Hope For Garbage (10 page)

CHAPTER 22

Even though it was approaching eleven, the kid was still curled up in a ball on Tom’s co
uch.  A blue plaid quilt engulfed him like a cocoon and a pillow covered his head. Tom didn’t have the heart to wake him; Trevor needed his sleep.  It had been a rough night.

Tom’s evening had gone much better, until the phone call.  He and Carol had just returned from a nice dinner and a movie.  Westwood Theatre was showing the classic ‘Singing in the Rain’ digitally re-mastered.  He wasn’t exactly sure what the technical jargon meant but the picture was incredible, and they both agreed it was almost worth the ten bucks a pop.

Then they went back to Tom’s place and had some wine.  Carol liked white zinfandel, which was actually pink—that just made no sense at all.  He wasn’t much of a wine drinker, but he was always willing to try new things for a special lady.  They were getting cozy on the couch and then the phone rang.

“
Mr.T!  Thank God!” The kid sounded frantic, shouting into the phone. “You have to come get me!  Please!”

“Trevor?”

“I’m in trouble—big trouble!  Please I need your help.”

What had the kid gotten himself into?  “Okay kid, calm down.  I can barely understand you.  Slow down and tell me what’s going on.”

The kid finally took a breather and then whispered, “I’ll explain everything later.  I need you to come and get me Mr.T, like now.”

A million questions were floating around in Tom’s head, but his main concern was getting the kid out of there, wherever ‘there’ was.  Tom could tell by the desperation in Trevor’s voice, this was serious.  He didn’t waste any time, “Give me directions.  I’ll leave right away.”

And so Tom and Carol’s night was cut short.  Instead of cuddling on the couch, they were cuddling in the front seat of his car as they drove out to Harbor Village.

Now Tom sat in his La-Z-Boy with a box of Ritz, looking over at the kid on the couch.  He was sleeping peacefully, as if he had no worries in the world.  He must be dog-tired.  Trevor was not a restful sleeper.

Trevor had told him briefly about the party the night before.  This kid couldn’t catch a break.   And it was lucky that Tom got there when he did, because
if that Mr. Stewart character had found him, he probably would’ve cut the kid’s balls off.

Trevor started tossing and turning, pulling the quilt up over his head and letting out a groan. 
Back to reality
, thought Tom.

“Can I get you some coffee, kid?  Water maybe?”

Trevor lifted the cover off his face and stared at Tom.  He looked pitiful.  His hair was all over the place and he had huge bags under his eyes. “No.  Thanks,” he mumbled.

Tom took a bite of his Ritz and waited.  He still had a lot of questions, but he wasn’t sure if now was the time.

“Mr.T, do you ever have the same dream over and over?  Like not every night, but like you’ve had it ever since you can remember?”

Tom’s thoughts immediately turned to Maddie.  He had been having vivid dreams about her since her death.  They weren’t bad dreams necessarily.  Most times she was just there—like an observer watching over him.  But they were so real and it
actually gave him comfort to see her.

“I guess maybe I have.  I don’t usually remember my dreams.  Why do you ask?”  T
om hoped the kid would open up.  He had seen Trevor asleep enough times to know that nightmares were a common occurrence for him.  He often screamed, and even thrashed out in his sleep.

“I have the same dream over and over.
”  Trevor was staring up at the ceiling.  “There is this man-in-black that chases me.  Actually, I’m flying and I keep falling, like I can’t stay up.  He’s on the ground waiting for me.  I can see his face but I don’t recognize him.”

The kid stopped there and looked
over at Tom.  His voice started shaking, “Why does this stuff keep happening to me?  Why can’t I just get a break?”

Tom felt a rise of emotion swell up inside of him.  He walked over to the couch and sat next to the kid.  He put his hand on the kid’s shoulder, “Trevor, you will get a break.  I promise.  Everyone is dealt a different hand in life.  It’s how we play the hand that matters.”

He could see that this answer wasn’t the one Trevor was looking for.  Although he meant every word, it probably sounded cliché and trite.

T
he kid turned his back and buried his head into the pillow again.

Tom hated to see him like this, “Trevor, I want you to know something.  You are an exceptional human being—a real diamond in the rough.  I mean that sincerely.”

At this, Trevor turned around.  His cheeks were red and stained with tears, but he was smiling.  “Thanks Mr.T.  You’re not so bad either.”

The next thing he knew Tom felt the kid’s arms wrap around him.  Trevor squeezed him hard and held on to him like his life depended on it.

Maybe in the cruel world of Trevor McNulty, it actually did.

CHAPTER 23

One week later, Trevor was gazing into the aquarium at
the Crazy Kids Center.  Betty had found a new home in the hull of a sunken ship. The aquarium had recently been updated with a pirate theme, complete with mini treasure chests and skeletons.  It fascinated Trevor like it would a three year old—maybe because these novelties weren’t ever a part of his childhood.

The last week had been rough.  He had called and texted Bea ev
ery day with no response.  And when he called this morning, a recorded message came on saying the number was no longer in service.

He just wanted to tell her he was sorry one last time.  But, she definitely never wanted to talk to him again, and Trevor couldn’t blame her.

Mr.T suggested that Trevor go see Dr. Fisher and talk to her about everything.  Of course Mr.T would say anything to get him to go back to the Crazy Kids Center.

At first
Trevor laughed at the thought, but then he remembered his last session with Dr. Fisher.  He still felt a little guilty about being such a jerk to her and in a weird way wanted to apologize somehow.  What could it hurt?

The night of the party kept playing over and over in his head.  The whole scene was still fresh in his mind: Evelyn falling on the floor,
the wounded look on Bea’s face and of course, Mr. Stewart trying to pulverize him.

But
there was one thing that did give him some comfort.  Lorene stuck up for him; she actually seemed to care about him.  She probably risked her job making those excuses for him, and he just hoped she was still employed.

Trevor looked at his watch—3:58.  He headed up to Dr. Fisher’s office.

After a quick knock, she opened the door smiling, “Hello Trevor, come on in.”

He took a seat in the ‘
patient’ chair and she offered him something to drink, “I have coffee, tea, bottled water?”

He was tempted to give her his lecture on bottled water and its effect on the e
nvironment, but decided now probably wasn’t the time.  “Sure, I’ll have some water.”

She handed him the bottle of water and sat in her leather armchair, her notepad on her lap.

He took a long drink and looked down at the zigzag carpet, “First, I wanted to apologize to you.  About our last session…I never should have talked to you that way.”

“Trevor I accept your apology,” she said simply.

“That’s it?”  This was much easier than he thought it’d be.

She smiled, “That’s it.  It’s in the past.  Let’s move forward.  So, how have you been?”

He took a deep breath, “Well it’s been pretty insane actually.”

At this
Dr. Fisher sat forward, her hands clasped in front of her.  “Tell me.”

And so he told her. He told her about
Bea, about Evelyn, and about the party.  He told her pretty much everything that had happened since the morning in Harbor Village when he first met Bea. 

She leaned back in her chair, “Wow, you
have
had a busy few weeks.  How are you feeling about it all right now?”

He was exhausted.  Just getting the story out took every ounce of
effort he had.  Although he had to admit, he did feel better for some reason.  He felt a little lighter, less tense.

“
I feel really tired—wiped out you know?  I just wanted to get it off my chest.”

“Yes, I know.
”  There was something so calming about her voice, “I’m glad you told me about it.”

He went on, “So do you have any advice for me—I mean, do you think Bea will ever talk to me again?”

“Well Trevor, I think you have to give her some time, and then see what happens.  Giving her space is the only thing you can really do right now.”  It was the answer he pretty much expected.

He studied Dr. Fisher.  She had it all—smarts, kindness and looks.  He couldn’t help himself.  “You know, you’re an attractive lady, smart and nice….”
God, he sounded like an idiot.

“Thank you Trevor, but
unlike Evelyn Stewart, I do prefer men out of high school,” she smiled.

“No!  That’s not what I’m saying…I just wondered…” he could feel his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.  “That guy in the lobby was married, right?  Why would you be into a married guy?  Just seems you could do a lot better.”

Her smile faded, “Not that it’s any of your business Trevor, but I am not romantically involved with that man you saw in the lobby.”

“But you like him?”  Why did Trevor care about this anyway?  Why couldn’t he just keep his mouth shut?

She sighed, “I did.  But recently I realized how ridiculous the whole thing was.  I broke it off—whatever
it
was.”

Trevor knew he had probably gotten too personal.  “I’m sorry, I should try to mind my own business.”

“It’s okay.”  Dr. Fisher began writing in her notebook, “The older you get, and the more life experiences you have, the more you realize that things aren’t always as they seem.”

She looked up, “Trevor, I have multiple sclerosis.  Are you familiar with the disease?”

Whoa.
  His mind instantly filled with images of people in wheelchairs.  He really didn’t know much about it, but Dr. Fisher definitely didn’t seem sick.  He was confused, “Uh, no, not really.  I mean I’ve heard of it.”

She smiled, “Well, it’s an auto-immune disease that affects the brain and central nervous system.  I was diagnosed seven years ago when I was thirty.  Strange things were happening inside my body and I just knew something wasn’t right.”

“What kind of things?”

She got out of her chair and walked over to the small window, “Oh, numbness, tingling—fun stuff like that.  It’s hard to describe to people, but it just felt like something wasn’t right.”

Trevor’s curiosity instantly evaporated.  He didn’t want to hear any more, but now he was trapped inside the small office.

“At first, I thought maybe it was just nerves you know, maybe pre-wedding jitters.”

Oh Shit. Wedding?

“They ran some tests and confirmed it was MS.  Of course, I was devastated.  I mean I was healthy—I ate healthy and exercised—did all the things you’re supposed to do.  You never expect a diagnosis like that.”

Trevor had a feeling he knew what was coming next.

Dr. Fisher’s voice was quiet, “I was with him for
three years.  Jeremy, my fiancé.  We met in grad school.  The wedding was only four months away.  Thank God the invitations hadn’t gone out.”

You just had to get personal, Trevor.

She turned to face him, looking surprisingly calm.  “You know what is horrible?  I actually thought about waiting until after the wedding to tell him.  Just pretend I didn’t find out until after.  Isn’t that sad?”

She was shaking her head, “But I told him right away and let him think about it.
  At first, Jeremy thought we should just postpone the wedding, and then as time went by… I guess down deep I knew the diagnosis would be a deal breaker for him.  ”

Couldn’t keep your mouth shut, Trevor.

She walked back over to her chair and sat down, “And dating is difficult to say the least.  You go on a couple of dates and then you have to worry about telling the person…I mean when should you tell?  How do you say it?”

Trevor’s therapy session had turned into Dr. Fisher’s.  She was actually looking at him like
he
might have the answers.  He shrugged his shoulders; he had no clue how to react.

“It’s so hard…I’ve pretty much given up on the whole dating scene.  But, it gets lonely, and sometimes it’s easier to get involved with people who have no expectations.  Keep things simple, you know?” 

She was smiling, but Trevor wasn’t.  He didn’t know what the hell to say.  “But, you seem so healthy.  I would never know you had a disease like that.”

“Like I said, things aren’t always as they seem.  I feel good most of the time.  I get shots once a week and I take care of myself.  In that respect, it hasn’t changed my life greatly.  It’s the unknown—the future—that’s hardest to face.  It’s too scary for some people.”

She went on, “My work, and the patients I meet, keep me centered.”

Trevor nodded, twiddling his fingers in his lap.  He just hoped this talk was coming to an end.  He felt like an even bigger bag of shit than he had when he walked into her office.

“Trevor, the reason I’m telling you this, besides the fact that if feels good to vent, is so maybe you can realize you are not alone.  Sure, some people in this world often seem to have it made on the outside, but that usually isn’t the case.”

She paused, “And
I’m not minimizing what has happened in your life.  Please don’t think that.  I’m just hoping you can see that I have baggage too.  If I can help you, it helps me.  It’s a win-win for both of us.”

Just like
Mr.T was always saying. 
I do something for you.  You do something for me.  It goes both ways.

Realization hit him hard.  She had secrets.  He had secrets.  Everyone had secrets.  And he wasn’t sure why, but he trusted her completely.  It was almost like they had their own private club; secrets were kept safe in this square office with the little window.

He could tell her things—things he hadn’t told anyone.  Not just about Bea and Evelyn and that whole mess.  He could to tell her things about his past, about his mom…maybe even about
that
day.

She interrupted his thoughts, “
Anyway, enough about all that.  What do you think Trevor?  Would you like to come back next week?”

He smiled, “Yea, I would like that.”

When Trevor reached the door he turned around, “Hey, can I call you Dr. Fish?”

She chuckled, “Sure Trevor.”

“Cool.  See ya next week Dr. Fish.”