Suggested Listening: "52 Cards" - Peasant
Take Your Time
~Fifty-Two Pickup~
A thin, orange line of light seeped in under the closed curtains from the streetlamp outside. Otherwise, the only lights in the room came from the machines my dad was hooked up to while he slept calmly, like his heart hadn't just tried to give out on him.
Then, there were the sounds: the nurses in the hallway, the grumpy patient next door, the dinner carts rolling by, the endless clicking of machines –
The creaking of a door.
I shifted in the uncomfortable, straight-backed chair I was sitting in, and looked away from my father's restful expression for the first time.
A man's shape was silhouetted in the doorway. The sudden influx of fluorescent light made my eyes sting; I had no idea how long I had been sitting in the dark.
"Mihael? Are you in here?" It was Nicolai. A tension in my shoulders that I'd scarcely been aware of melted like snow under the gradual warming of spring – not like the violent fissure of ice separating from its mother glacier and plummeting to the sea below. Though, I hadn't ruled that out yet. I was still waiting for the other shoe to fall.
As the silence stretched thin, I replied: "Yeah." My voice sounded raw.
"Why are you sitting here in the dark?"
"I'm supervising him while he sleeps to make sure he doesn't try to pull a fast one and run away." My dry comment didn't quite cover up what I really meant to say, which was: "I'm watching him sleep to make sure he doesn't die."
Nicolai was the oldest; he understood responsibility. He was also cool enough to not acknowledge my vulnerability. "Mom's outside, talking to the doctor."
"Is she okay?"
"Oh, she's fine. She's managing things the way she usually does. I can't say the same for the doctor, though. Mom seems to be overwhelming him with her questions."
As I followed Nicolai out into the hallway, I saw that he was right. Down the hall, the doctor was explaining the diagram that he had shown me earlier, after my father's stent operation; whereas I had soaked in the information mutely, my mother was stabbing the paper with her finger as if to punctuate each question she was flinging at the doctor. I saw her lips forming the words and replayed the memory of the doctor saying them in my mind: aneurysm, artery, blockage, and ventricle… I had learned those terms in my biology classes in high school, and I had been able to parrot back their definitions like a good, little honour student. That's how fucking surreal they still felt to me.
None of this felt real.
I focused on my mother. Outwardly, she appeared controlled and task-oriented – but her eyes were wild. She would be okay, though. She would be strong for us, if not for herself; she was ever the rock of our family. I knew she wouldn't cry until she was alone with Dad.
Turning my head, I peered in the other direction down the hallway.
"The girls are with Francine in the cafeteria," Nicolai said, as if he could read my mind.
My jaw clenched involuntarily. "Good."
At the thought of my sisters, my mind was turned back to what I had been thinking about in my father's dark hospital room for the past hour. I thought about what I would have done if he had died – about what would have become my responsibility. How hard it would be on my mom and my sisters… How Dad wouldn't be there for Nicolai's wedding…
I'd also thought of some creative ways to destroy my father's cigarettes, and Matt's into the bargain, too.
My train of thought came to a screeching halt.
That's right; Matt didn't know any of this was happening. He still thought that everything was normal, and he would be coming over to celebrate my birthday.
Memories from our childhood flooded back, along with the night we stayed up talking until morning a couple weeks after we'd begun dating. He'd explained his decision to let go of his goggles, and how holding onto his feelings about his father's death had held him back from accepting the man that he had become.
Would this crisis with my father set him back again?
The lights blurred, and I suddenly found myself leaning against the wall.
Nicolai was at my side in an instant, his hand on my shoulder. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine." I could feel my pulse thudding at my throat. "It's just been a crazy day."
He frowned. "We should get you home to rest."
"No! I should be here." I pushed his hand off.
My mother's conversation with the doctor must have wrapped up, because suddenly, she was there. Her pulling me into a hug showed that she was oblivious to what she had walked into the middle of.
"Oh, my baby," she murmured close to my ear as she held me tight. "I'm so sorry this all had to happen – especially on your birthday."
I scowled at Nicolai over her head, not lessening my resolve. "I'm just glad I'd been there to help him," I said to my mom.
"Me too." She tilted herself up on her toes and kissed my cheek. "Thank you."
Nicolai cleared his throat. "You should go in to see Dad, Mom. I'm going to take Mihael home, then I'll be back."
Before I could protest, my mom responded, "That would be best. I don't think he's eaten supper yet!" To me: "Supper's covered up in the fridge, and your cake's in the container on the counter. I made all your favourites… I know it will feel strange to be eating alone, but I want you to enjoy them."
I had no adequate response. But if my stomach rumbling was any indication, it sure did.
And just like that, I found myself getting into the car with Nicolai in the hospital parkade.
We rode back to town in silence. I was too tired to think of something to say, and even too tired to be resentful.
As we approached the turn-off into town, I found my voice. "Drop me off at the shop."
"Why?"
"I'll drive Dad's car back home. 'Save's us having to pick it up later."
He smiled. "You're not responsible for everything, you know."
"Someone has to be in this crazy family." I tried to make it sound light-hearted, but I failed miserably.
The silence was resurrected and lived again for what felt like a long three minutes.
"You know what's messed up?" Nicolai pushed his glasses up, though it was unnecessary. "I was going to ask you to be my best man tonight."
I looked at him with a neutral expression. "You say that like you're considering revoking the privilege."
"No! I mean… Just because of the circumstances… But would you like to?"
"Of course. I'm just messing with you."
He grinned, and I found myself genuinely smiling back.
Then, we reached the store.
He stopped me before I got out. "Are you actually going home?"
I couldn't lie to him. "Eventually."
I shut the door behind me and walked off into the cold night, my breath creating clouds of condensation in front of my face.
He let me go.
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I parked a block away and walked through the back alley, just in case the mother was home. Before I went any further, I checked my phone. Matt had sent me another message, telling me that he was still running later than expected. I didn't reply.
Using the trash can to give myself a leg up, I found my foothold in the crumbling brickwork on the side of the garage and hoisted myself onto the roof. From there, it was easy to ease myself over to one of the second-storey windows and jimmy it open.
The driving beat of Kate Bush's "Running Up That Hill" poured out of the open window and shattered the stillness of the night. Inside, sitting on the carpet with her scrapbooking supplies arrayed around her, Halle looked up.
"Oh, it's you." She heaved a dramatic sigh. "I don't know why I keep waiting for Prince Charming when I continue to be disappointed."
After I pulled my body inside and shut the window, I sent a half-hearted sneer in her direction. "Continue to compare me to pathetic princesses and poncey princes in fairy tales, and I will always disappoint."
"But it's so fun to piss you off." She beamed.
"It's my birthday; cut me some slack."
"Hey – no guilt trips. I already gave you my birthday wishes this morning." Her grin changed to a frown suddenly. "You told me you had plans. What are you doing here?"
I started to speak, but faltered. I cleared my throat and turned to face the window. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be here; you're busy." The window demonstrated more resistance this time as I tried to open it, for whatever reason.
In the window, I saw her reflection jump up and run up behind me. Just like that, her arms were wrapped around my waist and she was dragging me back towards her bed. The window slid shut under its own power. We flopped back on the mattress, the back of my head uncomfortably pressed against her breasts, and her arms were crushing my ribs in a vice-like grip.
"You are my prisoner," she informed me. "I will not let you go until you tell me what's wrong, and I have cuddled your sadness away."
"Fine." There was no use fighting; from the moment I'd stepped into her room, there was no escape. Even if I'd tried to leave, part of me had known that. Maybe my pride had just needed her to make me stay. "Can I have a different pillow, though? This one feels too surgically enhanced."
She let go of my ribs, but gave me a jab in the stomach. "Asshole! These babies can't get any more authentic!" Halle scooted up the bed so she was sitting up against the headboard, and then she leaned over the side to grab a pillow that had ended up on the floor. In the process, her tits ended up in my face. I leaned my head back into the mattress as far as was physically possible, and I shut my eyes tight, resigning myself to her sick brand of torture while she took her sweet time hauling the pillow onto the bed.
"There." She pushed my head up, and when it fell back, it was resting on an honest-to-goodness, no-female-anatomy-involved pillow. "How's that?"
I deadpanned. "I feel violated."
"You should be so lucky," she threw back at me with a smirk.
Then, she slid back down so we were laying side by side; my head was on the pillow, and hers was on my shoulder.
"Now," she said, "tell me what's eating you."
I snorted.
"Grow up."
I sighed. Finally: "My dad's in the hospital."
"Shit! No way!" She smacked me on the chest as a result of her surprise.
"Fuck," I swore, taking her hand captive in mine so she couldn't do any more damage. "Yes way. Now stop fucking abusing me."
She settled down and immediately became meek as a mouse. "Sorry… What happened?"
"He had a heart attack. We were at the store, and everything was fine… and then, all of a sudden, it wasn't." I swallowed thickly.
Her hand relaxed in mine so that it was as if our hands were clasped gently rather than me restraining her. "That's rough, Mells… I'm so sorry."
"I just…" – I cleared my throat – "I couldn't be alone right now. I mean, I think it was good for me to be away from my family for a while, so our emotions don't feed off each other's, and we can be strong for Dad… But…"
"Yes?" She tilted her head back so she could look at me.
I avoided meeting her eyes. "I'm just wondering where Matt is. I know he doesn't know what's going on, so it's not his fault, but I would just like… Fuck it – I need him."
"Oh." Her expression said it all.
Not a question: "You know where he is."
Halle reached over with her other hand and patted the nearest part she could reach, which ended up being my stomach. I flinched in memory of her jab, but she was moderate this time.
"Believe me: he cares a tonne about your birthday. He would trade the sun, the moon, and the stars to be with you right now. In fact, if he knew what was going on, he would probably drop everything to be with you."
"That's the thing… I'm dreading telling him because of how it might make him feel."
She quirked an eyebrow. "How so?"
I closed off like a clam. "Never mind." It wasn't my story to tell.
"Fine; be that way." She huffed and crossed her arms. After a few seconds, she said, "You might as well just be patient, then. Matt's been working really hard to resolve a situation which – spoiler alert – involves your birthday gift. You can talk to him when you see him tonight, which I know (one-hundred-percent certain) will be happening. Who knows? After you talk to him, there might be some sexual healing in the cards." Halle waggled her eyebrows.
I groaned with disgust and heaved myself off the bed. "And with that sparkling bit of advice, I think I should be leaving."
"Hold up just a second." She hopped off the other side of the bed and went over to her iPod station. Subsequently, a guitar riff sounded from the speakers and filled the room. I immediately recognized the song as "Don't Dream It's Over" by Crowded House.
As the verse started, Halle sang along with her raspy, warm tone: "There is freedom within; there is freedom without. Try to catch the deluge in a paper cup."
She swayed to the rhythm as she walked over to me, and then she caught my hands up in her own. After some awkward shuffling, she persuaded me to dance with her. Soon, I was leading her in earnest, and her smile was effervescent. The whole time, she sang along; she was much better than I could ever hope to be. "There's a battle ahead; many battles are lost. But you'll never see the end of the road while you're travelling with me."
I joined her for the chorus, spinning her around the room, and she had trouble containing her giggles: "Hey now, hey now. Don't dream it's over. Hey now, hey now. When the world comes in… They come, they come to build a wall between us."
"We know they won't win!" we shouted.
A voice carried up the stairs, and it sounded furious: "Halle! What the hell are you doing up there?"
"Shit! My mom…" Halle was still giggling as she ushered me over to the window. When I was safely through, she said to me, "That was my dad's favourite song… Who knows? It still might be. We would sing it together when we would go on road trips."
"I didn't know that," was all I could think to say.
"Yeah, well… Your dad's gonna be okay. It's never over, even if… even if things are pretty shitty right now."
We heard her mother knock at her bedroom door. With a quick smile, she shut the window and the drapes.
I was alone once again, but I didn't feel lonely.
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My inkling that being at home by myself would be uncomfortable did nothing to prepare me for the reality. Both the indoor and outdoor Christmas lights were on, my mother's car was in the drive, and, as I walked past, the inflatable snowman on our porch lit up and began serenading me with a Christmas carol. By all accounts, anyone would assume that a family was inside, having a wholesome, festive good time. Instead, it was just the haggard second-born son dragging himself in the door to microwave some leftovers and slice his untouched birthday cake all by himself.
I'm just glad our Frosty the Snowman wasn't programmed to sing "Happy Birthday", or I might be tempted to reach a whole new level of pathetic.
As I sat in the family room downstairs, eating my supper, I looked out at the snow-laden treehouse through the window. As a child, it had been my refuge. Whenever I'd been angry, or sad, or a combination of both – I had holed up in there and stated that I was the only allowed habitant (until Matt came along). But I was a man now. A man eating chocolate birthday cake with pretty sprinkles on top, but a man, nonetheless. I couldn't deal with my problems by hiding away and declaring war on the world; I had to face them head on.
So, there it was.
If I was being honest with myself, harping on about all this birthday shit was just a distraction. It would have sucked for my father to have had a heart attack any day of the year. I hadn't been expecting it – and how could I? That's just the way life is. Furthermore, my father hadn't died. He was recovering, and he would be weaker than he had been before, but he was still here. It did no good to imagine possibilities that hadn't been realized. Growing up, my grandmother had constantly reminded me to "not count the chicks that haven't hatched".
Before the treehouse, my grandmother's love had been my solace.
I repeated her words now, my head bowed: "Mon Dieu, donnez-moi la sérénité d'accepter les choses que je ne peux changer, le courage de changer les choses que je peux, et la sagesse d'en connaître la différence. Amen."
When I opened my eyes, I was seeing through tears.
My phone lit up.
Matt (9:45):
I'm here!
I shot off a text to tell him the door was open. Two minutes passed, and I heard him coming inside. I counted one, two as I heard his shoes hit the floor. Then, the expected shout.
"Mells?"
"Down here!" I called. I wiped my eyes with my sleeve and cleared my throat.
Matt took the short staircase two at a time and skipped the last three. He was at my side in moments, looking like a guilty puppy that knows it's done something bad, but wants you to pet it, anyways. If he was anticipating me being angry, then he was in for a surprise.
I slid over on the couch so we were hip-to-hip and gave him an open-mouthed kiss – no hellos required.
When we separated, he looked satisfyingly confused. "I'm sorry?"
"For?"
"Well, for being late. But even if I wasn't, I would have to wonder what warranted that kind of kiss…"
Getting comfortable on the couch, I tucked my legs up and snuggled against his shoulder. "You're overthinking shit, Matty."
A rectangular, black box came into my field of vision. "I got you something. It's pretty much the reason why I'm late…" He cracked it open. Nestled on velvet cushioning, the silver and black bracelet gleamed in the light. It was adorned with one small, black cross that I could see had a cluster of precious stones in its center. "They're Alaskan black diamonds," he explained when he saw me holding the cross up into the light.
Wordlessly, I took the bracelet out of the box and put it on my wrist. With every movement, the black stones shone, but they didn't sparkle. They absorbed the light, and I found the effect captivating. I looked up to see Matt was watching me anxiously.
"I love it," I assured him. "Thank you."
His entire demeanour brightened with his relief. "That's great!" He took a breath before he switched gears. "I'm so sorry for being late. I picked up the package after work, everything seemed great, and I thought I would be on time for dinner, but then I opened it, and I saw that one of the links was broken! I custom ordered it, too! So, I got on the phone, and both the postal service and the manufacturer gave me the run around, trying to blame the problem on each other. Finally, I got on the phone with someone with brains at the jewelry company's customer service, and they said the company would take care of the cost of the repair. So, then I had to find a place that was still open to repair it and could do the job in the right timespan… And well, here I am." Heaving a great sigh, his entire body seemed to melt slightly into the couch.
I nodded. I kept looking at the cross: the light, the darkness. Duality.
"Matt, my dad's in the hospital," I blurted.
"I… Oh."
"Yeah."
So, I told him everything. Well – everything that I could say without falling apart. And he listened.
Halle was at least partially right about the healing; except, we kept things pretty G-rated.
When I was finished, he asked the question I wasn't prepared to face: How are you feeling? I answered honestly: "I've been all over the place, up and down, all night. Right now, though, I feel numb – like I'm too tired to process anything else."
"What do you need me to do?"
I paused. I hadn't been expecting that question.
He was holding my hand, running his thumb rhythmically over my knuckles. It felt really nice. I focused on that feeling.
"First… I need you to have some of this delicious birthday cake. Then, we're going to take up residence on this couch and watch Sopranos re-runs. After that, we're going to fall into a sugar coma and not wake up until morning."
He nodded. I adore his can-do attitude.
On step three of my brilliant plan, Jazz came out of whatever dark, sinister place he'd been hiding in and decided to interrupt by batting the shit out of Matt's head. Much to Matt's chagrin, I found that hysterical.
"I told you your cat wants me dead," he grumbled, rubbing his head.
I rolled my eyes. "Come here, Mr. Grumpy-pants," I cooed. "Come get a love."
The tabby hopped onto the couch and nestled against my chest. We made quite the spooning trio. In accompaniment to Jazz' purring, Matt snickered. "'Mr. Grumpy-pants'…"
"Since you enjoy that so much, how about I give you an embarrassing pet name?"
Not a peep.
I smiled smugly like the cat that had gotten the cream. "That's what I thought, Scruffles."
A few minutes later at 11:59, he dropped his silent treatment in favour of planting a kiss on the back of my neck and singing a quiet "Happy Birthday" to me.
"I love you," I whispered, closing my eyes. I could hear Jazz snoring; my lower volume was, of course, due to not wanting to wake him up. It had nothing to do with the tears pricking at my eyes again. Nope – not a thing.
I heard Matt respond, and then I gave myself over to sleep. The three of us did not move until my mother and my sisters came home the next morning.
What I dreamed about, I cannot recall. I just remember feeling safe.
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[Written on the back cover of the current journal.]
"The Serenity Prayer"
God, grant me the serenity
To accept the things I cannot change;
Courage to change the things I can;
And wisdom to know the difference.
Living one day at a time;
Enjoying one moment at a time;
Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;
Taking, as He did, this sinful world
As it is, not as I would have it;
Trusting that He will make all things right
If I surrender to His Will;
So that I may be reasonably happy in this life
And supremely happy with Him
Forever and ever in the next.
Amen.