Beautiful Potential

by J. Saman

  “Maybe you shouldn’t be,” Rina snorts out and I slap her arm. She throws me a, what the hell, expression. I point to our nearly incapacitated friend and she gives me a sheepish grin. “Fine then. We’ll find you a hot doc.” Rina looks to me for encouragement.

  “Yes. Definitely.” And then something occurs to me. “You can have Drew.” I get raised eyebrows for that. Apparently offering up your ex-boyfriend to your friend is a no-no. “Okay, maybe not Drew. But someone hot. Someone sexy. But in the meantime, you need to pull back on the shots. Switch to beer.”

  “It’ll make me fat.”

  “Light beer, then. Or wine. It has less calories than cocktails or even these shots if I had to guess, and you won’t end up face down on the goddamn bar.”

  “Touché,” she mumbles. “Discussing my miserable excuse for a sex life has been awesome and all, but can someone take me home now. The room is starting to spin.”

  Shit. Margot is a puker. “Um, yeah. Maybe you should take her to the bathroom first?”

  Just as the words leave my mouth, Margot lurches a little and both Rina and I spring into action, grabbing our petit friend off the stool and dragging her around the bar to the back where the bathrooms are. We shove her into a stall and she does her thing in stunning fashion. At least she’s getting it out now instead of in Rina’s car.

  Once she’s cleaned up and lacking any further alcohol in her stomach, Rina guides her out of the bar.

  Which basically means I get stuck with the tab, but I don’t really mind. Money isn’t an issue for me and it was a fun night, despite Margot’s propensity for drunken oblivion. Signaling over the bartender, I ask to settle up before I make my way home. It burns my father’s ass that I live in this part of Boston and not some place swankier area like Back Bay or Beacon Hill, but I like it here. The bartender hands me the slip, I check it over quickly and hand him my card.

  I’m tired. Like freaking exhausted.

  I sat, holed up in my house all day painting. It was productive but after a day of that, I needed to unwind some. Or a lot in this case because I wasn’t loving what I was creating.

  My phone chimes in with a text and once my eyes notice that it’s from Drew, my ex, I ignore it. I don’t even pay attention to what he sent me. The last text was about how much he missed me. So not helpful for the whole getting over him thing. The previous text was about a cool ass case he had in the ED that actually made my stomach turn. Before that it was about a dream he had about me. It’s been on going on over the last few months, and lately they’re coming in with more frequency than they used to. And really, he’s the one who ended it, so I don’t exactly feel the need to text him back. In fact, I never do. I just let those puppies go into the void.

  My feet carry me east for more blocks than I care to think about. I really should take the T an or an Uber, but even though it’s frost bite weather and too late for it to be safe for a woman to walk alone, I’d rather walk. I bang a right onto Dartmouth and hop up the steps to the brownstone I own.

  Boston is not the best city to live in and be an artist. But it’s where I ended up for one reason or another and it hasn’t been a bad place to live. I have friends here. I grew up not too far away. Overall, I like it enough. My plan was not to stay though. It was a respite in between other locations. I was here six months when I met Drew and two and a half years later, I’m still here.

  Before I came back to Massachusetts, I found myself moving a lot. I hit up New York as well as London, Paris, Barcelona, Rome, Los Angeles and a few other places. Truth be told, I like the travel, but my brother Brecken lives in New York and my parents are an hour away so Boston has officially become home.

  The life of an artist isn’t easy, but I’ve made a go of it and thus far, I’m successful. I’ve even entertained the idea of opening up a studio/gallery space here. I might have done so already, except real estate in this city is a bright penny and I’m a bit stingy when it comes to parting with my hard-earned dollars. Especially when I already own a home I can work in.

  Unlocking my door, I toss my keys onto the entryway table, lock everything back up tight and then head immediately upstairs. My bedroom is on the second floor of my three-story home. There are two other bedrooms on this floor, which really is too much space for me. The reason I picked this place is because of the third floor and roof space. I had the walls of the third floor knocked down so that it’s all open with a lot of light that loves to stream in. I use it as my studio space. And the rooftop has an incredible view of the city and the sky and in the summer, I grill up there even though I’m probably breaking a million fire codes by doing so.

  I brush my teeth, strip down into my panties and then climb into my bed.

  My eyes close and they stay that way until a blaringly loud noise startles me awake.

  I’m foggy, disoriented and for the briefest of moments, I have no idea where I am. My eyes fly around the darkness wondering why it smells like snow in here, when I spot the barely open window. I’m home. In my bed. And I left the window open. In January. Again. I can only imagine what my heating bill will look like.

  The sound that woke me starts again.

  My eyes fly over to my incessantly ringing phone as I scramble across the bed to answer it. Glancing at my alarm clock, I notice it’s 12:43. No one ever calls you at 12:43 with good news and my mind immediately flickers to my parents as a mild dose of panic crawls up my spine. They’re not as young as they once were.

  My thoughts are almost confirmed before I pick up the phone and see the Boston area code attached to a number that I do not recognize. I swipe my finger across the phone. “Hello?” I ask hesitantly, hoping that maybe it’s just a wrong number.

  I hear someone clear their voice. “Is this Ms. Aria Davenport?” A very male voice says with the air of professionalism.

  “Yes,” I answer reflexively, but my heart is pounding in my chest as I lean back against the fabric of my headboard, drawing my knees up to my chest.

  He clears his throat again, like just having this conversation is making him uncomfortable. “Aria,” he starts, using my first name. “My name is Doctor Oliver James,” He pauses and my mind is swimming, trying to place a name I’m nearly positive I’ve never heard before. And then I realize what he led with, doctor. “I’m a doctor at Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston.”

  Drew works at MGH. So do Rina and Margot.

  “Oh my god,” I whisper, but I can’t really formulate anything coherent past that because my mind is swimming with possible horrors. He’s also taking way too long to get to the fucking point.

  “I’m sorry to call you, but you’re listed as Joshua Brown’s emergency contact and healthcare proxy.”

  “What?” I practically shriek as I bolt upright. My hand flying up to my mouth in utter incredulity. “Josh?” Disbelief and a fresh wave of terror fills me. “Is he…” I can even finish. I just can’t.

  “Mr. Brown is alive, Miss Davenport.” So now we’re back to formalities. Relief floods through me, but just as quickly recedes, because I’m still getting this call, which mean something is wrong. “He was brought into the emergency department suffering from several injuries including a fractured fibula, three fractured ribs, as well as other internal injuries that we’re going to need to surgically explore. He also has a severe contusion to the right side of his head–”

  “What the hell are you saying?” I snap interrupting his medical rant. None of this means anything to me. “Is he okay? What happened?”

  “He suffered a head trauma that resulted in pressure and swelling on his brain as well as the other injuries I mentioned.”

  “Oh God, no. Josh.” My chin drops to my chest as my hand comes up to cover my eyes. Tears leak out despite my best attempts at reigning them in.

  “The surgical team is about to wheel him to the OR now to repair the internal injuries he sustained. His broken leg will not require surgery, just setting.”

 
I shake my head. I just can’t handle this. “How did this happen?”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know the specifics. I just needed to make you aware. But if you’re able, you should come. He needs someone here to make medical decisions for him.”

  “Uh. Okay. I’ll be there soon.”

  Then he hangs up. That’s it.

  But I don’t really have the mental capacity at the moment to think too deeply on that.

  I flip on the lights, squinting against the brightness before rifling through my drawers and tossing on whatever I come across. Then I realize it’s freaking January in Boston and I’m wearing a t-shirt and shorts.

  Shit.

  Yanking all of those off, I toss them onto my floor before I dig out a long sleeve thermal and a pair of jeans, put my hair up in a messy bun, grab my phone, and I’m out my door in less than ten minutes.

  Without my coat.

  Shit.

  But it’s too late to go back as the Uber is pulling right up and I’m in too much of a hurry to get to the hospital. Coats can wait.

  Once I get inside the enticingly warm car, I call Tyler, Josh’s boyfriend. I spoke to Josh two days ago and he was most definitely still with Tyler. I want details and I want them now. The phone rings three times before his groggy, sleep filled voice fills my ear.

  “What the hell, Aria?”

  “Tyler,” I clip out. “Have you talked to Josh?”

  Silence. I’m greeted with freaking silence and I’m about to lose my mind.

  “No. Not since last night.” He’s confused. “We had a late dinner and a drink and then we called it a night. I have an eight am client I’m supposed to meet…” He trails off as silence once again ensues and I can’t find my voice to fill it. “What’s going on?”

  “A doctor from MGH called me.” I swallow hard. “Tyler, Josh was in an accident or something. I don’t know the details, but he’s really messed up. They’re taking him into surgery.”

  “What? That’s impossible.” His tone is skeptical. Completely in shock. I get it. I’m still rocking that ship myself.

  “I don’t know anything, Tyler.” I’m shaking my head. “I’m sitting in the back of an Uber on my way, but you need to get your ass over to the hospital now.”

  “Shit.” He’s silent, but I hear rustling in the background so I assume he’s getting out of bed. “I’m on my way. Fuck,” he growls, anxiety leaching from his voice. “I’m on my way. I’ll call you when I get there.” He’s frantic. Good thing he lives down the street from the hospital.

  “Take a breath, Tyler. I don’t want to get a call about you next.”

  He does take that breath, but then he starts to gulp and I wonder if he’s holding back tears. “I just feel so...I can’t stand this.”

  I’m nodding. “I know. Just get to him and I’ll be there as soon as I can be.”

  “Right. Talk soon, honey.”

  “Talk soon.”

  Tyler and Josh have been together almost eight months. I like Tyler. I like him a lot and I know that Josh feels the same way. In the short time they’ve been together, we’ve gotten close. We’ve even traveled together a few times for different gallery openings. They are the perfect couple. The sort that when you look at them, you want to sigh. Smart. Successful. Handsome. Like I said, perfect.

  To say that Josh has had a strenuous past would be an understatement. He was bullied and beat up for much of our adolescence. Not by everyone. Most people were very accepting and tolerant of Josh’s sexuality. A few were not. I did what I could, but in the end, the only thing that seemed to stop it was Josh growing both in height and muscle.

  He worked his ass off in the gym and we both took kick boxing together.

  But I left shortly after graduation and he went to Boston for school, despite my urging him to follow me. And college was better for him. He really found himself there.

  I have to wonder what happened tonight.

  Because Josh is a strong guy. A big guy. But when he’s drunk, he runs his mouth. And that doctor didn’t say he was in a car accident.

  Fear begins to cripple me, making my stomach roll and my chest clench. He has to be alright. I can’t handle the alternative.

  The longer I sit here, riding through the snow slick streets with nothing but my toxic thoughts to keep me company the more insane I become. Just as the thought that he could die crosses my mind, the phone that has been glued to my hand since I got the initial call, vibrates. Tyler. Thank Christ.

  “Hey.” My tone is rushed. Hopeful.

  “He’s in rough shape, Aria. Real rough.” Tyler sounds broken up. Like he’s been crying. Maybe still is. “He’s in surgery. I haven’t even gotten to see him.” He takes a deep breath. “They’re fixing his spleen or something and they might have to open up his goddamn scull.”

  “Jesus.” I blow out a harsh breath as my eyes burn with tears again. I will not fall apart. Not yet. “Did the doctor say what happened?”

  “I spoke to a nurse and the police. They found Josh beaten behind the restaurant we went to last night.” He lets out a strangled sound. “He walked me to my car, Aria, we kissed goodnight and then I left. I didn’t make sure he got into his. I didn’t make sure he drove off safely. What the hell is wrong with me?”

  “This is not your fault, Tyler. It’s not. And it could have easily been both of you and not just him having surgery. You two do this a million times over and Josh is a tall, strong man. You had no reason to think he’d get jumped.” I hear him sniffle and my heart breaks. I know he’s blaming himself. I’m sure I would too if I were him, but I meant what I said. It’s not his fault and I don’t blame him.

  “The police are clueless,” he chokes. “They have no idea who did this. They didn’t take his wallet or his keys and from the way they described it, whomever did it, got him from behind. Clocked him over the head with a metal rod and then beat him while he was unconscious and bleeding.”

  “Jesus,” I hiss out full or rage. My fist clenches in my lap, the other gripping my phone tightly.

  “Take a breath there, cowgirl.” Cowgirl. Josh calls me cowgirl. “They’re on it. Right now, we have to focus on Josh and pray that they catch the person who did it. Breathe, Aria,” he repeats when I fall silent and I know it’s an attempt to get through to me. To make sure that I hear him and don’t go all heat seeking missile.

  “Look. I have to go back in, but they’re gonna wanna talk to you about his treatment options or whatever. That’s what the nurse said.”

  “Do I need to speak to them now?”

  “No. He’s in good hands. They have all of his documentation on file about you being in charge of his medical decision making. Good thing he’s a lawyer and actually took care of all this stuff.”

  “Yeah,” I whisper, because when Josh had me sign all those forms after his parents died, I never in a million years thought I’d have to use them. “I’ll be there soon.”

  “Sounds good, sweetie.”

  “Thanks, Tyler. I can’t tell you how relieved I am that you’re there.”

  “See you soon. Bye now.”