Uhura's sake I hadn't been snoring, that just seemed uncalled for. Outside I could hear lots of voices shouting in unison and it reminded me of military videos showing men doing drills, all in perfect alignment like dominoes and moving in step with everyone else with perfect timing as though they all shared a brain. That level of conformity always creeped me out.
I sat up slightly to see Uhura peacefully sleeping on her side. My head swam fantastically with light and color, so I gently put my head back on the pillow and made a mental note not to make any sudden moves. To distract myself, I lay there and thought about the bizarre set up Jim had hatched in order to make my presence on his ship legitimate to his superiors.
The deception bothered me somewhat, but if I was honest with myself it was disturbing because of who my accomplice was. While McCoy could at times be charming when he wanted to be, he had a reputation as Thor the God of Thunder for good reason. I had come to admire his skill and knowledge as well as the passion and dedication with which he approached medicine, but in reality I knew very little about him in the way of personal information. Even if I had, I was very comfortable with him at arm's length in a professional capacity. Getting at the center of McCoy just felt like sticking your bare hand into a beehive. There may be honey deep down in there, but you would suffer greatly while you dug for it.
Beyond that, I wondered about my exact marital status. On the walk back to the dorms, Jim assured me that this was all just bureaucratic bullshit required by Starfleet Command and he wasn't going to file the actual paperwork required to make us legally married, he was only going to inform Starfleet Personnel that I was McCoy's domestic partner. Essentially it amounted to adding my name to his file as the person to contact in case of an emergency, he explained. To them it would look like we were married when in reality we were free to go our separate ways, legally speaking. "Don't worry," He slurred, "you are no more married than me. 'Sides, I don't think Bones would be in a hurry to get back on that horse. Heh!" His laugh was almost desperate, indicating that McCoy had once been married but it had somehow ended very badly.
Then that started the ball rolling regarding my last name. Obviously Collins was my married name, and that was what everyone called me. I didn't make them say the whole tongue twister for the sake of expediency, but should I really still be using it? Or wearing my wedding band? To be so cavalier about discarding them felt somehow disrespectful to the man which they represented, but how long should I let his ghost haunt me? How long should I hold on to his memory as though it happened yesterday when in fact it was ages ago? Except it wasn't, and I felt sick at not being upset by it. The reality was I was again single and it felt vaguely exciting to be free, but it wasn't like being married was by any means bondage. From what I could recall, he was a good man and I was happy. The problem was, it had no context of meaning anymore. Like an abstract painting by Picasso that sort of resembles a person in some way, but you have to work at recognizing the disjointed angles and lines that comprise the form as such. The truth was, I really felt nothing floating on my back in the sea of ambiguity while gazing at the grey sky.
I rolled onto my side and watched as the shadow of people's feet passed beyond the door of Uhura's room. The sound of muffled voices came and went, each drifting off into the stillness of the unoccupied hallway until the next person broke the silence. I became aware of the discomfort that stirred in my mind. Time seemed to go fast and intolerably slow all at the same time. I was glad to be back on Earth while wanting nothing more than to run back to the ship and blast off back into space. I wasn't sure why, but it felt like my life was falling apart just as I had found new purpose. Perhaps I was afraid that this all really was a dream and I would awaken to find myself back in my ordinary life. Maybe I was scared that Jim couldn't really find a plausible excuse to get me back on the ship and I would be left behind.
It was strange, but I recognized it all as anxiety and the label alone made me feel better. If I had a diagnosis, I could apply a cure. What I needed was a clear direction as well as closure. What I needed was to travel back to Chicago and say goodbye. I simply couldn't live in both worlds in two different times. I had to make a choice to embrace one and forever let go of the other for the sake of my own sanity least I end up with a split personality in an effort to maintain both realities. I wasn't exactly sure how I would go about it all, but I knew that was what I had to do just as sure as I knew that I had a hangover.