by E. J. Noyes
I nodded.
“Tell me where you are.”
“I’m in the States in your kitchen. Bec is outside and you’re here and so are my other friends.” A deep trembling breath. “I’m safe.”
“Yes you are.” Both her hands moved up to my face. “You are safe.” She blinked rapidly and repeated, “You are safe.”
I reached up and grabbed her elbow, grounding myself further in the feel of her soft woolen sweater. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “I just need a minute.”
Her thumbs stroked my cheeks. “Take what you need, love. I’m right here. Do you want me to get Rebecca?”
I shook my head. I couldn’t run like a baby to Bec every time I had a freak-out or felt bad. She had enough of my shit to deal with. “I’ll be fine. Thanks.” We stood quietly for a few minutes until the shaking and nausea had subsided enough for me to think more clearly. I had a problem. A cut on my foot. Just a knife cut. Nothing else. “Okay…let’s sort this thing out.”
Amy studied me for a few seconds, and apparently satisfied I was no longer in danger of an imminent breakdown, eased her foot from mine. “Keep pressure on it, I’ll be right back.”
“Thanks for the first aid advice, Ames,” I called after her, moving my right foot to press down on the small wound. Don’t look down at it, it’s not bad. Leaning against the counter, I drew in a couple more deep breaths and let each one out slowly.
In all my thirty-seven years, I’d never cut myself. Not with a knife, or a scalpel or even a utility blade. Never dropped a tool. Never hit my thumb with a hammer. Well done, Sabine. That’s a D minus for blade competency. I pushed down harder, trying to press the sting away. I took stock of my body, of the lessening tingling in my fingers, the subsiding nausea. It’s okay, you’re okay. Bec outside, friends, a thick steak, clear fall day, a glass of Pinot when you get home.
Amy rushed back into the kitchen. “Haven’t bled out yet?”
“Nope, but it’s looking dicey.” Jokes are good. Jokes are normal.
“Another pun like that and you’re out on your ass,” she said, but she was smiling.
I stared at the massive first aid kit in her hands. “Jesus. How often do you guys hurt yourselves?”
Amy snorted. “Blame my husband. You know he’s into that doomsday prepping bullshit.” She hoisted the kit onto her kitchen table. “Good thing he is. Screw wasting time at the ER when we can just deal with it here.”
“It might only need a Band-Aid.” I glanced out the window to make sure Bec wasn’t about to come in. She was lingering near the grill, talking to Rick, while Mitch played with Ethan. Mike sat between the two groups with a beer in his hand, interacting easily with everyone.
“We’ll see. Gimme a look,” she said gleefully.
After thoroughly flushing the gash with saline, we agreed that the slice needed more than a Band-Aid. Amy pulled the box open and passed me a few things. I put a sterile drape on the chair beside me and carefully swabbed my foot with Betadine, teeth gritted the whole time.
Murmuring to herself, Amy kept rummaging through Rick’s kit. “Oh for fuck’s sake…what the hell is this?” She held up what looked like a roll of thin tape. “Don’t bother asking your surgeon wife what’s best, Rick, just buy some weird shit off the Internet. Who the fuck even makes Steri-Strips in a roll?” The fact Amy was now acting as she usually did helped soothe my panic.
“Is it even skin closure tape?” I asked dubiously.
She handed me a pair of scissors then pulled on gloves. “Looks like it. If it doesn’t hold, I’ll just use this glue and hope it isn’t some cheap shit off the Internet too. Hand it over.” I shuffled my foot closer and Amy adopted a faux-serious physician tone. “How’s your general health? Any allergies? Tetanus up to date? Any communicable blood illness I should be aware of?”
“Not unless you count Hep A.”
Amy paused, staring at me with an expression of mostly disbelief mixed with just a touch of amusement. “Um…”
I swatted at her. “It’s a joke, you jerk.” I had to joke about it or I’d cry about the fact I’d done something as stupid as drop a knife on my foot. Cry about the fact it’d triggered a freak-out. “Okay, let’s get this done quickly before someone comes in and you have two more surgeons watching you work.” I picked up the scissors, holding them in a position for her to grasp when she needed to cut the closure strips.
“They can fuck off. This cut is mine.”
I stared out the window, noticing Mitch and Amy’s son playing a vigorous game. It looked like Mitch, apparently a scary monster, was about to be thoroughly slain. He picked Ethan up and held him high above the ground before carefully and strategically bringing the boy close enough to make the final killing blow. Mitch’s theatrical death scream carried into the house as he fell to his knees, gently lowered Ethan to the ground then flopped dramatically onto his back. After a few jerks and twitches he lay still.
Smiling fondly, Amy glanced out the window. “He’s great with Ethan.” She carefully drew the sides of the cut together and placed the first strip, smoothing the edges down.
“Mitch loves kids. He’s always wanted to be a father.”
“How about you?” Amy took the scissors from me, snipped the tape and gave them back. “You make an excellent theater nurse by the way.”
“Thanks, and ugh, no thanks for kids. Aside from the whole not understanding children, I just…I think I’m too selfish. I like my life the way it is, with Bec.” I tapped my temple with the butt of my palm, careful to keep the instrument pointed away from my face. “Plus with all the stuff up here, probably not a good idea.”
“What about Bec?” A second strip joined the first.
“No. She likes kids, but she’s not interested either.” A frisson of alarm tightened the muscle of my neck. Something was nudging at my subconscious, but I couldn’t quite grasp it. Conversations about children and not wanting them, then something else…Bec changing her mind? But the memory had a vague, dreamlike tinge at the edges of it.
“I hear ya. Ethan was an accident, never thought I’d have any.” She grinned. “Now I can’t imagine life without him, but back then I was definitely having a what the fuck am I going to do sort of panic. One more?”
It took a moment to realize she was asking about my foot, not if she should have another child. I checked her work and nodded, trying to shake off my strange thoughts. “Well, no accidents for us.”
She laughed, loudly, ending with a snort. “Very true.” After placing the last strip, she leaned in. “Right, we’re done. May I draw your attention to this goddamned work of art.”
“Magnificent,” I agreed.
“Only the best for you,” she said as she quickly dressed my foot. While we packed up the first aid kit and assorted trash and wrappers, Amy spoke quietly, “Seriously, Sabs. You know I’m here to talk or whatever. Remember that.”
“I know.” She’d proven that time and time again, including less than fifteen minutes ago. “It’s just…everyone’s so fucking great. So helpful and so wonderful. And sometimes it makes me feel worse.” They were all there, ready and eager to listen and help. But what if I didn’t even know what to say? What if I didn’t know what sort of help I needed?
“What do you mean?”
“What am I giving back? I feel like I’m all take and no give at the moment.” I heaved a long sigh. It’d felt that way for a while now. “I’ve already asked everyone for so much. I’m not sure I can keep asking again.”
“Friendships and relationships aren’t about keeping score, Sabs,” Amy said, and the serious tone felt odd coming from her.
“I know that, but it’s just…what’s the tipping point? At what point will it become too much? Surely someone’s going to cave under the weight of all this shit in my head, and bail.”
“No we won’t,” Amy said instantly. “Because we love you. But you have to let us in, tell us what’s going on.” She hugged me long and tight. “Give me a moment to get
you some clean things and wash this floor.”
I started to rise. “I can do it.”
“No, love. You sit there. Won’t take long.”
After efficiently cleaning my mess from the floor and presenting me with socks and a pair of soft comfortable slippers, Amy picked up the salad—sans my abandoned carrot—and slipped out the back door. I collected the potato salad from the fridge and limping, followed her outside to where the rest of the group were milling about.
Amy flitted around, having simultaneous conversations about what kind of idiot buys that much meat and when will the grill be hot enough to start cooking, does everyone have enough to drink, and finally assuring Ethan that yes she’d seen him slaughter Mitch and to please not use words like slaughter.
Bec shielded her eyes and flashed me a smile. Her gaze shifted to my feet before returning to my face, her eyebrows lifted in silent question. I should have known she wouldn’t miss the fact I was limping, and also wearing Amy’s slippers. I smiled and shook my head to indicate everything was fine, and after a beat, Bec nodded in acquiescence before returning to what sounded like a conversation about peak oil with Rick. She was doing a very good job of seeming interested.
Mike looked up at me, grinning lazily. I stopped beside him, staring out at Mitch, who was still lying prone on the ground while Ethan jumped around him apparently trying to figure out what to do with the slain beast. “I kind of wonder which one of them is the kid,” Mike said.
“I don’t.”
The Monster miraculously revived, hopping to his knees. “You wanna play, Sabs? Soon we’ll be lookin’ for a princess to rescue.”
“Can I do it sitting right here?”
Mike laughed and leaned his head against my hip. “That’s pretty much what I said.” He turned to smile sweetly at his boyfriend, who’d adopted a wounded, pouting expression.
“Y’all are no fun,” Mitch grumbled. “C’mon, Ethan. Let’s go find some beetles to drop down their shirts.”
I mussed Mike’s hair before settling on the deck chair beside him. One of the many things I liked about him was that he was content to sit and watch, didn’t feel the need to fill in silences. His quiet mood suited mine perfectly. I propped my feet up and watched Bec talking with Amy’s husband.
Smiling, my girlfriend raised her wineglass to me then turned back to her conversation.
We arrived back home a little after six, still so replete from the late lunch that we agreed to skip dinner. After a shower, I awkwardly toed the scale from under the bathroom counter, the sharp sliding sound along the bathroom tiles announcing what I was doing. Before I could think about whether or not I’d improved, I stepped on, glanced at the number then hopped off again.
Bec came into the bathroom just as I was pushing the scale back into its hiding place. There was no way she wouldn’t have caught what I was doing, but she didn’t ask. She stretched up, kissed my cheek and asked, “Did you have a nice day?”
“Mhmm.” I stared at the floor, not wanting to look at her. But talking without eye contact felt wrong, so I forced my eyes up, found hers in the mirror and said, “Almost a pound and a half up since I came home. Though it could just be from Mom’s overfeeding and all the food today.”
“That’s great, Sabine.” Her hands came around my waist from behind and she pressed herself to my back. Her breath tickled my neck. “You know…it’s not about how you look, darling. I just want you to be healthy. That’s all.”
“I know.” I put my arms over hers, pulling her closer. After a pause I added, “Thank you.”
Bec rested her chin on my shoulder. “How’s your foot?” She’d asked what happened the moment we’d settled in the car, and seemed satisfied with my answer, if not a little put out I hadn’t called for her to come and help. But I couldn’t figure out how to explain that I couldn’t stand the thought of her fixing my small injury when she’d already fixed the major ones inside me.
“Fine. Throbs a little and kinda hurts to walk, but I’ll take some Tylenol.”
“Good.” Bec pressed a few soft kisses to the side of my neck, her breath whispering over my skin. “I’m exhausted, I think I’m going to read in bed for a while.”
“Okay. I might watch some TV. I’m so full I feel like I need to be recumbent on the couch for a week.”
“Then I’ll see you when you come back up.” She slipped out of the bathroom and left me alone.
I stared at my face in the mirror, trying to find something different on the outside to match all that was different on the inside. Nothing. Same face. Just a changed person. I flicked the light off, smiled at Bec on my way past and hopped my way downstairs.
Sprawled on the couch, I trawled through channels, unable to stick with anything and only half-watching the screen. I’d been hoping some brainless viewing would help relax my mind, but it felt like it was having the opposite effect. And I couldn’t go up to bed, not feeling so unsettled.
After almost three hours Bec came into the den with her robe belted loosely around her waist. “Lonely up there without you,” she explained with a smile, sitting at the other end of the couch. She swung her legs up and placed her feet in my lap. Her toenails were her usual fire-engine red, just like that first night we’d spent together.
“Kinda lonely down here too,” I said as I started massaging the balls of her feet.
A groan slid from her mouth. “God your hands are magic.”
As I massaged, my unease ebbed and flowed. Having Bec with me helped my anxiety, but then I’d think of all the issues I was having at the moment, and how I couldn’t do anything about it and the panic would rise again. We sat quietly for a time, her head thrown back onto the arm of the couch, a contented smile on her face as I kneaded her feet and calves.
Eventually my discomfort grew so overwhelming that I couldn’t stand it. I had to verbalize it, to get it out before it strangled me. Quietly I said, “I think there’s something wrong with me, Bec.”
“What do you mean, sweetheart?” Bec lifted her head, giving me her full attention. Carefully, she withdrew her feet from my lap and sat up.
“I just…I’m back and we’re together and don’t have to hide anymore. I’m so happy and I love you so much.”
“Me too, Sabine,” she said softly, reaching forward to cup my cheek.
“Then why do I feel so lost?” Gently I brushed her hand aside, but not before I’d kissed her palm. I lifted my left foot so it was in view. “Like this? How did that happen? I’ve never cut myself, ever. How am I supposed to work if I can’t even handle a kitchen knife without dropping it?”
“I hardly think a kitchen accident is an indicator of surgical incompetence,” Bec said carefully. “I’ve nicked my finger in the kitchen a few times and dropped plenty of mugs and plates.”
“I know,” I mumbled. But Bec wasn’t me. I just didn’t do things like that. Make mistakes. I stood up and began to pace, limping my way across the carpet, loathing the way my body felt—coiled and tight like if I didn’t move I’d scream. “I feel like…like I can’t sort my thoughts into their proper order.”
“Is this a new thing?” she asked, tracking my progress back and forth across the floor.
“Yes. No. I don’t know. It seems like it’s gotten worse, maybe in the past few months or so.” Suddenly, I had that uncomfortable and thankfully infrequent since childhood sensation that I was about to stammer. My body was tense, my tongue tight and uncomfortable. I glanced away and after a few deep breaths felt disciplined enough to make eye contact again and say slowly, “You know the day I came home?”
“Yes. What about it?”
I realized what I was about to admit and had to move again, away from her sure disappointment. “We were done by eleven a.m.” Still pacing, I watched her and waited for her to make the connection. The drive home would have taken less than an hour, yet I’d taken almost twelve hours to find my way home to her.
Her eyebrows drew together, her gaze on the wall behind me for a
moment before she brought her focus back to my face. “Oh,” she said quietly. “Why? If you’d told me, then I would have called someone to take the rest of my shift and come home to you. Why would you stay away?” The hurt in her voice was unmistakable, as was the gentle rebuke.
“I just…” My explanation came out in a quick tangle of words. “I was totally about to rush straight here, ready for when you got home. Or I was going to come by work and really surprise you. But when I stopped and thought about it, about seeing you and touching you I panicked.” I slowed my steps, in the hope it might calm my frantic heartbeat. “Fuck, I wanted to see you, Bec. I wanted it so much the desperation was practically choking me. But every time I thought about stepping back through that doorway, our doorway, I just froze inside.”
“Why do you think that was?” She reached out a hand and snagged my arm as I walked past.
Even as she touched me, I felt the distance between us as if it were miles. I let myself be tugged gently down to sit on the couch beside her. “I’m not sure. Just stupid fears. What if I’d changed so much during deployment you didn’t like what you saw anymore?”
“That would never happen, darling.” Bec lifted my hands, studying them as though she’d never seen them before. “Where did you go then if you weren’t here?”
I shrugged. “Just around. I saw a movie, did some shopping, ate a few burgers, had a couple of beers. Then I grabbed a cab and came home around eight and I stood on the street, against that oak, and watched you and Jana in the kitchen tidying up after dinner. And I had the strangest feeling, seeing you two so comfortable together, thinking that maybe you didn’t need me. You were all doing fine without me. So I hid my gear beside the house and wandered around the streets for a few more hours until the feeling went away.”
“Sabine…”
“Please, Bec, wait. Please listen.” If I stopped now, I’d never start again. I closed my eyes, pulling one of my hands away to scrub over my face. “I just can’t make it fit where it’s supposed to. I have all these things all over the place like some crazy jigsaw puzzle with all the wrong pieces and I hate it. I don’t know how to be this version of myself. And the only right pieces are yours but I still can’t quite figure out where they go now.”
