Broken People (8 page)

“Believe me, you don’t,” I pressed the palms of my hands to my temples, and made an awful face. My hea
d felt frozen from the yogurt.

“What
’s wrong, David? Brain freeze?”

“What do you know about brain tumors, Michelle?” I rubbed my templ
es with the tips of my fingers.

“It’s a brain freeze from eating that yogurt so fast. You’ve been eatin
g it like a starving hostage,” she shook her head, and smiled. Her eyes followed.

I spooned the remaining loose almonds from my cup. “I just love this place,” I said. I would tell her later of my tumor. Bei
ng gay was enough for one day.

“I do too,” s
he smiled as she spoke. Her smile was infectious. I smiled.

She smiled a lot, and I liked that. She made me comfortable, immediately comfortable. She reminded me of Dr. Baritz. Well, Michelle was
going
to be a doctor. Maybe doctors possess a quality that made them more caring than other people. More understanding. More able to
understand
people. Kind. Considerate. Compassionate. Michelle was all of these things. I pulled at my jeans one more time, and I smiled. I stood to take my cup to the trash. I don’t like trash on the table. Not if it doesn’t have to be there. And really, there is never a reason to have trash at the table if there is a place to put it. And, because there was a place to put it, I was going to take it there.

“I am going to toss this in the
trash, and get a glass of water. You want anything?” I asked as I stood.

“Thank you, I will take
a cup of water. When you get back, I have a question,” she smiled again as she spoke. She didn’t have her hand in her hair this time. Just her chin in her hand.

I threw the trash in the receptacle, and went to get our waters. When I returned, I handed Michelle her water, and placed mine
on the table. I handed her a straw. It had a protective cover. As I begin to sit, I pulled at my thighs, so my jeans wouldn’t wrinkle under my legs as I sat down. After I sat, I took a drink of water. I don’t like lids on my cold drinks, and was drinking straight from the cup, with no straw. Straws are gross.

“So, David, are you
gay?” she looked me in the eye.

“Yes, Michelle, I am,” I responded, without hesitation. I couldn’t believe my ears. I couldn’t believe anything. I had actually told someone besides Dr. Baritz that I was gay. Well, in a sense, Michelle was a doctor, but not actually. Just sort of. Well, not really, but she was more of a doctor than I was. I had so much more to say, but I left it at that, and was excited to hear what she had to say. My heart was beating faster than normal, but I was not nervous or sweating like I did in Dr
. Baritz’s office. “Does it bother you?” I asked.

“Does it bother you that I am a girl?” Michelle asked, in an almost offended tone, her
eyes opened wider than before.

“Heavens no,” I responded. I felt kind
of excited with her response.

“Well, David, I look at it
this way. I was born a girl. Cloe was born a girl. My brother was born a boy. I was born heterosexual. You
are
homosexual. I haven’t decided if it’s necessarily a decision you
make
, or if it is the way God made you. Were you born that way, or did you consciously or subconsciously decide? I struggle with that. We can talk about it later.” She took a breath and continued, “I want to show you something,” she said as she took her phone from her purse. She spent a moment looking at it, and after looking at the screen and smiling, she handed the phone to me. “Look at that picture, David. Look at it good.”

I looked at the phone. There was a black and white caption-less photograph on the screen. In the photo, which was in an operating room, there was a white man on an operating table. He was wearing a KKK Clansman robe, which was covered in blood. There was a black doctor whose hands were covering a gaping wound, attempting to stop the bleeding. The look on his face was one of urgency. The operating room was full of black nurses, black doctors
, and a white Clansman. But, every one of the black staff was clearly rushing to save this man’s life. To save a man that would rather see those helping save his life hang by the neck than live. I could not stop looking at the photograph. I was moved. Michelle, with a broken voice, began to speak. I placed my hand on my chest and checked my heart. Still beating.

“David,
this picture basically defines all my beliefs about medicine, life and humanity in general. How much more beautiful does it get? They’re black, and rushing to save this guy’s life. And he’s in the KKK. Like, what? Tolerance. Respect. Grace. It’s so beautiful.” She stood, and continued to speak. “That picture will forever be dear to my heart. And that’s the thing about medicine. The doors to a hospital, to a doctor’s office, at least to
my
Doctor’s office, are an equalizer. It doesn’t matter if you can pay, it doesn’t matter where you are from, or
what
you are, because I have already sworn that I will do
whatever
I can to help you or to save your life.” Her voice cracked, she rubbed her eyes, and she continued. “The practice of medicine is just a place where, theoretically, all prejudices
disappear
. And, as a doctor, we help people because our hearts want us to. This picture is so beautifully human. It’s like the epitome of humanity. I love it and it hits me hard.”

“Thank you, Michelle, for sharing that with me, you are an amazing woman, and will be a great doctor.” My body was buzzing from the intensity of seeing the photograph and hearing her speak with such authority and purpose. She
believed
in what she was saying.

“So, David,
the long version answer, no I do not care if you are gay, you’re human. That’s all that matters.” She, standing, opened her arms to give me a hug. Doctor Baritz doesn’t give hugs. Dr. Michelle does. I stood, opened my arms, and hugged her. My jeans wrinkled, and we held, embraced, for what seemed like forever. She tapped me twice. And it was then that I decided. This girl was going to help me. She would help me. I had to tell my father. Before she goes to college, she could figure out a way to help.

Help me. Be me.

Chapter 8

Show some respect

MARC.
  Treat people with respect, and people will respect you for being respectful. Always be respectful. My mother drilled this into my head from the time I was old enough to understand her speak. I found this to be true. I lived my life in a manner of being respectful. I didn’t necessarily
respect
everyone, but I
treated
everyone with
respect, always.
Treat everyone you encounter as if today is their last day on earth.
The life you live will be your reward.

“Dude, have you had sex with her?” Adrian asked, as he hit me in the
arm with the palm of his hand.

“Our relationship is private, you guys know
that. Now, stop,” I responded.

“C’mon, Marc. Just tell us something. You’ve never really had a girlfriend. Give us
something
,” said Marcus.

“Listen, I told you guys, I will tell you
about
her. Who she is. What she’s like. But. It is not fair to her or to us to give anyone intimate details about what we do. Do not ask again. It’s a matter of respect,” I responded in a stern voice.

We sat and ate ou
r lunch. Joey and Adrian were the closest friends that I had ever had. Marcus moved here last year, and had become part of our group as soon as he moved here. We ate lunch together daily. I took another bite of my apple.  I thought of Britney.

“Dude, cut that shit, it’s f
ucking long,” Marcus remarked.

“No, I am not cutting it. I like it this way,” I responded. My hair gave me comfort, and had be
come somewhat of a trademark.

I wanted this day to end. Britney and I were going to see each other after school. I looked at my watch. 11:50. Having her in my life. Experiencing her exist. These things made it difficult to
not
have her beside me every moment of the day. Her absence made me yearn for her presence.

“I’m going to the bathroom.
Be back in a second,” I said.

“Me too,” said Joey.

We walked. Joey and I were close friends. His father had always treated me as if I were one of his own children. It wasn’t a replacement for a father, but it was nice to be around his family. He was Catholic, and had seven brothers. Not one sister. I didn’t envy what Joey had. I often wondered, however, how many brothers or sisters I may have had, had my father not died. What might have been different.

“Sorry if we made you mad back there, Bro,” Joey said, turning h
is head toward me as he spoke.

“No problem, Joey. It’s just. Well. You know. I respect her. And I have to treat her with respect. Always. You can
’t love someone if you do not respect them,” I responded.

“I’m ready for this year to be over, aren’t you, Bro?” Joey asked as we
walked back from the bathroom.

“Yeah,
I suppose so. In some ways, I would never like it to end, Joey. You know, we all lose each other when this ends. When school ends. We all go our separate ways. It is the beginning of a new life. Some of us might come back here during the summers to see our families. But, if you think we will all be back here at the same time, or during the same period of time, you’re crazy, Joey. Things will change.
We
will change. We will meet new friends, find new places to hang out, and different things will become important to us,” I ran my hands through my hair as I responded in a defensive tone. Thinking of losing my friends made me feel somewhat uncomfortable.

I looked at Joey as we walked, and continued, “The friends that we have
now,
they will be the best friends of our life. Our memories that we have
now
, they will be our most fond. I guarantee you, Joey. We will soon begin our next phase of life. Being responsible. Responsible for ourselves. Responsible to our relationships. And, ultimately, begin a family. Begin a new generation, an extension of ourselves. Become responsible fathers. And things change. Priorities change. We say they won’t. We want to hold on to this, but we can’t. Life begins. And these friendships, Joey, they will fade.”

“Dude, you are so fucking deep, and I totally don’t agr
ee,” he said, shaking his head.

“Joey, ask yourself this; a
re your mother or your father still friends with their high school classmates?  I am sure they’re not. Think about it. Things change. And we are going to lose this. All of it. Time will pass. And. It’ll be gone,” I said with outstretched arms.

“You say that a lot,
time will pass, time passes
, you know?”

“I got it from my mother, you know that. It’s true. Time passes. Things change. It’s really the only assurance we have. And, I suppose, Joey, it’s about all we know for sure.
Time will pass
and things
will
change.” As we stepped to the table, the others looked up and stopped talking. We had obviously interrupted them from a conversation. Probably about sex. I pulled my hand from my pocket and looked at my watch. 12:00.

“Well, you guys about ready?” Adr
ian asked.

I grabbed my leather jacket and put it on. “Yes, I’ve got to text Britney before class. I’m ready,” I reached into my inner
coat pocket and got my phone.

“Well, holler at
me tonight, Marc,” said Joey.

“See ya,”

“See, ya,”

“Alright,”

As I walked down the hallway, I sent a text message to Britney, making sure she was still able to meet after school. She immediately responded, texting me back a smiley face. I began to fill with thoughts of change.
Time will pass, and things will change.
Change is as inevitable as the tide. Things change. I placed my hand on my chest.
Baboom…baboom…baboom.

Walking a
way from the lunch room, I saw that two kids were arguing, shoving each other, and beginning to fight. All of the other kids began to gather around, wanting to see the fight. I have never been in a fight, nor do I care to be. I have come to believe that we become the sum of our experiences in life. We are not really individuals; we are assembled from a little bit of everyone that we encounter in life. I have carefully spent my life exposing myself to all of what is good. As a result, I am a good person. I have not, by choice, intentionally exposed myself to any of what life offers that is bad. My lack of diversity in life and lack of this exposure worried me sometimes. I would often lay and wonder what would I do, or how would I react, if I was ever exposed to something I did not have previous experience dealing with.  I wanted the diversity, but I did not want the exposure. Being good, and surrounding myself with what was good, provided me with comfort. I was assembled of a thousand pieces of what is good, and as a result, I was, and always would be, good.

The evening finally came, and with the evening, came Britney.
Laying on the bed together, it was as if I were living my life just for her. Taking each breath to keep her alive. If for some reason I were to die, I felt she would certainly die with me. As her heart beat in my chest, I thought of my mother. How and why has my mother made it without my father? If this love,
love that just is
, is truly the once-in-a-lifetime love that only a select few find - and with that love comes dependency - how could she
live
without him?

She did it for me. If she wasn’t pregnant, things would have been different. She has lived a life for something she loves, and sacrificed her love for my father to love me. My mother’s love for me has kept her alive. Absorbing my mother’s love, I smiled. 

Lying
on the bed, her elbow bent, and her head resting on her hand, Britney spoke, “What are you thinking about, Marc?” As she spoke, her hair hung perfectly across her face.

“Loving you, Britney,” I responded
, looking into her brown eyes.

“What abo
ut it?” she responded, smiling.

“You, Britney. You. Us. It’s just, well, every stupid thing that made me happy, every pointless thing that I thought defined me, completely shattered when you entered my life.  I have thoroughly realized that, after meeting you and having you in my life, going back to the person I was before you is unimaginable,” I sighed, and started to continue, bu
t my dry mouth prevented it.  

“Why would you want to liv
e a life without me? Don’t you still think I am pretty?” she asked, as she began to sit up. She looked worried.

Lying
beside her on the bed, I reached over and touched her face lightly, and began to speak, “Britney, I love you. It has nothing to do with the way you look. You do look pretty. You are gorgeous. You, again, define beauty. You truly do. It’s just, I know that if for whatever reason I no longer had you, nothing that gave me a false sense of happiness before you could ever come close to filling the void that you would leave in my heart, in the entirety of my soul. Without you, I would be empty, and it scares me, because I've never felt this way about anyone before. And, I never thought I would let anyone get close enough to me to make such an impact to begin with. If that makes sense.”

“I love you, Marc. I truly do. You are all that I ever want
, all that I would ever need,” she said, as she leaned forward to kiss me.

I leaned forward, and placed my hands on her face. Cradling her face in my hand, we kissed. As we kissed, yet more of her was being absorbed into me. Into my inner being
. My skin began to tingle. We continued to kiss; her lips were so forgiving, so soft. I became lost in the kiss.

Looking directly into my eyes, she spoke as she pulled her lips from
mine, “I love kissing you, Marc.” her gaze made me feel weak.

“And I love kissing you, baby.” I ran my hands through her hair, and looked into her eyes.

Turning her head to meet mine, she spoke softly, “So, what scares you? You said you were scar
ed. Or, that this scared you.”

I thought for a moment about what I had said.
Without you, I would be empty, and it scares me, because I've never felt this way about anyone before.
Trying to make every word count, I spoke. “With you, Britney, I am as weak as everyone else I ever looked down upon before you came into my life. To be honest, I am probably way worse. Because I know I love you with a ferocity that most people will never have the capacity to feel for another person. I need you, and that necessity makes me vulnerable. The vulnerability makes me weak. I am weak for you. And, to be honest, it feels great. The thought of not having you for whatever reason is what scares me.”

Her eyes got wet. She stared into my eyes. A tear fell out of her eye, and rolled down her cheek. I reached to brush it away, and she grabbed my hand
by my wrist and pulled it to her chest. She placed my palm against her breast. As my hand cupped her breast, another tear fell.

“Do you feel that Marc? That heart beating
?” she asked, looking up at me.

“Yes, I do,”

“That, Marc, is yours. Remember that. And don’t be afraid. You and I will always be together. I love you,” she said, as she offered her lips to me.

“I love you back.
” With my hand on her chest, I leaned into her and we kissed.

I awoke, confused. For a moment, I was incapable of separating reality from dream. I looked at my watch. 2:10. Britney lay beside me, asleep.  I looked at my watch again. 2:10. I looked at my bedroom window. Darkness. I looked at Britney. I placed my hand on her shoulder. Lightly, I shook her and whispered into her ear. “Baby, we fell asleep, wake up. Baby, we fell asleep, wake up.” She loo
ked at me, confused, and spoke.

“What time is it,” s
he asked, rubbing her eyes.

“It’s two a.m.
,” I responded, sitting up on the bed.

“Oh my God. Where’s my phone? My fa
ther is going to kill me!” she screamed, as she got up.

“Just tell him…” before I finished,
she interrupted, as she walked toward me.

“You don’t understand, I can
’t tell him anything. I love you. I have to go. I love you,” She leaned toward me and kissed me. “I have to go,” she said, as she turned and ran to the door.

As I stood in the doorway of my room and watched her hurry out, I responded, “I love you back.”

I stood in my doorway for a long period of time. I ran my hands through my hair. Time passed. My mind full of Britney, I stood, feeling empty. Feeling as if my next breath was dependent upon someone else’s being. The feeling of necessity for another filled me with emptiness. I checked my watch. 2:15.

Without you, I would be empty, and it scares me, because I've never felt this way about anyone before.