Michael's Secrets

by Milton Stern

  Michael’s ultrasound was the next day, but he decided not to remind Steve about it to see if he asked him on his own. Steve never did ask him about his test results or how he was feeling. As Michael lay there on the table while they scanned his testicles, he never felt so alone in his life. He watched on the monitor not knowing what he was seeing. Sharon had offered to drive him and wait, but he insisted it was just a picture they were taking, and he would be fine. However, while lying there exposed, he regretted that decision. Michael didn’t know why he always preferred to be alone in these situations.

  “Well, Mr. Bern, your testicles are not large,” the doctor said.

  “I beg your pardon?” Michael responded.

  “I mean enlarged,” he said.

  “That’s better,” Michael said.

  “However, I am concerned about this small mass on your left testicle. Get dressed and come with me to my office.”

  The doctor immediately scheduled an appointment with an oncologist. Michael told him how his doctor wanted to see him to go over the results, but the doctor said he would call Michael’s doctor to discuss the results with him as he wanted him to see an oncologist that afternoon. In a couple of hours, Michael was again standing with his pants down while two doctors examined him. The good news was they were both cute, but Michael was not in the mood.

  “Mr. Bern, I think we should remove this testicle. The mass is small, but once we remove it, you should have nothing to worry about,” one of the doctors said as the other agreed.

  “How long will I be in the hospital?” Michael asked.

  “This will be an outpatient procedure. We can schedule you for Friday, May 5,” one of the doctors said as if Michael were having a pimple popped, so Michael scheduled the surgery.

  Sam called to find out the results, and Michael told him about the surgery. Again, he insisted on flying out, and again, Michael told him to stay put. Sam really cared about him, but he didn’t want to be a burden. Michael really could be a Jewish mother sometimes, almost saying, “Never mind, I’ll sit in the dark.”

  He called Sharon, who asked to drive him to the hospital, and this time he took her up on her offer. During this time, Steve and Michael e-mailed sporadically, and the Thursday night before the surgery, Michael decided to call him, and surprisingly, Steve answered.

  “What’s up?” he said, sounding annoyed at the sound of Michael’s voice.

  “I just wanted to say hello?” Michael said.

  “Listen to this. This guy I had over for dinner just wrote me: ‘Dear Steve, I cannot date you as I could easily fall in love with you, and you are going through a break up, and I don’t want to be the rebound guy.’ Who needs this drama? What the fuck?”

  “I can totally see where he’s coming from,” Michael said, agreeing with the guy he never met.

  “I am so lonely and in a funk. And now this shit. I don’t get men. Why can’t guys just have fun?” Steve asked him as if he would sympathize.

  Do I really need to listen to this?

  Michael told him to go out and have some fun and didn’t tell Steve about his surgery as he did not even ask about the ultrasound. It was all about Steve, and he was beginning to see it would always be all about Steve. He could also detect more changes in his personality as he became more self-centered – if that were even possible.

  The following morning, Sharon drove Michael to George Washington University Hospital at six for his nine o’clock surgery. They gave him an epidural, so he could talk to the doctor throughout the surgery. Michael could not believe what Washington had done to him. He arrived a relatively happy man, and he would leave a depressed man with a new brother, an unrequited love, thirty fewer pounds, and one testicle. Michael decided he really needed to schedule his flight home.

  “Are you feeling OK, Mr. Bern?” the surgeon asked.

  “Yeah, it’s been a while since I’ve had surgery, but I think I’ll be OK,” he answered wishing he could see what he was doing, but glad he could not feel it.

  * * * * *

  During the summer of 1983, Michael had sinus surgery to remove a calcium deposit that had made it almost impossible for him to breathe through his nose. He ended up arguing with Hannah about having a private room at Mary Immaculate Hospital because she did not want to spend the money on one. She absolutely would not listen when Michael explained they only had private rooms and that was where Dr. Mirmelstein performed his surgeries. Dr. Martin Mirmelstein was Florence’s second husband, whom she married in 1974 and divorced in 1976. It was her only amicable divorce. He was also the doctor who discovered Michael was deaf when he was three years old.

  Hannah never worried that Michael stopped talking after the age of two. She probably found it less annoying to have a toddler speaking to her. Michael often wondered if she even noticed. Dr. Mirmelstein stood behind Michael during a physical exam and clapped his hands, and he did not flinch or notice.

  “Hannah, he’s deaf,” Dr. Mirmelstein told her.

  “Should I put him in an institution?” she asked, which is how Michael always imagined her response.

  “No. We can correct it. He needs both his ear drums reattached as they’ve ruptured,” the doctor said. “It’s unusual for this to happen. Has he had a head injury in the last few months?”

  “No,” Hannah answered, knowing full well she had slapped him repeatedly on the head.

  Dr. Mirmelstein reattached his ear drums, and ever since then, whenever Michael had a physical, doctors would ask what happened to his inner ears.

  The surgery in 1983 went well, and once out of recovery, Michael was taken back to his room, where his mother and Aunt Flossie were waiting for him.

  “Thank you for not costing me a lot of money on this surgery,” Hannah said.

  “Hannah, what kind of thing is that to say?” Florence asked her as she put her hand on the back of Michael’s head and stroked his hair.

  “Where are you car keys, Michael?” Hannah asked. “My air conditioning is out, so we came in Florence’s car, and I just got my hair done, so I’m taking your car.”

  “They’re in my bag over there,” Michael said as he pointed to the table in the room, reluctantly letting Hannah drive the Cadillac Doreen and Sammy had given him.

  “Hannah, aren’t we going to stay awhile?” Florence asked her.

  “You can stay, Florence, I have errands to run,” she said as she pulled out Michael’s car keys and started to leave the room.

  “I’ll be back to see you, later,” Florence said as she kissed Michael and trailed behind his mother to get his car from the parking lot as he had driven himself to the hospital because Hannah was busy that day. Fortunately, Florence took Michael home from the hospital the next day because Hannah had to work and refused to take the day off. It was one of the few times, Florence’s driving was not scary, or Michael was too heavily medicated!

  * * * * *

  “Did you feel that?” the surgeon asked as he tugged.

  “No, I don’t feel anything,” Michael said as he stared at the ceiling.

  “OK, we have just opened up. And here it is. It looks like a small cyst almost like a pimple. I’m going to laser it off, and you’ll smell something burning. Don’t worry that’s just the laser,” the surgeon said, grabbing a large torch-like instrument from one of the nurses.

  Michael smelled what seemed like burning skin or flesh for a few minutes.

  “OK, got it. It looks like you have a small vericocele on this side, and I can take care of that also,” the surgeon said.

  “Doc, can I ask you something?” Michael asked, still wondering what exactly he had removed.

  “One minute,” the surgeon said as he continued to work, and Michael continued to smell burning flesh. “OK, let me sew you up.”

  It only took twenty minutes. That was awfully fast for a castration, Michael thought as he was convinced he was now a gelding or at least half of one.

  “OK, what did you want to ask?” the surgeon said as
he stood up and looked at Michael.

  “Can I take my testicle with me? I want to put in on a shelf and ask people if they want to hold it,” Michael asked.

  “Oh, no, we didn’t have to remove it. It was just a cyst. You have four stitches, and we can remove those in ten days. The nurses are going to take you to recovery, and as soon as the epidural wears off, you can go home,” the surgeon said with a smile.

  Michael was not leaving his testicle in Washington! However, he knew he would leave his heart there.

  Sharon drove Michael home and stayed with him the rest of the afternoon as they went over the final version of Romancing the Capitol. She was submitting the final on Monday, and he was happy to know that his work there was done. After a while, Michael told Sharon he was fine, and she went home reluctantly. He then called the airline and made a reservation for June 1 to Los Angeles, and he called the man who rented his house to let him know he would be back on time. The tenant said he would be out of the house on May 31 and thanked Michael. He then debated about calling the garage where his car was in dry storage and asking the owner if his offer to buy it was still valid. After spending time here in D.C., Michael really wanted a break from the past, and driving a car that was identical to one from his childhood was not going to help him do that.

  Before he had a chance to call the garage, his cell phone rang, and it was Sam.

  “Hello Sam.”

  “Michael, which apartment is yours?” he asked.

  “What?” Michael asked him.

  “The cab dropped me off on the corner of Newton and Mount Pleasant Streets, and I cannot figure out which door is yours,” he said.

  “You’re here?” Michael asked. “Oh my God, wait, I’ll open the door.” He hobbled over to the door as he was starting to feel some pain. He looked outside, and Sam was standing in front but looking down the street, still holding the cell phone to his ear.

  “Sam, over here,” Michael yelled.

  Sam turned around and looked the other way.

  “Sam, here turn around,” Michael said.

  He then turned around, and his eyes lit up. Sam was wearing jeans and a blue T-shirt and looking really fit and happy. He ran up to the door carrying a suitcase, and he walked in, dropped the suitcase and hugged Michael, who was wearing loose fitting sweats, so Sam could not see how thin he was, and Michael didn’t let him hug him too tightly.

  “Careful,” Michael said as he didn’t want Sam to bump him too hard.

  “Michael, how are you?” Sam asked as Michael led him into the living room.

  Michael sat down next to him on the futon and grabbed the ice pack from the end table and placed it on his crotch.

  “Seeing me gets you that excited?” he asked.

  “Don’t make me laugh, it’ll hurt. The good news is it was just a cyst, and I got to keep my equipment,” Michael replied. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “That’s fantastic, Michael, but did you think I was going to let you have surgery and not be here for you? I tried to get an earlier flight, but this was the best I could do,” he said almost apologetically.

  “Oh, Sam, you are so considerate,” Michael said as he reached out to grab his hand. “But, won’t you miss your audition?”

  “Michael, I got the part, I’m going to Argentina for three weeks to film a small part in a movie,” Sam said. “But I wanted to see you first, so I scheduled a flight here, and then I leave from Dulles.”

  “Argentina, wow. It looks as if Sid really worked his ass off for you. That’s great. Will you be in LA when I get back?” Michael asked.

  “For a while, then I’m going to Montana for three months, and after that I may be going to Toronto. Things are happening so fast. My head is spinning, and I owe it all to you for showing me how to drive that cool car of yours,” Sam said.

  That settled it. Michael made up his mind he was not going to sell the Corvair. “Hopefully, you won’t forget me when you become Hollywood’s hottest sexy screen sensation!” he said, happy for his success and very happy to be talking to him.

  “I would never forget you, sexy man. Never! Hey, you can come see me in Montana and Toronto. We can hang out and have a blast!” Sam said, hoping he would visit him.

  “Plan on it,” Michael said, so happy to be sitting here with him.

  “Unfortunately, my flight to Argentina leaves from Dulles in a few hours.”

  “A few hours?” Michael asked obviously disappointed as he was the one true bright spot in the past couple of months.

  “Yeah, but I really wanted to see you. I have a cab picking me up in about ninety minutes,” he said again apologetically.

  “Well, what can we do?” he asked. “I would seduce you, but I have four stitches on my nut.”

  “We could do the next best thing and order Chinese take-out?” Sam said.

  So, Michael called the Chinese take-out on Mount Pleasant Street and gave him directions to it. He even drew a map, so he wouldn’t get lost walking the two blocks to get their food. Sam picked up the food without any problem, and he even picked up chopsticks, even though Michael never asked for them.

  As they sat there eating, Michael realized this was the first full meal he had eaten in six weeks. Sam had put him in a great mood, and he wished he could stay longer. Soon after they finished dinner, Sam’s cab arrived, and he was off to Argentina. Michael really liked him, and having him here for just a few hours, kept him from thinking about Steve.

  Before going to bed, he turned on the computer and checked his e-mails, and there were none from Steve. He had no idea he had just had surgery, and Michael was beginning not to care.

  Around 5:00 pm the next day, which was Saturday, Michael did get an e-mail from Steve, which read, “I am in such a funk. I am so depressed. I am going to a Leather-Daddies Weekend banquet, and I have nothing to wear. I feel so bloated.”

  Michael e-mailed back, “Do you want me to call you?”

  “No, I’ll be fine. Bye.”

  Michael asked himself why he asked for permission to call him? Why could he not stop thinking about him? Why did Steve only contact him now when he was depressed or angry?

  Then, Sunday afternoon, Michael received the following, “I just got home! What a blast. I made out with three guys! I’m so glad I went! Woof to you!”

  Michael was heartsick. He didn’t ask Michael how he was doing or what was new. He was glad to be leaving in a few weeks, and he also felt it was time to let Steve know how he felt, but surprisingly, he waited until Monday morning to send the following:

  “Dear Steve,

  “I am done. I cannot do this anymore. I am holding onto something that only exists in my head. Being friends with you is painful, lonely and exhausting. I cannot imagine what it would be like to be in a relationship with you.

  “I only hear from you when you are down or angry. I cannot have a friendship solely by e-mail. I need conversation.

  “You tell me you are depressed then you come home after an all-nighter telling me you made out with three guys. Do you have no regard for my feelings? I have not seen you in almost seven weeks, and we never talk on the phone.

  “You said you trusted me and felt an intimate connection, but how can I trust someone who won’t be seen with me in public, screens my calls, and won’t tell me where he lives?

  “If you think I am being dramatic, whatever!

  “Michael.”

  Michael then left the apartment and walked down to 7-Eleven to get a pack of cigarettes as he had smoked his last one. When he came back, there was a response from Steve, which read:

  “Michael

  “You know what fine! Fuck you! We are not dating. We are not boyfriends, Christ we are not in a relationship!

  “You know my schedule and what I am dealing with. You are a selfish person.

  “I thought we had a connection. You are a strange dude and you know what so am I.

  “If you don’t want to make yourself available to me, fine!

&n
bsp; “I think you have major problems with OCD. Shame on you for your words.

  Think about what you said. Shame on you.

  “Good luck with your life.

  “Steve.”

  Michael couldn’t just walk away. He had to have the last word, and this is what he got.

  He felt awful and didn’t want someone to be mad at him. And, knowing he was acting like an idiot, he still responded:

  “Dear Steve,

  “Thank you for yelling at me. I needed that. I am so sorry. I have been an asshole throughout all of this. Please forgive me. I cannot say I am sorry enough.

  “If you cannot forgive me, I will understand. Please know that I care for you and think you are a wonderful guy.

  “Michael.”

  Michael then called Dr. Mikowsky and left the following message: “I totally screwed up. I am a mess. Please, I need two hours of your time today.”

  He then smoked a pack of cigarettes in an hour.

  Chapter Ten

  Dr. Mikowsky called back a half hour later and told Michael he could talk to him at 1:00 pm. He then decided to call Mark Greenberg, whom he had not seen since the wake he held for Los Angeles Live a year earlier.

  “Michael, I was just getting ready to call you. It’s been a year. When are you coming back?” Mark said as he answered his phone.

  “I’m flying back June 1,” he answered.

  “Get this. HTO is really excited about the treatments you sent, and they’re leaning toward the one about the gay couple with the kids. And, guess who’s going to be your producer?” Mark said.

  “Let me see … you?” Michael said, feigning surprise.

  “Like old times, pal,” he answered happily. “But, the best part is Peggy Martin wants to direct it.”