A Pact For Life (23 page)

Diana laughed and said, “It's not an everyday thing. Are you really hurting that much?”

“It's tough, but we can continue on. I'll get through it.”

Diana wanted him to stop, and just let her run. She knew he was trying hard to do what she wanted, but this was a mistake.

At the picnic table, a little boy began to cry. It was a piercing shrill that could rip eardrums to shreds. Diana surveyed the scene and said to Cale, “Just think, in five or so months, we'll be hearing that sound all the time. I'm scared that it will drive me insane.”

“I'm scared that we'll get used to it.”

“Look at them, Cale. They're acting like he isn't making a sound. I feel like we should go over there and ask for their secret.”

By this point, Cale's legs didn't feel so heavy anymore. His breathing, heart-rate, and all those other biological functions had returned to normal. Confidently, he said, “Let's get back to running. I'm just starting to catch a second wind.”

Diana knew he would return to a near walk once they returned to their jog, so she told him, “It's alright, Cale. You're off the hook for good behavior. I'm gonna do another few miles. Can you wait around for another half hour?”

“Are you sure? I really don't mind.”

Diana nodded.

“Okay then, I'll be by those benches next to where we parked.” It was impossible for him to hide the smile at this news. Granted, sitting outside in the cold weather wasn't really his idea of a great Saturday either, but he would certainly take it instead of running.

As she took off, Diana yelled back, “If you get bored, see if you can find out how those people weren't bothered by that kid screaming!”

“Um... okay! I'll check it out!”

Moreso than the difficulty he faced running, drinking in moderation, giving up smoking, and going to bed before midnight, the thing Cale struggled with the most was talking to Diana in a responsible way. Every word he spoke had her approval in mind. No jokes, no craziness, not even a darlin'. He felt censored, but yet he vowed to continue this way. His family was back, and he didn't want to lose them again. Not when his art depended so much on it.

Inside Cale's studio warehouse apartment, boxes and clothing were piled next to the hangar door in preparation for the next day's move. In the middle of the room was a stone slab about the size of a trash can that he just procured for his next piece. Everything in his life was in its right place. It was time to create.

He started off with his computer, or to be specific, his music. The selection was The Dismemberment Plan's Change. The same album he would listen to in DC while sculpting. Call it a way of reliving the past through music. A time machine that would bring him back to an era when he actually was a sculptor.

He grabbed the chisel and mallet and walked over to the slab as Sentimental Man started to play. Typically at this point, he would have an idea for what he was going to create. That wasn't the case this time, so he stared at the slab in hope inspiration would come. Nothing came.

The next song on the album was The Face of the Earth. He was still staring at the slab when it came on. Finally, he decided to start chiseling in hope something, anything, would come out. You can't force creativity, and Cale knew this, yet he still couldn't stop trying.

He put the chisel to the slab, and held it there as Superpowers played. From the first line, this was the song that always got to him. I have seen the world's most beautiful women undress in ordinary solitude. Sculpting beautiful women was his specialty. His bread and butter. But the lack of any good image left him toast.

As Play for the Piano rang out, he stepped away and made himself a drink out of frustration. With a freshly made martini in hand, he gulped it down almost as fast as he poured it into the glass.

“God, please help me with this. Nothing's coming,” Cale said out-loud as he walked back to the slab. His legs and arms tingled from the martini, the last burst of feeling before becoming dull. Come Home was just finishing as he arrived in front of the stone.

He took a swing and started to knock off the top corners. Every pound of the mallet felt good, even though he wasn't sculpting anything. To the tune of Secret Curse, he pounded every corner until the slab was a rough cylinder of jagged edges.

Automatic was the next song, which he ran over and skipped. This song didn't fit in the moment. Too slow and too dull, it lacked the powerful feeling he needed.

Following Through was after that, and as he turned around and saw the makeshift cylinder, he gripped the mallet and chiseled harder. “What the fuck is wrong with me?!” He shouted at the cylinder. It was impossible for any ideas to reach him now. All he could think about was destruction.

Stone flew off in all directions as Cale pounded away. He was lost in his own world where all that mattered was uncontrollable destruction. Instead of singing along, he cried out a deep, coarsening yell that would likely cost him his voice for the rest of the day. “Well IIIII...I am a time bomb, and IIIII...lay forgotten at the bottom of your heart! I'm fine! Ticking away the hours to blow your world apart!”

In front of thousands of stone pebbles, Cale flung the mallet and chisel across the room, and fell forward onto the wooden platform with both of his hands as support. Bits and pieces of stone could barely be seen through the hair in his eyes. The Other Side was the track running, but it was tuned out amidst his own failure.

Finally, the last song of Change came on. Ellen and Ben, a story about a guy losing two friends to romance, and their subsequent breakup. Cale lifted his head up and saw the pile of boxes and clothes by the door. The next day he would be moving in with Diana, the official start of their life as a family. Diana and the baby, that's all that came to him every time he tried to envision a piece.

Maybe he really was changing, but was it for the better?

Diana hunched over the desk of Dr. Lincoln's receptionist. She had just finished the first of many ultrasounds. The details of it can be spared since every book, TV show, and movie have described the process of viewing new life to death.

There was one noteworthy aspect of the ultrasound worth mentioning. Diana was unmoved while viewing the sonogram of her daughter. It wasn't unmoved in the heartless sense, but instead a simple 'meh' at the grainy black and white video. The call about the gender meant something. This was just window dressing.

As she compared the filled calendar on her phone with possible days Dr. Lincoln was available, a bawling woman carrying a baby with a blotch of dried blood on its head ran into the waiting room screaming, “I need help! Please, I have to see Dr. Lincoln right now!”

Naturally, the receptionist turned her attention from Diana to the hysterical woman and asked, “What's the emergency?”

“Are you blind!? Georgie fell onto the corner of the coffee table, and his head hasn't stopped bleeding since! It could be a concussion... or, oh God, what if the fall shook him!? I need to see Dr. Lincoln immediately, this is my baby's life we're talking about!”

“Please ma’am, try and stay calm. I'm paging her right now.” The receptionist had been through this situation so many times that she stopped bothering to help these frantic mothers. She knew that the baby was alright. Hell, he wasn't even bleeding anymore.

In less than half a minute, Dr. Lincoln came out to the frantic wails of the mother. Calmly, she said, “Let's go back to an examination room. I can do a thorough evaluation there.”

The two left the room, and the receptionist said, “I'm sorry about that. For some reason, new mothers come here instead of a pediatrician. Now where were we? Oh yes, how is February fifteenth at two?”

Diana stood there bewildered at what had just happened. The receptionist asked again, snapping Diana out of shock. After a glance at her phone, Diana replied, “That's fine. That woman... do you see emergencies like that often? You were so calm.”

“I've gotten used to it. Usually once a week some panicked mother comes in screaming about some non-emergency.”

“They really get that worked up over such little things?”

The receptionist shrugged and said, “At least this one involved blood. ”

“Huh, well, that's good to know. Thanks, thanks a lot.” Diana said as she headed toward the door with her mind running full speed.

She got into her car with a list as long as long can be. Childproof lids, movie ratings, the FCC, every warning sign at amusement parks and sporting events, the seven second delay for all televised live events, stop signs, prohibition, and the War on Drugs just to name a few. Every time someone criticizes that we live in a nanny state, they can thank overprotective mothers or lawsuits for it. Actually, it's usually a combination of the two that spurs such overkill.

More than that, it was the snowflake theory. The 'My child is better than everyone else' corollary. The reason for participant ribbons and trophies for all. They say every crow thinks his feathers are the blackest, well so does every mother think her child is the greatest.

Diana vowed she would not become one of those mothers. There would be no hysterics and no coddling, but a realistic view on her daughter's looks and ability. Of course she would help her be the best she could be, but as far as blind encouragement went, that would be Cale's responsibility.

Cale and Diana were lying in bed following their nightly sex routine. Their first as a couple living together instead of two people with constant sleepovers. It would be redundant to say they were lying in post-coital bliss because if it's consensual and not a drunk mistake, then isn't all coitus blissful afterward?
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Rolling off Cale and onto the cool, sex-free side of the bed, Diana asked, “You want to hear something weird? When I was in the bathroom earlier, I saw your toothbrush next to mine and it felt important for some reason. This is the first time I've ever had two toothbrushes in one holder.”

This reminded Cale of the night he told Diana he loved her. “So is that another sexual handshake type of thing?”

“I know I should say no because it's stupid to place so much meaning into a toothbrush, but it really does feel like it.” Diana started to laugh at the absurdness of this statement. “Jesus, look at me, equating love with two toothbrushes.”

Under the blankets, Cale grabbed for Diana's hand, missed, and settled on the consolation prize of her thigh. “You're onto something with the toothbrushes. Think about it, from the first thing you do in the morning till the last act of night, it's a reminder that you aren't alone. Just think what will happen when there are three toothbrushes.”