All Back Full

by Robert Lopez

  The woman says, A dear happiness to women.

  The man says, Who said that?

  The woman says, Joyce fucking Kilmer.

  The man says, Who’s thirsty?

  The friend says, I could use another.

  The woman says, Of course you could.

  The friend says, I want to see how many of these I can drink before I pass out.

  The man says, No one can understand what liquor does to a body.

  The woman says, I think I can understand it.

  The man says, It affects everyone differently. Biology is beside the point.

  Joyce Kilmer didn’t say a dear happiness to women.

  Perhaps he did say it out loud to someone, but it isn’t his quote.

  Beatrice said this to Benedick in Much Ado About Nothing.

  The man and woman saw a production of Much Ado About Nothing during a Shakespeare in the Park festival.

  The actress playing Beatrice was a full head taller than the actor playing Benedick.

  Both the man and woman noted this but said nothing to each other about it.

  Earlier that summer the same company put on The Seagull, by Anton Chekhov.

  They didn’t see The Seagull, though the woman suggested they try to get tickets. The man said he couldn’t possibly get up early in the morning for such a thing.

  The tickets to the Shakespeare were gifted by a friend of a friend of the woman, someone she protested with during last year’s squabble with the board of elections.

  When they saw Much Ado About Nothing, they brought a bottle of wine and packed a lunch and had a lovely time in the park.

  Once swallowed, a drink enters the stomach and small intestine, where small blood vessels carry it to the bloodstream. Approximately twenty percent of alcohol is absorbed through the stomach and most of the remaining eighty percent is absorbed through the small intestine.

  Alcohol is metabolized by the liver, where enzymes break it down. In general, the liver can process one ounce of liquor in one hour. If one consumes more than this, one’s system becomes saturated, and the additional alcohol will accumulate in the blood and body tissues until it can be metabolized.

  Though alcohol affects every organ of the body, it’s most dramatic impact is upon the liver. The liver cells normally prefer fatty acids as fuel and package excess fatty acids as triglycerides, which they then route to other tissues of the body. However, when alcohol is present, the liver cells are forced to first metabolize the alcohol, letting the fatty acids accumulate, sometimes in huge amounts. Alcohol metabolism permanently changes liver cell structure, which impairs the liver’s ability to metabolize fats.

  For moderate drinkers, alcohol does not suppress food intake, and may actually increase appetite. Chronic alcohol consumption appears to have the opposite effect. Alcohol causes euphoria, which depresses appetite, so that heavy drinkers tend to eat poorly and become malnourished.

  Alcohol is rich in energy, packing seven calories per gram. But like pure sugar or fat, the calories are void of nutrients. The more calories an individual consumes in alcohol, the less likely it is that they will eat enough food to obtain adequate nutrients.

  This perhaps explains why these three haven’t had dinner yet, though it has been ready for some time now.

  Chronic alcohol abuse not only displaces calories from needed nutrients but also interferes with the body’s metabolism of nutrients, leading to damage of the liver, digestive system, and nearly every bodily organ.

  The woman says, He didn’t answer my question.

  The man says, What question was that?

  The woman says, About the thrills, the seeking.

  The man says, This man is always on the lookout, particularly when he looks out the window.

  The friend says, I seek.

  The woman says, What do you seek?

  The friend reaches for the bottle of wine in the middle of the table.

  The friend says, This’ll do for now.

  The friend pours another glass for himself, but doesn’t offer to do so for the others.

  The man says, He enjoys weather. He enjoys the bus. This we can safely say.

  The friend says, Luckily, I never pass out on the bus.

  The man says, You mean you haven’t.

  The friend says, That’s what I said.

  The man says, You said you never pass out on the bus.

  The friend says, That’s right.

  The man says, What I’m saying is you haven’t yet. Never is a long time.

  The friend says, So you’re saying I will pass out on the bus sometime.

  The man says, That’s not what I’m saying, no.

  The friend looks at the woman. He pauses a moment as if he’s trying to compose a question just so.

  The friend says, Do you understand him when he talks?

  The woman says, I’m afraid I can’t say.

  The friend says, Everyone is afraid around here. You’re afraid you can’t say. He’s afraid he can’t remember.

  The man says, We all live in fear.

  The friend says, There’s no point arguing.

  Some psychologists, such as John B. Watson, Robert Plutchik, and Paul Ekman, have suggested that there is only a small set of basic or innate emotions and that fear is one of them.

  Fear is frequently related to the specific behaviors of escape and avoidance, whereas anxiety is the result of threats that are perceived to be uncontrollable or unavoidable. It is worth noting that fear almost always relates to future events, such as worsening of a situation, or continuation of a situation that is unacceptable. Fear can also be an instant reaction to something presently happening. All people have an instinctual response to potential danger, which is in fact important to the survival of all species. The reactions elicited from fear are seen through advantages in evolution. Fear can be a manipulating and controlling factor in an individual’s life.

  How fear first affects the body is through the brain structure that is the center of most neurobiological events associated with fear—the amygdala, located behind the pituitary gland. The role of the amygdala in fear is best understood as part of a circuitry of fear learning. It is essential for proper adaptation to stress and specific modulation of emotional learning and memory. In the presence of a threatening stimulus, the amygdala generates the secretion of hormones that influence fear and aggression. Once response to the stimulus in the form of fear or aggression commences, the amygdala may elicit the release of hormones into the body to put the person into a state of alertness, in which they are ready to move, run, fight. This defensive response is generally referred to in physiology as the fight-or-flight response, regulated by the hypothalamus.

  Some of the hormones involved during the state of fight-or-flight include epinephrine and norepinephrine and cortisol. Epinephrine regulates heart rate and metabolism as well as dilating blood vessels and air passages. Norepinephrine increases heart rate, blood flow to skeletal muscles, and the release of glucose from energy stores. Cortisol increases blood sugar and helps with metabolism.

  Everyone here is afraid, though it is unclear what exactly they all fear and why.

  The fight-or-flight response has been either dulled or fueled by the alcohol.

  The man says, You use the word never incorrectly. Never is never. Always.

  The friend says, I don’t understand.

  The man says, This is what I was talking about earlier. We have to use our words. We have to make ourselves clear. That man in the park. The Irish singer.

  The woman says, What is he talking about?

  The friend says, His new lover.

  The woman says, What?

  The man says, He looked to be about fifty and wore an ill-fitted three-piece suit. He is one of those that’s owned the same suit for years and only brings it out for funerals, showers, fancy Italian restaurants. He looked like an Andrew. Maybe his mother called him Andy, but she was the only one.

  The friend says, She doesn’t call h
im Andy anymore?

  The man says, No, she died.

  The friend says, That’s sad.

  The man says, She was sick.

  The friend says, This is the Irish singer we are talking about?

  The man says, I remarked on how much rain there had been and made a reference to Mount Ararat. He rearranged his face and grunted something unintelligible.

  The friend says, I thought it was the Himalayas. Something about the Sherpas.

  The woman says, What the hell are you talking about?

  The man says, This was at the park.

  The woman says, When?

  The man says, Recently.

  The chicken stew hasn’t been stirred in an hour and is starting to coagulate.

  It isn’t ruined, though. Thus is the nature of stew.

  The man will add some water to it later or tomorrow or whenever he remembers that he prepared a stew.

  The friend says, The park is a good place to spend time if you are forced to leave the house.

  The man says, There are usually people and dogs. I like to look at the dogs more than the people because you don’t have to strain your neck.

  The friend says, It’s terrible.

  The man says, The people at the park are usually boisterous or sullen, there’s no in between. The dogs run and bark and slobber and misbehave like fucking dogs. It’s typical misbehavior. There’s comfort in it, reassurance perhaps. For every dog there is at least one people. One people tethered to the dog by a string. The other people sometimes people together in groups. They sit on blankets and eat picnic-style and listen to radios and laugh and play Frisbee, which are legitimate ways to distract one’s attention from the inevitable.

  The friend says, The inevitable is inevitable.

  The man says, To the inevitable.

  They touch glasses. The man doesn’t drink. The friends removes the toothpick from his mouth and lays it on the table.

  The woman says, What is inevitable?

  The man says, Everything.

  The friend says, It’s troubling how inevitable it all is.

  The woman says, This is too much.

  The friend says, It’s overwhelming.

  The woman says, So, who was this Irish singer?

  The man says, He said something about never having met the queen. I don’t know which queen he was talking about. It probably doesn’t matter. Maybe it was the Queen of Ireland.

  The friend says, Is there a Queen of Ireland?

  The woman says, No. She was beheaded last week.

  The man says, It was in the papers.

  The friend says, I never look at the papers anymore. This is what television is for.

  A monarchical polity has existed in Ireland during three periods of its history, finally ending in 1801.

  In 1800, the parliament of Ireland approved the political union of the monarchy of Ireland with the monarchy of Great Britain and incidentally voted itself out of existence. The united entity thereby created was known as the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland. With this union, the independent existence of the crown of Ireland was ended. From 1801 until December 1922, Ireland remained in this political union. After that date, most of Ireland left to become the Irish Free State with the remaining part, Northern Ireland, electing to remain in the United Kingdom.

  The friend isn’t the only one who never looks at the papers anymore.

  At least 120 newspapers have shut down in the last five years.

  The man says, At any rate, I said to him, Start with a strict definition of never and work your way down. I said, Glance leftward, then rightward, then left again to make sure. This is the point where things break down. But not here, my friend, not here. I made sure to call him my friend. I remember Ben the mailman said anyone who calls you “my friend” isn’t. He was like a father to me.

  The woman says, Your father. I’ve been meaning to tell you.

  Everyone looks at everyone else.

  The woman says, I don’t know how to say this.

  The man says, Say what?

  The woman looks at the man. There is a particular look on her face.

  She is squinting ever so slightly.

  This squint is hardly perceptible.

  The man recognizes this squint, but no one else would.

  It’s as if she is thinking about what she wants to say, like she is organizing her thoughts, assembling the appropriate syntax and diction.

  The man waits for her to say something.

  It goes on like this for a while.

  The man says, Use your words.

  The woman says, He’s in the hospital.

  The man says, What?

  The woman says, This morning.

  The man says, What about this morning?

  The woman says, He has cancer.

  The man says, What?

  The woman says, Your father has cancer.

  The man says, I’m sorry?

  The woman says, No, he was on the phone earlier. They said something about secondary progressive. Or they said it was aggressive. I can’t quite remember.

  The man says, When was this?

  The woman says, He collapsed at home. He was doing one of his recitations and he collapsed. They rushed him to the hospital. He called from there. They’re running tests, trying to figure out the best course of treatment.

  The man says, You’re kidding, right?

  There is quiet. People are thinking. People don’t know what to think.

  The man says, You’re saying this because…

  The woman says, No.

  People are looking at each other. It’s as if they’ve never met, all three of them.

  It’s as if they’ve never been introduced or that they’ve known each other forever.

  The man says, What you’re saying is, my father has cancer?

  The woman says, Yes.

  The man says, You go from not knowing how to say this to saying my father has cancer and is in the hospital. That he collapsed.

  The woman says, Yes.

  The man says, I talked to him last month.

  The woman says, Apparently he didn’t want to worry you.

  The man says, And this is how you tell me?

  The woman says, I couldn’t think of any other way.

  The man says, When did he collapse?

  The woman says, I’m not sure.

  The man says, And when did he call?

  The woman says, This morning. While you were napping.

  The man says, Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?

  The woman says, I’m telling you now. I wasn’t sure how to tell you.

  The man says, You weren’t sure how to tell me.

  The woman says, Sometimes people are unsure of themselves. It’s not a crime.

  The man says, That’s what you want to say now? That it’s not a crime.

  The woman says, They said it was stage three. Or four. He’s an old man, he gets confused. I don’t know.

  The man says, You don’t know?

  The woman says, I’m afraid I don’t. I’m sorry.

  The man says, I don’t believe you.

  The woman says, Old men get confused. Old men get cancer. What’s not to believe?

  Cancer staging is the process of determining the extent to which a cancer has developed by spreading. Contemporary practice is to assign a number from I-IV to a cancer, with I being an isolated cancer and IV being a cancer which has spread to the limit of what the assessment measures. The stage generally takes into account the size of a tumor, whether it has invaded adjacent organs, how many regional lymph nodes it has spread to, and whether it has metastasized.

  Stage III cancers are also locally advanced. Whether a cancer is designated as Stage II or Stage III can depend on the specific type of cancer; for example, in Hodgkin’s Disease, Stage II indicates affected lymph nodes on only one side of the diaphragm, whereas Stage III indicates affected lymph nodes above and below the diaphragm. The specific criteria for Sta
ges II and III therefore differ according to diagnosis.

  Stage III can be treated by chemo, radiation, or surgery.

  Stage IV cancers have often metastasized, or spread to other organs or throughout the body. Stage IV cancer can be treated by chemo, radiation, or surgery.

  The friend is keeping his head down. He isn’t drinking wine. He isn’t sure what to do, where to look.

  He wonders what his wife, Janice, might be doing at home. She is either prostrate or folding something up to put it away.

  The man’s father indeed has cancer. It started in his lungs but now has spread to his brain. This is why he collapsed this morning.

  He has undergone both radiation and chemotherapy in the last six months.

  He chose not to tell his son and daughter-in-law, as they’ve been somewhat estranged for years.

  The woman had walked in on him at the cabin when he was in the middle of someone.

  He then made a series of crude and suggestive remarks to his daughter-in-law.

  The woman chose not to tell her husband what she saw and what her father-in-law suggested.

  The husband had sensed something was wrong when she returned from the cabin that weekend, but he didn’t want to know about it.

  He figured what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him which is a cliché he’s always tried to observe.

  For the sake of fair play, let’s say this is how it all happened.

  Next time perhaps it’s the father walking in on the woman in the middle of someone. She isn’t the type to step out on the man, but people change.

  Things happen to people and they change as a result.

  It’s something akin to causality or evolution, but not quite as specific.

  The woman says, How many of your uncles had cancer? Your cousins? Surely this is not a surprise. Surely, you’ve been expecting this.

  The man doesn’t answer these questions. He is looking at his wife, the woman he is married to.

  The woman says, I don’t know what to tell you.

  The man says, You don’t know what to tell me?

  The woman says, Your father. The man who raised you. The man we haven’t seen in a long time because he’s slowed down, you say. The man who owned the log cabin upstate, the man who was in and out. He called. He said he has cancer. He said it was bad.