Critical
(12-19-2010)
Critical. There are two doctors outside the room talking and this is the one word that I can hear. A thousand other words in the spoken language and this is the one I recognize instantly. I think it’s a shame that I can’t pick out any another part of their conversation before I think it’s a shame that he’ll never wake up again. It’s a shame for a lot of things. The only thing I can wonder about is how things ended between us and somehow it reminds me of a moment and a memory.
“Two guys walk into a library and hit on an Amish girl…”
It’s the first line in this really bad joke he’s telling. I can tell that he’s nervous because of the joke. He always jokes when he’s nervous. His hair is still wet. Dripping. A drop of water runs down the side of his cheek and he has an eyelash that’s ready to fall. I’m too busy thinking, watching him nervously look up down and out the window instead of in my eyes when the next thing I know he’s done and there’s no punch line or “ba dum ba dum dum” because it just happened.
That’s thing with Adrian. It’s always just happening with him. No chance he is participating in the events. He’s just being dragged along. Along in life. Along in everything. It was same way with us. He moved along with love because it was what he thought was supposed to happen. Everything was my idea. Even when it ended.
He doesn’t love me. I know this. The day I found out I think I cried harder than any other time before that in my life. I don’t know why I’m here.
Maybe because I need closure.
Maybe because I need to see him one last time.
Maybe because I love him.
Maybe I really don’t know.
It’s another excuse after another with me. And always a fight. A fight I can’t win. Even with myself. He can’t even talk back but I can feel the tension mounting in this room. Another fight.
There were fights because there were always fights between us. I think that’s how it all started.
At quarter to nine on the Upper East Side just outside a room full of half-real poseurs in the middle of a party where the only color of alcohol being served is clear a hand reaches out to slap me before I can light my cigarette and fabulously avoid conversations with no one. It isn’t the hand of the hostess who said “Don’t bother asking for a whiskey” before snatching away my fiancé. It belongs to an older man standing next to me on the edge of a balcony. On the edge of a balcony where I’m trying to get away from the party, the poseurs and my fiancé this man starts telling me that my dress is all wrong for the party instead of telling me how beautiful I look like all the others. And he doesn’t stop there.
“That’s a very nasty habit.”
“You’re a nasty fellow.”
“You’d like to think that because I’m right.”
“Who are you to judge me?”
“Smoking kills. It’s proven.”
“And my dress?”
“Would look better off than on.”
“What would my fiancé think?”
“That’s a lovely idea for the evening. It belongs with the dress. Maybe you should take it off.”
“That’s a bold thing to presume.”
“Tell me then, what is it? You’re out here. He’s in there. It’s a nice rock, don’t get me wrong. But...”
“But…? Am I spinning his wheels?”
“Come on. What else you running, doll?”
“Nothing. Hmm… You right now. Does it bother you?"
“No. I find it extremely attractive that you’re bold enough to do what you want. Few women do.”
“What about his broken heart?”
“What he don’t know won’t hurt him. Let’s go somewhere.”
“Hmmm… Presumptuous.”
“You didn’t say no…”
And I didn’t. He was nothing like the others. I think I liked the challenge of it. A challenge to win him over and usually it was him that won me over. I think I liked that I never saw it coming. And it always was a challenge up to the end.
We’re in the cab. He’s breathing so loudly now. Quiet loud. Alex is telling us about the launch of his next line. He’s still saying nothing when Alex smiles and I laugh. We’re agreeing to work together. And nothing. It’s like he’s not here. I think that maybe this wasn’t a good idea when he stares at the window that’s foggy. I wonder if he’s mad when Alex keeps talking in the front seat. I wonder if this is sadness and lean into his arm. The rain hasn’t let up when I lean in further and say “we should talk.” It’s not as though he will say no. And he doesn’t.
The doctors are quiet now and there’s nothing but intermittent beeps in the room while I watch him breathe. The look on his face is the same one I remember the last time we spoke. The face of a grave old man and all I can think of is how much I still love him when the doctor enters the room.
“Don’t you have anything to say to him?” The doctor asks.
“Is there no hope? I mean... won’t he wake up?” I ask.
“It’s premature, but there’s always hope.”
“I don’t think I have anything to say. What should I say?”
“Say what you feel. It’s best if it comes from the heart.”
“What if it doesn’t help?”
“After all that I’ve seen, there’s nothing talking can hurt.
“But we had a fight the last time we spoke.”
“Maybe you should clear the air. He’s listening.”
We’re getting lunch now. He’s drenched from the rain and still looking like he used to sitting across from me. Sitting there with this dumb look grinning ear to ear. I can’t believe I kissed him back there and keep thinking about the moment I let him get swept up into. Same old Adrian and nothing has changed. I look away while he’s trying to tell me about his life. He thinks I’m not listening because I’m looking away. I quietly listen and look out the window when he tells me about the scene. He’s talking about the money, the girls and I don’t care. I didn’t care then and I don’t care now. He stops telling to me to ask me how I am and I tell him because I think things are okay. I forget what I need to tell him and tell him that I’m in love and he starts fidgeting. I tell him again because I think this is it and show him the ring. His fidgeting is worse when I start talking about HIM and instead of staring I move my attention to the menu. I tell him it’s like Paris and ask him if he remembers. Because I wonder if he remembers how it felt. But it doesn’t matter what I say cause he can’t remember Paris.
There’s nothing between us. It wasn’t that he needed to say it. Even now as he lies in the bed unconscious it changes nothing. He never needed to find anything wrong with me because I was already looking before we ever met. There was nothing in his eyes that first night. He knew how I was and didn’t walk the other way because of it. I simply couldn’t see things the way they were until it was over. Until I knew it was over.
“A tryst with a young man ends the minute you tell him he’s not the only one.”
“And an older man?”
“He knows the score. He’s not in it for the same reason the younger man is.”
“What about...?”
“What about what?”
“I don’t know. You know…”
“I know that you’ve lined up more than one fish. And that fellow with the ring isn’t the only one.”
“And does that bother you?”
“No because it doesn’t bother you.”
An ending starts before you can even guess its happening. The end of it all has a start. Something that is real but you won’t know what it was. You will wonder what changed first. Where it happened and how you missed it? But you didn’t miss it at all. It was already there and you saw it. Human nature is to dismiss the small indifferent changes in the people around us. Moods and body language can vary even when we don’t spend much time apart. Then the small things add up to big things. The way his neck arches back when he yawns might be no more than a residual tightness left over from a stressful day. A passing distance that is longer and further than you might have remembered. The coldness that can’t be shaken will begin to make you wonder if he knows.
And still you’ll wonder about the beginning of the end. When? What was it first?
It’ll be in his look that you first see it. A quick madness that builds behind his eyes that passes with a quick turn of the head. Then your touch will send him out of his mind. Spinning without a reason. And nothing will put him at ease when you try to calm him. He won’t rest in the bed next to you. Eyes will stay open while he lies awake. Won’t be able to eat at the same table as you. The sight of you will make him shudder and pull away. Eventually he won’t say it. It won’t come out with ease. You can feel the way it changed between you, and continue anyway.
Then there’s a point when you know. You know you can’t pretend anymore. And I thought I knew before it happened. Yet he never had to tell me because I knew. The rejection was slow. Like your body attacking a new organ. This thing is vital to your survival yet you will cast it out. Only able to accept it until there’s no possible way to deny that this isn’t going to work. And that organ like my love could only last until it was rejected. And it wasn’t going to. The look in his eye isn’t love anymore. It’s contempt.
Between the machines and the nurse’s heels clicking in the hall I can almost make out a rhythm in his heartbeat when the doctor leaves. “Critical” in bright red letters flashes across the monitor as I take a breath. There’s nothing changed in the way he lays there. His face stays the same with every syllable that I utter. It’s nothing like before when the doctor standing the doorway urges me to keep talking.
Talking. He’s talking quietly as the sun’s about to come up and there’s another dress that looks better off than on resting underneath his left leg while I’m lying across his right side. We’re far too intimate about things while I’m still wearing another man’s ring. But his nonchalance calms me and I answer everything he asks.
“Tell me about Paris. And this Adrian that makes you run off to wear another man’s ring.”
“He told me he love me and left me. Left me all alone in the relationship without him.”
“Is that the truth?”
“I don’t know. I couldn’t sit still. I was alone. Then there were others and it’s like that evening on the balcony when I needed air.”
“And…”
“Instead I found you.”
“And he left.”
“Not exactly. There’s more. ”
“And you continued?”
“Yes. I don’t know why. It was unraveling and I think part of me wanted it to. And I think I wanted it to be over already. I couldn’t stop. I wanted to hurt him for leaving me. Then finally he did.”
I roll over and lean back against his bare chest. I want to reach back and run my fingers through his hair but he stops me and folds my arms against my chest. It’s so quiet that I can’t help but ask it.
“Tell me about your wife. What happened?”
“She had someone… it’s not like how you see it. It’s not like that at all.”
“How did you know it was over?”
“I couldn’t look at her in the morning. I knew what was happening and I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t go through the motions.”
“You’re right. I don’t understand.”
“Let me explain. You say you wanted to hurt him. To punish him for what he wasn’t doing. My wife, I loved her. I never stopped loving her. She was so beautiful that it hurt when it happened.”
“What was it that hurt?”
“The other. I could see it in her. I knew and it killed me a little everyday to continue. So I asked her to go.”
And now he’s said it. And I can’t believe he said that. And now I’m outside. Crying. Crying in the rain. There’s so much water that I can’t make out the rest of the world. He’s followed me outside. Yelling about things that don’t matter. I tell him that “I can’t” and he tells me it’s my fault just like Paris was my fault and we were my fault. Adrian keeps telling me everything is my fault. I know I’m young but I know it’s not all my fault. I tell him I’m wrong but I loved him. He calls me a liar but he didn’t have to let me go. He happens to fall through things. And I’m wrong, and all the blame, and maybe even a liar because he fell through me. It’s my fault he chose to pass right through me instead of hanging on. I’m running after him and trying to tell him that I love him but it’s too late. He doesn’t care and he’s right, all I wanted isn’t in that direction anymore while I’m still wearing one man’s ring and sleeping with another.
I tell him that I love him with all my heart and he tells me that I’ll feel this way again one day. I tell him that I’ll love him always and he tells me that may be true. In spite of all these things I keep telling him that I love him.
“Mathis. Felicia Mathis. Will I take your name when we get married?”
“Married? Why would you want to do such a thing to yourself? You’ve already left one for another.”
“Jamison. It’s because I love you.”
“That’s a childish thing to do. I’ve been married. It’s not something I’d do again.”
“What if I want to get married?”
“If that’s what you really want, then one day you will.”
“Jamison. I want…”
“Felicia, please. Why don’t you call that young man that dropped off those books the other day?”
“Adam? He’s from my management. He was dropping off my new book for the look-see. He’s not…”
“Darling, he kissed you in the hall before he left. I could see from the veranda. I’m not jealous. You ought spend time with a…”
“Jamison. I want to spend time with you.”
“And while I believe that’s partly true, I’d prefer you call up that young man for a little bit.”
“That’s not what I want. You once said you found it attractive that I did what I wanted.”
“It’s not my intention to hurt you. I want you to satisfy your curiosity while you can. Please do as you wish. But don’t feel as though you must remain here. You may go.”
And I would go. His words could always push me out the door. Although deep down inside me I wanted to remain at his side I knew he was right. It wasn’t his love that kept me there. It was mine.
There’s a thousand reasons that something is wrong with you. It comes down to one thing. But he has to have a thousand others to avoid the one. Everything you once thought he loved is wrong. All the ways the other men love you he can find a fault. And even the little things that he found beautiful are now flawed and undesirable.
The last time we fight he tells me so many things. Things that I don’t want to hear. Like a father scolding his child he’s reminding me of my weaknesses. Qualities that he once adored are quickly disregarded. Boldness is now impudence. Carefree becomes irresponsible. Curiosity becomes adultery. He tells me that my past is going to haunt me one day before telling me that I’m breaking hearts out of selfishness and cruelty. He tells me its happening because of my own insecurities before reminding me that my youth is not an excuse. After all that he tells me I can’t believe him. I want to run and hide I’m so ashamed but I do nothing. Nothing but stand there and cry. Instead of words of comfort he tells me that it’s late before telling me to leave it alone and come to bed. And I tell him again that I love him.
Instead of telling me he loves me he tells me that my mind is immature. That it’s a pity a woman with a body like mine could have a mind that was so undeveloped. And after all these things he’s said its then I knew he couldn’t love me.
A man doesn’t love a woman he criticizes. When his mind is ashamed of her then there’s no hope. It’s sad for the heart if there’s love without hope. And it’s hard to love again. The trick is finding the person that can understand that.
“That’s a bit sad don’t you think?” the doctor shifts his weight in the chair.
“I suppose it is.”
“But in the end you love again, because if you don’t then you’ll never know.”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you still love him?”
“I still do. In spite of it all, I think it was the first time I really knew I was in love.”
“What about that other fellow?”
“Adrian? I don’t know. I think so. But it wasn’t anything like this. He was different.”
Over the intercom sounds a page that sends the doctor bounding upwards and over.
“There’s the bell tolling. I have to… my cue.”
“It was nice of you to stay. To listen.”
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Felicia. He’ll recover.”
“I hope so.”
“Not to worry. You will too…”
The moment and the doctor comes and goes. I stand there still waiting for something to change in his face when nothing does. And it happens. Then there she is. The new version of me standing in the doorway. An even younger version of me. This new one he doesn’t love is moving closer to stand over him. Next to him. Waiting. In the place I used to occupy. And I’m forgetting about memories and moments in the past where I’m at fault or wrong. It’s in this serious moment that there’s no reason for me to deny that something has happened. He’s found someone new. And that same feeling that kept Adrian walking away in the rain has me stepping back out of this room, down the hall, and outside.
Outside. It’s 11 pm. I’m standing outside this club on Sunset and there’s a man that says my car is parked too close to his. I tell him to fuck off. He says “hey you hey get outta here” and I start kissing this blonde girl that’s been standing too close to me the entire time I’ve been standing outside. I stop kissing this girl to take a hit as this guy keeps yelling and making a scene. It’s a laugh that this guy gives such a fuck about his car when there’s a brunette that looks hungry for him standing nearby. Everyone cares too much about their cars here. I wave at the brunette and she smiles. I like when girls smile. I want her to talk to this guy and make him fuck off. Instead she comes over and starts kissing me in front of the blonde. I think blonde is jealous but she leans over and starts kissing brunette instead of me. They keep kissing for at least five minutes and I can’t remember what happened to the angry guy but I want to keep watching when the girls decide it’s a party that I’m not invited to and walk away. It’s still hot outside. You don’t like when its hot but you’re not here. Come out come out wherever you are. I take a hit and decide its time for another scene but can’t remember where I parked the car. Can you remember?
