Loving Neil

by Ronald Bagliere

  “Well you’re certainly not acting like it lately. In fact you haven’t acted like much of anything for the last few months.”

  “Meaning?”

  “You brood all the time. You live in that fucking office in Albany, and when you’re not there, you’re upstairs with your head buried in a set of drawings.”

  “It’s my job, Janet!”

  “Yeah, right.” She shook her head then continued, “It’s more than that, and you know it.” She paused, debating her next move. She felt trapped with no way out but to go nuclear. Now her hands were shaking and it felt as if her lungs might burst. She gathered her strength and forced herself to look him straight in the eye and said, “Either you let me come with you or–”

  “Or what?”

  “Or we’re through. I’ve had it.”

  His eyes grew large. Another long stretch of silence ensued between them, and it seemed as if everything around them had been sucked up into a dark hole. Finally, he said, “Is that a fact?”

  She felt her heart thud. Part of her wanted to take back the words, to go back and start the conversation over. But it was too late now, and if he was willing to let her walk away, then what did it say about their marriage? She crossed her arms in front of her, and said, “Yes. I will not live in a shroud of secrecy anymore.”

  “Secrets? I don’t keep secrets from you.”

  “Don’t you? You don’t talk to me. I ask to go with you to see the doctor, and you stonewall me. Your moods are up and down like a yoyo.”

  “I’ve got a lot on my mind,” he protested.

  “So don’t we all. You know what I think?”

  “What?”

  “I think you’re obsessing you’re going to end up like you’re mother, and it’s eating you up … eating us up. Is that what you want?”

  “No, it’s not what I want. It’s just that…”

  “Then what, Neil?”

  “I don’t know. I try the best I can.”

  She eyed him. “Really? Well, you’re doing a piss poor job of it lately. What is it with you? Can’t you see I’m trying to help you? Can’t you see I love you? Can’t you see that Nate needs you? Put away your stupid pride for one God damned minute and consider us for once.”

  He frowned. “I do consider you and Nate … all the time.”

  “It certainly doesn’t feel like it. So what’s it going to be?”

  “What’s what going to be?”

  “Are you going let me come with you to see Dr. Childe or not?”

  He stood there looking at her, and in his eyes, she could see him trying to figure out whether she was serious or not. I hope you don’t call me on this Neil because as much as I want us to work, I’ll walk if I have to. Finally, he said, “Very well, you win. I hope you’re happy.”

  He started to turn away, and she reached out and put her hand on his shoulder. “This isn’t about winning. It’s about taking care of each other. Remember our vows, Neil? In health and in sickness?” She held him with a penetrating gaze for a moment and then turned and went back to Nate.

  “Hi Neil,” Dr. Childe said, entering the exam room. “Oh, Janet, you’re here, too.” He gave her a friendly smile and took a seat across from Neil, who was dressed and perched on the examination table. The room was small and painted a mute tan. A poster on the wall beside her showed a color cut-away section of the brain.

  They chatted about the weather and the Gulf War for a bit. Finally, Dr. Childe turned to Neil and said, “So, what’s going on with you?”

  Neil shrugged. “I seem to be having more problems with my memory.”

  The doctor crossed his legs and scanned Neil’s chart. “What kind of problems?”

  Neil’s glance darted over to Janet. “I set things down and five minutes later can’t remember where I put them. Or someone’ll tell me something and before the conversation’s done with, it’s gone right out of my mind.”

  “This happening all the time?” the doctor said. He looked up and gave Neil his full attention.

  Neil pressed his lips together. “Not all the time.”

  Dr. Childe wrote in the chart. “Any disorientation? Not know where you are all of a sudden?”

  Neil shook his head. “No, none of that.”

  “Forget phone numbers of people you know by heart? Names of family?”

  “No.” Neil’s gaze drifted toward the window.

  Janet remained silent, content to just listen for the time being. The doctor turned his gaze to her then put it back onto Neil. “How are you sleeping?”

  Neil bent his eyes back onto the doctor. “Good … most of the time.”

  “Appetite?”

  “All right, I guess.”

  “Well you look good,” Dr. Childe said. “Still doing South Beach?”

  “Most of the time.”

  The doctor looked down at his notes. “Any depression?”

  Janet saw Neil catch his breath. He shot her a wary gaze and slowly moved his hand and put it under his leg, pinning it to the papered surface of the examination table. “A little,” he muttered, and she saw him swallow hard.

  Dr. Childe’s gaze darted back and forth between her and Neil. “Is there something you want to tell me, Neil?”

  Neil hesitated. Janet knew he didn’t want to tell the doctor the truth, but with her there, he was forced into it. At last, Neil said, “I’ve been sort of struggling, I guess. At least that’s what she says.”

  Janet piped in. “His moods bounce around like a ping-pong ball. Some days he’s bright and cheerful, and others he sulks like a child.”

  Neil shot her a glaring look but kept silent. The doctor set his pen down and Janet could see him drawing conclusions. Finally he said, “You’re worried you’re becoming your mother, aren’t you, Neil?”

  “The thought crossed my mind,” Neil conceded.

  Understatement of the year, but at least now he’s admitting it, Janet thought.

  “Okay, we’re going to do a little test here. I want you to look at the three words I’m going to write on this sheet of paper then give it back to me. Later, I’m going to ask you what they are.” He scribbled the words down and handed Neil the sheet. “Got them?”

  Neil nodded and gave him back the paper.

  “Okay. First question, and these might seem mundane and idiotic, but bear with me. Where do you live?”

  “7785 Hazelwood Road.”

  “And what day is today?”

  “Wednesday.”

  “What is your daughter’s name?”

  “Megan.”

  The doctor drew something on his pad and handed it to Neil. “What is that a picture of?”

  “A bicycle.”

  “What’s Janet’s birthday?”

  “Careful, Neil,” Janet said, grinning.

  He gave her a crooked smile. “May 23rd.”

  “And who is president of the United States right now?”

  “Bill Clinton.”

  The doctor looked down at his chart. “What are the three words I asked you to remember?”

  Neil’s eyes suddenly grew wide. He licked his lips. “Sand, water and … and … and … shit … and bone? Bone right?”

  “That’s right,” the doctor said. He smiled and got up. “And don’t worry about it. There’s no failing the test.” He extended his hand, palm up, and waited for Neil to put his hand in it. “How’s your tremor?”

  “Not bad. ‘Cept when I’m stressed, it gets worse.”

  The doctor checked his reflexes along with the usual things doctors did: blood pressure, heartbeat, peering into the eyes with his pen light. As he palpated Neil’s shoulders, he said, “You’re taking your meds regularly?”

  Neil nodded.

  The doctor stepped back. “You’re in great shape.” He clicked his pen and stuck it back in his lab coat. For a moment Janet thought that was it, but he sat back down, put his hands together and steepled his long fingers upon his lap. Finally, he said, “I think the loss of your short-
term memory and depression is related to your knowing too much about your mother’s dementia. Sort of like a reinforcing causal loop that feeds on itself, and so you always end up in the same place you started, fearing the worst with each and every incident of forgetting and that is what is making you miserable, and I might add, your wife.”

  “Sort of like a self-fulfilling prophesy?” Janet said, piping in.

  “Yes, exactly,” the doctor replied. “That isn’t to say we shouldn’t keep an eye on your forgetfulness, Neil. And from now on, I want Janet with you when you come to see me.”

  “Just wonderful,” Neil said with a grunt. “A spy. You don’t know what you’ve just done to me.”

  “I’m quite sure you’ll live,” Dr. Childe said, and he wrote out three scripts and stood.

  “What are these for?” Neil said, taking them.

  “Routine blood work and a CAT scan. I want a base line in case I need it later on.” He offered his hand to Neil and after they shook, excused himself.

  Janet felt better. Now, if only Neil would believe what Dr. Childe said, perhaps his moods would level out and they would find each other again. She said, “Well?”

  He shrugged. “Okay, so you told me so.” He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “So go ahead and gloat, you earned it.”

  “I’m not gloating. Aren’t you relieved?”

  “I guess,” he said, and a tiny smile came to his face. “Now you’ll really have a reason to yell at me if I lose something. Or maybe you’ll just hide things from me and watch me run around like a rat in a maze trying to find it.”

  She was buoyed by Neil’s comedic attempt. “Not me. You think I would do something like that?” she said, ushering him out of the exam room.

  “In a New York minute if you thought it’d be entertaining.” He laughed.

  She squeezed his hand. “Hungry?”

  “Ravenous.”

  “Nate won’t be home from school for another hour and a half. Let’s celebrate.”

  “Celebrate what?”

  “That there’s nothing wrong. Want to go to Jakes?”

  His eyes lit. “Don’t tease me like that.”

  Janet put her arms around his neck and gave him a lingering playful gaze. “Oh, I think we can make an exception this time.”

  He smiled. “That, I’m definitely in town for.”

  “Good. And you can tell me over a burger where we’re going on vacation this summer.”

  “That’s entrapment!”

  “I know.” And she kissed him playfully.

  18

  June 19th, 1994 –

  Janet stepped out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom where Neil was lying in bed, writing in his medical diary with Barney by his side. She wrapped a towel around her hair and sat at her dressing table. In the mirror, she saw him watching her. “Good morning. Did I wake you?”

  “No, I was awake.” He set the diary down on the night table beside him. “Well, it’s Nate’s big day. I hope he doesn’t try and over reach himself on the mound.”

  “He’ll be fine. You worry more than he does.”

  “Maybe, but I know him. When he gets hyped, he tries to throw the ball harder than he should and then he gets in trouble.”

  “Do me a favor? Keep that to yourself.” She unraveled the towel around her hair and started combing the snarls out. She looked in the mirror and saw fine wrinkles around her eyes. She frowned and looked closer, as if doing so would make them go away. “I’m getting old,” she complained.

  “Oh, please. Don’t talk to me about old. You’re quite lovely.”

  “You’re biased.” She shook her head and sighed. “So, did you sleep well?”

  In the mirror, she saw Neil pick up the diary and start writing again. “Yeah. You?”

  “Tossed and turned.” She thought for a moment as she watched him write in the journal the doctor had given him. It started out as an exercise to help maintain his motor skills and over the last three years had turned into a haven for his dark thoughts to be exercised and worked out. She looked back remembering how she had gutted those trying times out between them, and couldn’t say whether she had done it because she loved him or because she had simply gotten used to it. In fact, she wasn’t sure where the line between being in love and loving someone was anymore. Did it matter? She turned around and said, “How much am I in there?”

  He looked up. “In where?”

  “Your journal,” she said.

  He twisted his body, as if in discomfort, and said, “Some, why? You never asked me about it before. How come now?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Anything wrong?”

  “No.”

  She shrugged and combed another snarl out of her hair. Looking back over her shoulder, she said, “You ever write things about what could’ve been?”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Like what if we had never met? Or what life would be like if I were older or you, younger?”

  He set his pen down and ran a trembling hand through Barney’s graying fur. “Not really. Although, there are places I suppose where I thought about it a little.”

  “Right.” She pushed the idea away, plugged in her hair dryer and said, “Do you love me?”

  He straightened up and eyed her quizzically. “Of course I do. Something wrong?”

  “No, never mind.”

  Neil frowned. “Now it’s my turn to get tough. Everything’s not all right. Come over here.”

  “I’m fine, really,” she lied. But everything wasn’t all right. She wanted to feel the fire that had been there when they first fell in love. But it wasn’t there. They just existed together, each living their own separate life. She studied his face in the mirror. It had thinned over the past few years. “Tell me, when you look at me, what do you see?”

  “My best friend,” he said. “Talk to me.”

  “About what?”

  “What’s going on?”

  She set the hair dryer down, walked over, and crawled up on the bed next to Barney. “I don’t know. I just feel like we’re drifting apart again. We don’t do anything anymore.”

  “We’re just in a little rut, Janet. It happens. We’ll climb out. We always do.”

  “But we’ve been in this rut for months.” When he cocked a skeptical brow, she added, “Well, it feels like it to me. And I feel so apart from you sometimes.”

  He removed his hand from Barney and put it over hers. “Don’t we talk now?”

  She looked away. “Yeah, but–”

  “But what?”

  “I don’t know. I mean we talk, but we don’t say anything really. Just, how are you? How do you feel? Did you sleep well? It’s all trivial stuff.”

  He patted her hand and put his finger under her chin, raising it up so she was looking at him. For the first time, she noticed a slight jiggling of his head, as if he were one of those animal toys whose head bounced around whenever they were touched. He said, “Okay, let’s talk then. What do you want to know?”

  She let out a tragic laugh. “It’s not that easy. You just can’t order up a conversation.”

  He sighed. “Now, who’s disconnecting? Look, you want to talk? I’m listening. But I’m not a mind reader.”

  She looked at him, and her heart sank. How did they get here? It was as if they were on separate planets. Finally, she said, “I want us back. I want to feel the excitement of being with you again. I want us to feel alive again. The way it is right now, I feel like we’re just going through the motions all over again.”

  He considered her with a long, probing gaze. “Then maybe we need to do something about it.” He paused and she watched him brainstorming. “What about a weekend away for us? But, hold on–I’m planning it and you’re not going to know anything about it.”

  “Really?” What an intriguing thought.

  “Yeah. Get your calendar and mine from the office, and let’s get it booked.”

  She slipped off the bed and ste
pped into the hall to see Nate shuffling toward her, hair running in all directions over his head and face. “Hi honey. Ready for your big day?”

  He yawned. “Is breakfast ready?”

  “That depends on what you want. If it’s cereal, you know where it is.”

  “Can we do French toast?” he said, giving her a fetching smile.

  “Alright, why don’t you go get dressed and wash your face and hands? Dad and I are figuring something out and as soon as we’re done, I’ll be right down.

  Twenty minutes later, Neil walked into the kitchen. “So what time again do we pick up your father?” He sat down at the table and balled his hand into a fist and opened it up, stretching his fingers out like a starfish. He did this several times every morning, working the muscles and tendons in his tremulous hand. The exercise kept the muscles strong and helped resist the growing tremors.

  “Noon,” she said. She spied Nate shoveling a large fork load of French toast into his mouth. “Nate, slow down,” she said. To Neil, she continued, “I think grandpa’s more excited than Nate is about this game.”

  “He’s a big sports fan,” Neil said. “Trevor was into basketball. He was pretty good at it, too.”

  Janet raised a brow. Neil rarely talked about Trevor. She wondered if she should encourage him to say more, but as she thought about it, he glanced off through the window into the morning sunlight. “Coffee?” she said.

  “Yeah, thanks.” He pushed his cup toward her and pulled the morning paper off the counter.

  “Is Megan coming?” she said, turning off the burner under the skillet. She dished the last three slices of French toast on top of the small stack on the platter and set it on the table.

  The paper rustled in Neil’s hand as he sipped his coffee. “Said she was.” He scanned the headlines and then helped himself to some toast and doused a healthy portion of maple syrup over it.

  She waited until he was done. “And Brad?”

  “Yep.” He reached for the bacon and plucked a slice off the grease-soaked paper towel. As he put it in his mouth, his eye twitched and an odd expression flashed across his face. He looked down as if trying to catch his breath.

  Janet stopped what she was doing. Studied him. Felt a shiver run through her. “Neil, you alright?”