even if i am. (8 page)

chapter fifteen

jealousy rides with me

Before I met Anthony, everything I knew of love was a long way off. I thought love was complex and compound; like one of those word problems in math, usually involving a train’s speed, that no one could solve.

“Stage 3 colon cancer.”

“Out of?”

“Four.”

“Shit.”

You know, thinking back, that was the moment. After Anthony was diagnosed, our relationship changed. Love became singular. One times one equaled one. Basic math, no word problems or freight trains. We were beyond intimate. It would only seem like a reasonable progression, love. But there was something about it — a singular strength of feeling. Something I hadn’t experienced in previous relationships. Sounds crazy, cliché even. I can get outside of myself sometimes, but I truly felt Anthony was my missing piece. My Shel Silverstein’s “Big O.” The piece that makes you whole. The circle that teaches the triangle to soften its edges and roll alongside. The “O” that brings out the best in you, surrounds you with love, the piece that completes you and tells you, “You’ll be all right, because I’m by your side.”

My Big O. My train home.

…

“Hey, I need your opinion,” Anthony said causally as we walked to get lunch.

“Okay.”

“Since you’re going to be the mother of my children…” He poked my side. I giggled and squirmed. “I think we should store sperm before starting chemo.”

I tickled back. “I think that’s an excellent idea. What do we have to do?”

I know. This is an absurd question to be asking someone you’ve not had sex with. Then again, love is absurd.

“There is a clinic that stores your sperm until you need it. Weird, right? Like rented storage space. I guess I just have to go down to the clinic and, ummm, put a specimen — or ‘friends’ as I like to call them — in a storage container.” He wiggled his finger mimicking a friend swimming, and tickled me again.

“Sounds kinky,” I taunted. “I say store as much as you can. Then we have the comfort of knowing there’s always the chance for a family. If I know anything about you, that’s pretty important.” Like a mischievous child, I quickly ran ahead. “Plus, if we plan to have a boy for each month…”

“Boys, huh?” He rushed to catch me, grabbed my waist and threw me over his shoulder as we stumbled down the street laughing. “First, we should probably have sex.”

“To see if it even fits.” I giggled upside down.

“Hell, I’d be happy to touch your boobs.”

From:
[email protected]
To:
[email protected]
Sent:
Thursday, July 28, 4:11 p.m.
Subject:
mother of your children…

do you think it’s strange…

that you said that with such

confidence and certainty?

and I simply agreed.

From:
[email protected]
To:
[email protected]
Sent:
Thursday, July 28, 5:18 p.m.
Subject:
Re: mother of your children…

yeah…

we’re weird…

doesn’t one usually come

WAY WAY WAY before the other???

we’re definitely

on a weird wavelength…

From:
[email protected]
To:
[email protected]
Sent:
Thursday, July 28, 6:36 p.m.
Subject:
Re: mother of your children…

strangest relationship in history…

and yet there is something

words can’t explain.

…

One day not long after the diagnosis, I managed to keep my mind occupied with work projects and packing. My office phone rang and I hurried to answer, expecting Anthony’s sweet voice calling to tell me the story of putting “friends” in storage.

“Hey, Chas.”

“Oh, hey, Zach.”

“Do you know where Anthony is?”

“He left for the uh, the doctor earlier today. What’s up?”

“Oh, I wanted to catch up with him before I left work.”

“Sorry, but you just missed him. You could try his cell?”

“No worries.”

Hearing disappointment in Zach’s voice I offered, “Hey, I was thinking about going for a walk after work? Care to join me?”

“Would love to.”

If I had to guess, Zach had a crush on me. I am female and blonde and have boobs; the basic elements of Zach’s type. I inherited my mother’s looks and tendency to flirt. I’m the Midwest girl Zach grew up adoring in Chicago. We liked to chat about movies — he liked blockbusters, I preferred art house. We gossiped about work scandals and trash-talked our latest projects. But honestly, apart from any common ground or crush he might have had on me, I think Zach liked me because he had a man-crush on Anthony. He wanted to fit into the cool crowd and Anthony was, well, cool. He’d find reasons for the three of us to go for coffee walks and lunch breaks. We didn’t know it then, but Zach would become our third wheel. He’d become our crutch and the first person to ever take our picture together.

This is the first photograph we took together.

“Have you ever hiked to the top of the canyon and seen the view of Hollywood?” I asked.

“Nope.”

“Really?” He shook his head in confirmation. “Well, then, it’s your lucky day. We are hiking to the top.” I raised my fist and marched onward. “When you called looking for Anthony, you sounded a little bummed. How are you holding up?”

“Like shit, but getting through it. I’m still trying to grasp the fact that one of my best friends has cancer, and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. I feel helpless, and I don’t want to cheapen my time with him talking about work.”

“Talking about work is helping more than you know. Trust me.”

I don’t need to go on about the importance of friends, but it’s hard not to here. Their distractions, even work, made Anthony hugely happy.

…

I guess I just had one of those wishful-thinking moments, babe, that everything was great between us. I flashed my bright glowing smile, my immediate reaction whenever you caught me off guard — you had that way. Yet, you said nothing as you exited the elevator. Just walked by, gave me the cold shoulder. You never acted like this before, so I knew something was wrong. I dialed your office number and let the phone ring until you answered.

“No friendly morning banter?”

“Not in the mood.”

“Why?”

“I ran into to Zach and heard about your hike. I don’t know… Sort of irritating.”

“What?”

“You can go to the movies, hang out, and hike with Zach, but we remain behind closed doors. This — whatever
this
is, it’s not working. It feels like I’m repeating an all-too-familiar cycle of sneaking around.”

“I have no idea where this is coming from.”

“Of course you don’t.”

You hung up the phone. You’re a jerk sometimes.

From:
[email protected]
To:
[email protected]
Sent:
Monday, August 1, 1:57 p.m.
Subject:
yuck!

i wish i could unzip this feeling,

take it off like a jacket,

and fucking burn it.

fuck.

i want to be able

to let go of it…

have fun with zach.

walk up the fucking canyon,

and look at the fucking view…

too much

on my

fucking

mind.

felt one way this morning…

turned quickly into something else.

fucking sucks.

me.

i have

to fucking focus.

on me.

strength.

center.

breathe.

and…

“Jealousy Rides with Me”
Death Cab for Cutie

…

It’s a part of our story I wish to forget, a splinter in my perfect memory of us. We weren’t perfect — no couple is. I get that. But, this fight seemed frivolous. And I hated arguing in our stairwell at work.

“YES. You. Have. To. Focus. On. You. No question. I need to do the same.” Do you remember? You came back with a long-winded dialogue about ending our “shadowed” relationship. You explained your jealousy towards Zach, expressing “unhealthy feelings that hindered your mental and physical health.” We never even sat down on a step. You stood to disagree. I stood to reassure.

“Am I supposed to walk away and not want to see you?” I urged, talking slowly to emphasize each word. “Because as much as you need to focus on your health, I won’t let you go. I. Am. Not. Walking. Away.” You kept blathering on about ending, as I kept pleading, “It breaks me that you feel like this. I want to tell you things, hug you, yell at you, whatever it takes to make these feelings go away.”

Maybe you were right. Maybe we were chasing our tails. Maybe it was best for us to just lay off a little while. Then we could work it out some other time, when we were happy and healthy, without situations and complications. You could go off and heal. I could go and…

The lack of what to do nearly sent me to my knees. “What happens when secrets and ‘shadowed’ relationships
are
worth fighting for? Then what? Then what do you do?”

“We can’t do this anymore. I have cancer.” You looked hopelessly at me.

The words burnt my skin. Baby, I knew what you where thinking. I was thinking it too; and maybe we should’ve talked about it then, but we can’t change that. We can’t go back. I don’t know what it is about the word
cancer
that sends everyone’s mind branching to an assortment of what-ifs. But let’s be honest, there is only one what-if that stands ahead of the line, and everyone was afraid to say it around you. And I wasn’t going to let you walk away because you were afraid of it, too.

So, what if you did die? I would be alone. That didn’t mean you needed to leave me now.

chapter sixteen

jóga

Babe, I couldn’t stand it. Everything changed so fast. Four days had passed, and we were completely disconnected. I didn’t care if I was right or wrong or if I flirted with Zach or if you were being an asshole, or if you were scared of the what-if. I just wanted you closer.

I typed the e-mail a dozen times. It started with an apology. I reread it; the words trite and trivial. I was trying to find the perfect lines. Hours passed as I listened to a dozen songs scrutinizing each lyric. Nothing was perfect. I needed something perfect. But that’s it: love isn’t perfect. You know that. It breaks your heart. The storybooks are bullshit. There is no knight in shining…

And just like that, I knew exactly what to send.

From:
[email protected]
To:
[email protected]
Sent:
Friday, August 5, 4:59 p.m.
Subject:
the movie is moonstruck

loretta I love you…

and not like they told you love is

and I didn’t know this either,

but love don’t make things nice…

it ruins everything

it breaks your heart

it makes things a mess…

WE aren’t here to make things perfect

the snowflakes are perfect

the stars are perfect…

not us

NOT US!

WE are here to ruin ourselves

and to break our hearts

and to love the wrong people

and DIE!

I mean the storybooks are bullshit!

now will you come upstairs with me

and GET INTO MY BED!

…

Like an early ‘90s movie staring Cher and Nicholas Cage, the ones whose every line you’ve memorized — I didn’t even tell Anthony I was coming. Yet there he stood in our stairwell waiting to say, “I fucking love you.”

“But that’s my line.” I smiled through the words.

We kissed and fondled for the first time since my birthday. He detailed his morning visit to the radiologist, and his treatment strategy; for the next four weeks radiation every morning, while consuming chemo pills three times a day. I confirmed I had started packing. Our entire conversation fit between a breath and another kiss.

From:
[email protected]
To:
[email protected]
Sent:
Friday, August 5, 6:44 p.m.
Subject:
Re: the movie is moonstruck

this quote was perfect…

just my kind of thing

does that mean you are coming over tonight?

"Jóga"
Bjork