Single Player: Humor, Love, Breast Cancer and a Gaming Girl... (20 page)

I see.  That’s fair. 

Have a great night
.
        
 
  (No kisses.  Bad sign.)

Bing… up pops a new picture message. Ashton and rocker girl in a full-on selfie lip lock. Okay. Two can play this game, and this game is officially freaking
on
. He wants to play dirty, well then let’s get dirty. Before Chris has a chance to decline I jump across the empty food containers, plant myself across his well-muscled lap and kiss him senseless all whilst snapping away at the hopes of getting an amazing revenge photo. 

Got one. Attach…SEND! 

“Whoa... um... I think I’ve given you the wrong impression Cecilia,” uh… What? Nah… AH!

“What?” My three year hiatus from life has turned me socially incompetent. I know this. But… his signs have clearly pointed to his body parts wanting to be on my body parts for sure! I mean, there was almost dancing and everyone knows that dancing is a full on peacock move!

“It’s not you, CeeCee.” Realizing I’m still spread across him like some kind of pathetic, cheap buffet I slowly roll to my hands and knees and crawl back over to my side of the blanket.

“Oh my god, please don’t say it’s not you it’s me, that’s a line straight from my last high school romance disaster.”

“I wasn’t going to say that at all. What I was about to say was that I have a girlfriend.” What is happening right now? WHAT IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW (says the shouty, pissed off she-devil still very much flitting about in my head)?

“You have a girlfriend! Says the guy who saved my dog, came in for coffee and asked me intimate questions about my life right before he asked  me to dance? Of course you have a girlfriend! How could I have not guessed it? Especially when the very next day in a clear sign of ‘just friendship’ you bring dinner over with a fantastic bottle of wine and try to solve all of my problems while having a romantic picnic on MY LIVING ROOM FLOOR! I don’t know what I could’ve possibly misread? Of course you just wanted to be friends, SILLY ME!” I may have shouted some. But it was just a few little words.

“Okay, since we’re being so high and mighty. Why don’t you explain why you were taking pictures of yourself
ATTACKING
me and then sending them to someone without MY PERMISSION? HMM? Maybe you were using me?” Well… he may have shouted a bit too.

“I think attacking is a bit of an overstatement. I simply kissed you… aggressively.” I’m a very bad person. 

“I like you Cecilia. I want us to be friends and I want to help you but...” bing goes the phone, oh sweet Jesus, Mary and Joseph… a deep sense of fear drapes itself over me like Dracula’s dark and bloodied cloak as I pick up the phone and flip it over exposing the newest text.

Hope he can make you

happy finally… 

I sure couldn’
t
.  (He’s used all ten of his words very well, making his point crystal clear. I got it.)

NO! No.  No.  No… What have I done? 

“I’m sorry. I’m going to have to ask you to leave now.”

I jump up from our misguided love nest and Master immediately follows. He stares confused at poor Chris, wondering if he’s now become one of our newest enemies.  Thanks to my poor life management skills my poor dog has some serious trust issues. If I don’t get it together soon and stop twirling us around in this constant stress cycle he’s for sure going to get the mange, especially after the catastrophic list of epiphany’s that have been revealed tonight. We’re going to need to invest in a polygraph machine from this point forward and require interviews from any possible boy-toy’s or future best friend’s.  

Chris carefully watches me as he packs up the leftovers, clearly sensing the intense seismic activity pulsing from my impending monstrous breakdown. I’m trying to decide if it would be wise to wait for him to leave before I let my freak flag fly or just go ahead and let it loose now. He really needs to see the kind of person he’s trying to make friends with so that he can make a clear and informed decision. Realizing I’ll be helping him out, I come to the conclusion that now’s the time and I let it rip. Here goes nothing. 

“One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand…” I’m circling the couch at a break neck speed and oh my goodness! Instead of getting better it’s getting worse. As I approach ten one-thousand I stop circling the sofa and decide to add jumping jacks to the crazy-train I’m riding on, really bringing my inner freak forward.  Without even realizing its happening, I’ve also started crying hysterically. Chris appears to be taken aback and I can’t help but wonder which one of the three neurotic behaviors I’m currently exhibiting is most impressing him, the counting, the jumping jacks or the tears but for sure he’s figured I’m cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.

“Cecilia.” He says, approaching slowly. I’m unable  to discern through all these tears the exact level of his alarm but If I were a guessing girl I’d say I’m leveling out at the highest priority tier.  

When he gets within an arm’s reach of me he stops and puts a hand out, allowing me the opportunity to accept the comfort he’s wanting to give. While staring down at his unfamiliar hand I make a snap decision and decide then and there that I’ll trust him. He’s given me absolutely no reason not to.

As soon as I accept his hands he pulls me into his arms and sits us both down. He seems to know by instinct alone that it may take awhile for me to cry myself out so he gets comfortable, a stranded passenger on Cecilia’s crazy train express. My hiccups start to slow and I feel like a microwavable popcorn bag in its final seconds of popping, the longer I go between pops the closer I am to being finished. 

“Why (hiccup) are you (hiccup) being so nice (hiccup) to me (hiccup, hiccup)?” I’ve no tissues anywhere and there’s a immeasurable amount of snot dripping from my nose, mixing with the salty tears from my eyes creating  the most perfect crust of gelatinous mucousy goo I’ve ever seen before. Matter of fact, up against a toddler with the flu in a contest of
Whose Snot is This, Anyway
, I’d win, every time, hands down.

He breaks me out of my snot thoughts with his reply, “I’m afraid to tell you.” Who the what the? I love when I’m not the only one in the room with fear! Be cool, be cool, this is my chance to prove I’m a helper as well as a taker.

“Oh snap. That sounds bad. I don’t suppose I need to tell you but (hiccup), I can’t take anymore bad (hiccup) news. To be honest, right now I could use some unicorn dust sprinkled on me.”

He laughs at my silly response and adds, “Do you mean unicorn shit? Because as magical as that may seem, it’s still just shit.” I can’t help but laugh, thus turning my hiccups into snorts in the process. I’m so gross. 

“Stop it. I’m trying to be serious. I think if you’re afraid to tell me something you should trust your instincts because over the last several years I have proven over and over that I have none. Nill… Nada… zilch… the big goose egg… zippo… squat. I hope you get where I’m comin’ from. No instincts here. Take you for example. Totally know nothing about you except you save runaway dogs for strange women, yet I still let you in my house. You could totally be a serial killer. I have no clue one way or the other.”

“Now stop. I happen to
not
be in the business of killing people. It’s actually quite the opposite. I’m a doctor, more accurately, a psychiatrist.” When he says the word psychiatrist I can see he’s watching me close, trying to gauge what my reaction will be to his occupation. 

Now I get why he wanted to be friends! This explains so much! My crazy popped right up on his doctor radar on day one when I refused to leave my porch. Good Lord, he thinks I’m nuts. Oh my god. We were just on a pity date.  To make matters worse, I went on ahead and flew high the flag of Insaneotopia that I live under. Give me a pen, I’ll just go ahead and sign myself into the mental hospital now. SHITE! Shitter! Shitstorm! I can’t respond. Maybe I should drop and play dead. Thankfully before I have a chance to put this genius plan into action, he continues.

“Okay, listen. I need to explain some things to you. I told you my mother died of breast cancer,” I shake my head in confirmation. “Towards the end of her battle one of the doctors urged us all to see one of the therapists on staff at the cancer center she was in.”

“And?” What could this possibly have to do with me?

“And, he was amazing. Each week we had individual sessions with him and then at least once a week he saw us as a family unit.”

“That’s great. I’m glad a therapist was able to help you.  What’s the point?”

“I’m getting there, just stop interrupting and let me talk woman.” He’s lucky I still want to lick him, girlfriend or not, or he’d be out of here.

“The objective was simple. He guided us through the process of our mother’s impending death trying to dispose of as much fear as possible, that way when the time came, we would be able to let her go, give her peace and have at least a kernel of serenity within each of us to get through the next process which was the grief. CeeCee without him, I don’t know where I’d be. For all I know I’d be locked up inside just like you.”   

“Your mom saw him too?” Okay, I’ll admit it.  I’m glad I shut up and listened.             

“Yeah. He eased her fears as much as our own and when she finally passed it was so calm. Nothing like I would have expected. Before we met Dr. Marks I never in a million years thought I could be strong enough to be in the room with my mom as she died. But, I was, and I’m so glad I have that memory. That I was able to see her go in peace knowing there was nothing left unsaid between us.  It was wonderfully sad. She is my hero.” It’s clear in his eyes and through his words how much he loves and misses his mom, but unlike my grief, his hasn’t stopped him from living. He chooses to honor her with his life and I want more than anything to do the same for my dad.

“Anyway, after she passed each of us continued to see Dr. Marks for several years and the impact he’s had on our lives is immeasurable. While I was in school it became very clear to me that I wanted to do what he did, so psychiatry it was. My goal was always to work at a cancer center like Dr. Marks and do what he did by giving families the tools they’d need to be able to walk through Cancer with dignity.” He’s definitely not a serial killer. 

“Your story is amazing but what does any of it have to do with me? None of it explains why you’re here.” The answer seems so close but I need him to give it to me straight.

“That’s the part I’m getting to.” Long pause… I almost start to count out loud again but he cuts me off with his next words, “Your father was one of my patients.”

Silence…             

sixteen

Chris knows my dad? I’m stunned stiff and laid out perfectly still atop Master’s back, right where I fell when he told me his secret. My dad never saw a therapist, at least not that I knew of. I can’t imagine any reason why he wouldn’t have told me? I need answers and fast.

“How long did you see him before he passed?” I ask as I count the carpets many fibers.

“He was my patient for the last month of his life.” He’s going to stay right on point and wait for me to ask the questions I need the answers to most. He really is a psychiatrist.

“Okay. Then why didn’t he tell me? I mean, maybe it would’ve helped me to deal with things better if I had been given the chance to see you as well.” Now I’m softly crying and Master is licking away my individual tears as they slide down the smooth planes of my cheeks one after the other. What a good boy.

“We were actually talking about having you and your brother come in but then he took a sudden turn for the worse and because I was just a resident at the time and still working under another doctor’s orders I couldn’t go against his wishes and see you behind his back. Even if I wanted to I couldn’t tell you I was seeing your father because of all the privacy laws. Next thing you know, he’d passed and I never got the opportunity to meet you.”

When He looks up from his hands wearing a guilty expression I put two and two together. He knew exactly who I was when we met. In shock from this revelation I just nod and blink at him, hoping he’ll take the hint and tell me more.

“I’ve thought about you a lot over the last couple of years. You should know that your dad made a deep impact on me personally and also on how I do my job. I always hoped to see you after his passing and from time to time I wondered how you were. He talked about you so much I felt like I knew you already. So, now that I’m here all I want to do is help you and I know your dad would want that as well. He loved you and your brother more than anything else in the world and he’d hate to see you living this way. Actually, it was his worst fear for you.”  These last words hit my heart the hardest.

“How did you know who I was? Or, for that matter, manage to end up outside my door?” Lord I hope he’s not some kind of stalker doctor or an evil genius disguised as a sweetheart, dog lover.             

“CeeCee, I was at the hospital all the time just like you and I used to see you and your dad walking the halls or in the cafeteria but I couldn’t just come over and say, ‘Hey, I’m your dad’s shrink.’ Like I said your dad wasn’t ready, he was still working through his own stuff. He knew his time was coming and was trying to do the right thing by seeking guidance. Unfortunately his time was a bit closer than any of us imagined. Besides, I’ve seen like a million pictures of you. There were even a couple cute ones of you and Connor in your Under Roo’s.”

“Oh, God, take me now.”

“Ah, come on, those were my favorites.

“I bet they were. Now get back to your story, I love hearing about my dad.”  

“You know, I don’t remember him ever mentioning you were so bossy. Ow! These are my favorite shoes, watch it with the foot stomping. Anyway… when your father and I weren’t working, when he could talk about life and how great he had it, you and your brother were all he ever talked about.” It’s obvious how much he genuinely cares, I’m touched.

“Was he worried about Connor?” He takes a second to get his words together.

“He worried differently about Connor. He said Connor would work through the pain like he worked through everything else in his life, very methodically.” Right on.

“He also said you were his sensitive one and that he was scared that when he died you’d hole up and hide your feelings. And, that you wouldn’t want to be a burden to anyone so you’d probably turn inside yourself before you’d ask for help.” He throws me a knowing look. A very doctory,
I guess he was right
look.

For a couple minutes we sit in silence as I reflect on the secret my father kept hidden from me. I still can’t figure out how after all this time my father’s therapist has suddenly come to find me. Still lying on Master, timing my breaths to his, I lift my eyes and look into Chris’s before asking again, “How’d you find me? I assume you meant to be outside my place the other day.”

“Luck.” Hmm…or again, stalker doctor.

“Well however you did it let’s hope my luck is changing because Dr. Chris, I’m going to let you have the privilege of really testing that doctor degree you speak so flippantly about. My dad raised me all by himself and the last thing I’d want is for him to be disappointed in me. It’s time I act my age, take responsibility for my actions and buck up.  Let’s do this thing. Therapy me up.”

***                  

“Connor. Stop talking for one minute.”  I’m really trying to be calm here but I’m about to blow.

“You stop talking for one minute!” I hear Liddy in the background telling him that he is not being very nice and I’m like, HELL YEAH, SPRITE!

The line goes silent as we each try to pull it together long enough to have our first civil conversation since I left his house the other day. We tried talking two nights ago, but once the name calling started I hung up on his stupid ass. He actually said that
I
was being an insensitive, spoiled brat and needed to get over myself and try to accept our mom and her faults just like I want people to accept
all
of mine. And, when he said ‘all’ he was like ‘
AAaalllLL
’ in a real big, sing-songy way - like the list of my problems is the biggest list in all the land!  HA! 

Sure, somewhere in there he may have had a point,
but
,
I am NOT insensitive or spoiled or a brat.  For the love of Pete, whoever Pete is, I am the very definition of sensitive. Look it up! Unforgiving, I would tolerate, but that’s not what he said. If he thinks that I will accept what that jailbird said about our father not being there for her in her time of need, then he’s lost his ever lovin’ mind! Why can’t my smart brother see that he’s wrong.

As is no doubt obvious, The Mother has become a problem. But, clearly we disagree on that. Which is
also
a problem. See? She
IS
a problem! Connor thinks that because she’s here now we should let the past lie in the past… blah, blahdity, blah… and move forward from where we stand today. It’s a lovely thought, dimwitted and bird-brained, but lovely nonetheless. Problem is, I’m a realist and - more importantly - I trust my dad. Always have, always will. 

Poor Connor is so enamored with the idea of having his adorable, doe-eyed little mom back that he’s lost sight of the big picture, the picture that says:
SHE LEFT US
. Well, until she can somehow prove to me that my dad ditched her in the ugly way in which she claimed he did or she can somehow prove she’s innocent of sucking at life, I’m not interested.  

Connor speaks first because I’m still unable. I’m too worked up over how him and his good manners are being taken advantage of. 

“Cee, I really don’t know what to do here. I’m sorry.  This is just too much for me to handle right now.”

“What’s
this
? Do you mean
me
?
I’m
too much for you to handle right now?” I can’t believe this is happening. 

“Well, yes. What I mean is that I need some time to figure things out with mom, okay?”

“Mm, hmm.” My eyes are rolled so far back in my head I can see my brain. It’s grey and gross.

“She’s doing well. She’s going to group every day.  She’s adjusting to life on the outside and it’s hard.  I’m not quitting on her. Not yet.” 

“But you’ll quit on me?” I can tell he’s rolling his eyes at me now like I’m the idiot. 

“Are you going to tell me that you really don’t ever want to get to know her?” He’s relentless, but I love that about him

“That’s not what I said. I’m dealing with a lot of my own stuff right now and I don’t have any extra trust lying around to throw her way. Maybe after I’m in a better place? I don’t know.” 

“Me neither Cee.”

“But listen, you do what you need to do for you. I don’t want us to fight. If you’re good with keeping her out of our relationship then we’ll be fine. I’ll drop it and not say another word.  Pinky promise.”

He laughs at my suggestion. “Pinky promise? What are we? Five? I don’t need a pinky promise, I believe you and as long as you know that, we’re good.”

“Good.”

“Eventually you know I’m going to try to get the two of you back together. But for now, I’ll leave it. Promise accepted.”

“You’re impossible.” I laugh trying to ease the tension.

“Tell Liddy we can work through emails for now. I’ll keep scanning and sending my stuff and I want to see pictures of what she’s creating, okay?”

“I’ll tell her as soon as we hang up. All right, talk soon then?”

“Talk soon then. I love you,” he’s all the family I have. This has to be okay.

“I love you more. Talk soon.” 

It’ll be okay. It has to be…

***

Several weeks go by and my life is starting to change at a frantic, rapid and often times unnerving pace. Things are a little weird with Connor but I know it will pass and in the meantime I’ve been leaning heavily on good ol’ Dr. Chris.  Ever since the night I learned about him helping my dad, I’ve been seeing him on a professional basis only (boo-hiss), and lucky for me he’s agreed to make house calls for a bit. If I’ve been a good girl, journaled well, and done all my ‘feelings’ homework he brings me food as a treat (oh my goodness, I’m a puppy). 

For the time being we’re meeting at my place. Chris’s office is at the cancer center where my dad took his final breath, and though I’m recovering I’m still very much in the infant stages and not yet ready for the intensity of that particular step. Anytime we move too fast or Chris pushes me too hard I involuntarily and reflexively shut down.  How the hell Ashton ever put up with me is a miracle.  Especially considering the only doctorate he’s ever held is the one for sexual therapy (I wonder if that’s a thing?).  Chris promises that in time he’ll get me to his office but I say HA to that! Keep dreaming Dr. King. 

Today is a big day thanks to my dear Doctor and current fav guy. He’s taking me out and I’m going to attempt to do two things that I haven’t done in the last three years (cue big movie moment soundtrack - your pick), I’m going to drive IN a car (not my dad’s, I’m nowhere near that fixed) and then I’m going to… GO… TO… THE… HOME… DEPOT! Sounds boring right?  NOPE! There’s a couple important facts to note here: first, this is one of my very favorite stores on the planet. I die for great finishes… that sounds perverted. I mean hardware finishes… OH MY GOODNESS, so did that! One more time, I enjoy my home finishing’s to be clean and lovely… now it sounds boring. I GIVE UP. I just really like to decorate things nicely and with really awesome hard finishes. Giggle.

Moving on, the second, critical, fact to note is that The Depot is the place that triggered some of my worst panic attacks after my father’s passing. Doc’s guess is because dad and I spent so much time together there, I tend to agree. Unfortunately not being able to go there has cramped my ability to finish things in my home… Oh Jesus, enough already with the finishes. Eventually I have faith that I will “finish” things just fine in my home (I’ll finish the HELL out of things!). Focus. The finishes don’t matter. What’s relevant is that the last attack I had at Home Depot was so bad that it marks the last day I left my home and the day that I first noticed Ashton was beginning to let me go. 

***

As me and my trusty helper Burt are looking over my hardware choices my fingers began to tingle. In the short history of my life this has never been a good sign, but I choose to ignore the simple signal and continue my shopping. Not a good idea.

Burt is in the middle of handing me a package when suddenly he starts to sound a bit like Charlie Brown’s school teacher, “waaa... wa... wa... whaa… wha... wa.” My eyesight begins to zoom in and out like a camera trying to auto-focus and I have the very real sensation of being choked around the neck like a chicken that’s been caught unaware in the coop. My hands fly to my neck and Burt immediately notices the international symbol for choking, so he does as anyone would in his situation and immediately calls for help. 

Now, if you’ve ever had a panic attack you may be familiar with the symptoms to which I speak. I too have an advanced knowledge of these symptoms, the problem is this; In the middle of an anxiety attack your ability to reason through problems flies right out the door, leaving you absolutely positively sure that today is the day you will finally succumb to its bullying and be carried off to meet your maker.

My fight or flight instincts are at high alert so I try to get the hell out of there before I either pass out or puke. Sweet ol’ Burt has emergency services on the phone and there is a small group of concerned finishing-shoppers circled around trying their best to help, which incidentally has the exact opposite effect. 

Caught up in the moment I do the first thing that comes to me and look for a place to escape. A-HA! Got it. Looking over my shoulder I notice that the bottom shelving unit beside me has a thin opening between a couple of stacked boxes, and as luck would have it, this opening is perfectly people sized. I quickly slip through the slim space and climb on top of a pallet and scurry between several stacks of tall cardboard boxes. Hopefully I’m safe here and can hide my distress from as many onlookers as possible.