by Claire Adams
The worst part is that I know that content part of my life is over and that even if I could get it back, I simply don’t want it anymore.
Still, it’s like going to camp: you can’t help but miss being back home.
I’m trying to convince myself that I don’t need to watch the video again to remember why I don’t want to go back to the downtrodden eunuch I’ve been for the entirety of my professional life, but I’m about half a breath away from calling Melissa right now and asking her what I can do to make things right.
It’s idiotic and I know it, but this is the life I’ve spent so much time building. Isn’t it natural that part of me would want to hang onto that, preserve that as long as possible, even if I know that the whole thing is doomed to failure?
A text message comes in, and I’m just hoping that it’s Grace telling me she’s on her way back out, but I’m not so lucky.
It’s Yuri, writing, “Hey boss, I’m probably not going to be able to make it in tomorrow.”
This has happened every Sunday night since I hired her. All things considered, I probably should have fired her a long time ago, but she does have an incredible way of building rapport with the patients, and when she’s not completely shirking her duties, she’s actually a phenomenal assistant.
I write back, “Why’s that?”
A couple of minutes pass before I get another message.
I look down at my phone, reading, “I want to have sex tonight.”
I’m relieved when I look at the sender to find that it wasn’t Yuri’s text, but it’s from a number I don’t know. The answer’s on top of me before I even have time to wonder, though.
Just to be certain, I check the message that Melissa sent her boss and, sure enough, it’s him texting my phone, somehow having gotten my number confused with hers.
I guess it’s not that hard to figure out: this is the number from which he got the video.
Grace is coming out of the building and scanning the lot, looking for my car, and I’m not sure what to do here.
It’s entirely possible that Melissa simply hasn’t gotten a hold of Ty yet to tell him that their relationship or whatever it was going to turn into is over, but I’m nowhere near hopeful enough to believe that kind of nonsense.
I pull out of the parking space and drive over to where Grace is standing, still looking for my car.
If anyone would know what to do here, it would be her. I may not know her that well yet, but she’s the one that figured out Melissa was cheating on me in the first place.
She’s got to know what to do.
Grace opens the passenger door and gets in, saying, “That went quicker than I expected.”
“How’d it go?”
“Quicker than I expected,” she repeats. “We really do need to work on your listening skills, you know that?”
“I meant, was your meeting or whatever a productive one?”
“Oh, not at all. My boss, apparently, left for the day about half an hour ago, but he did make sure to leave a message with his secretary who, for reasons entirely alien to me, was still at her desk.”
“What was the message?”
“‘I’m still your boss,’” she answers. “‘If you try to go around me to push your agenda again, I’m going to fire your ass. I’ll be the one laughing on the other side of the glass when security comes to escort you out of the building.’”
“Shit, what did you do?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about it. Are you ready to go see if one of us can figure out how to work the tilt-a-whirl?”
“I think they cut the power to the rides after the park closes,” I tell her.
“You think? I guess there’s only one way to find out.”
I want to ask Grace what she thinks I should do about Melissa’s boss, but to tell you the truth, I’m finding it less and less palatable talking about that whole situation with her. I’m just not sure if it’s a respect thing or if I’m just scared of the fact that she probably has an answer.
There’s something about wallowing that I’ve never quite been able to overcome, so when an opportunity like this comes along where I can justifiably feel like complete shit about something, I tend to hang onto it.
“You’re quiet tonight,” Grace says. “I was hoping you’d get past that by the time I got back.”
“Are we going somewhere local or should I get on the freeway?”
“Nice deflection,” she says. “It is a ball and chain thing?”
“I’d rather not talk about it,” I tell her. “Let’s just focus on finding an amusement park to break into.”
***
“Will you just shut up and grab my ass?” Grace asks in a hushed voice.
Her strength gave out just before she was able to make it over the final fence to get into the Paroxysm Amusement Park.
I take a breath and put my hands on her upper thighs to give her a push.
She asks if I failed anatomy class in med school, but I’m able to help her get over the top of the fence.
“Are you sure you’re up to this?” I ask her. “You should be taking it easy.”
“Well, since you didn’t bother telling me that until I got all the way into the park, I think I’m just going to ignore you, if you don’t mind,” she says. “Now, hurry the fuck up. I really don’t want to get the beat down from some security guard.”
“You know they have cameras in places like this,” I tell her, but still climb over the last fence to join her on the other side.
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” she says.
“Why? Do you know one of the owners or something?”
“No, I just wouldn’t worry about it. We’re already in, so we may as well have some fun before we get thrown out or arrested.”
This isn’t exactly the kind of thing I had in mind when I was looking forward to a spontaneous night.
“Come on, you pansy,” she says.
I have no clue where she’s leading me, and I’m even more uncertain exactly how nobody’s come to dive tackle us, stun gun in hand, but I follow right along with Grace.
She’s moving slower than she was when we got out of the car, but that’s to be expected. Tomorrow’s her last day of chemo for the month. The fact that she’s out and moving around, much less breaking into an amusement park, it’s actually kind of inspiring — you know, if you squint.
“I’ve never been here,” I tell her. “I don’t know where everything is.”
“You’ve never been here?”
“Nope,” I answer.
“Then you, my good trollop, have never lived.”
“When we’re not together, do you just sit around with a thesaurus and look for alternate words for prostitute or what?” I ask.
“No,” she answers, “I was in a band back in college.”
What that has to do with anything is beyond me.
It’s already dark enough outside that it’s taken me this long to realize why we haven’t been confronted by security: the amusement park isn’t just closed for the night. It’s been closed down for a long time.
Everywhere are bits and pieces of old carnival rides, many of them rusted into near oblivion, although here and there are almost completely assembled rides, though I seriously doubt I’d even get near one, much less on one.
“There’s the tilt-a-whirl,” she says. “I was fucking with you earlier about trying to figure out how to turn the thing on — that ship sailed a while ago. Still, I bet we can get a pretty good view of the sky in that one with the open end facing the hill.”
She leads the way as if she’s been here a thousand times before, and I can’t be certain that she hasn’t.
“It looks pretty rickety,” I tell her.
“Don’t worry, doc. I’ve had my tetanus shot.”
As I’m walking up the creaking metal stairs, I mutter, “I’m more worried about the thing collapsing on us.”
Even with my trepidation, it doesn’t seem like we’d be in too much troubl
e even if the ride were to fall apart with us on it, so I follow her into one of the cars.
The metal is cold as we sit down, but she was right about one thing: the view is pretty idyllic.
“Isn’t it funny how even a slight change of perception can make everything look so different?” I ask.
“Pretty cool, huh?” she returns.
We sit for a while, looking up at the sky.
There aren’t too many lights around here, so the stars are out in force. I’m trying to find constellations to point out to her, but it occurs to me that I only know how to find the big and little dippers.
It’s cold, especially on this metal seat, so I put my arm around her shoulders as she huddles closer to me.
“You know,” I say, “while you were in that building, I got a text message.”
“What’d it say?” she asks, huddling up next to me for warmth.
“It was from Melissa’s boss,” I tell her. “I think it’s safe to say that whatever’s been going on between the two of them has been going on for a while now, and I really don’t think there’s any reason to believe it’s going to be over any time soon.”
“Fuck her, anyway,” Grace says, shivering next to me. “You don’t need someone who’s going to treat you that way.”
“I think I’m starting to realize that.”
Grace looks up at me and smiles. “Come on,” she says. “There’s something that I really want to show you.”
She gets out of the car and starts walking back down the stairs. It takes me a little longer to get out of the car than it took her, but soon enough, I catch up to her.
“I can’t believe you’ve never been here,” Grace says, walking about half a step ahead of me. “Back in college, I used to get drunk out here with some frat guys.”
“Were you in a sorority?”
“No, I was too young. Apparently, they don’t like to let anyone in unless they’re old enough to go for a beer run. Besides, sorority chicks are bitches.”
“Is it weird that I’ve only ever heard that from women who never made it into a sorority?” I ask.
“Not particularly,” she answers, and stops walking. Grace turns to look at me, and grabbing my hand, she tells me, “We’re almost there.”
I walk with her, or rather, I walk as she pulls me behind her, her grip surprisingly strong for how little strength she must have right now.
“There,” she says, pointing into the darkness.
It takes a minute for me to spot it, but there looming ahead of us is an old Ferris wheel, its dark metal blending in with the night sky.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” she asks.
The words I’m thinking at the moment are more along the lines of “unsafe” or “terrifying,” but Grace’s almost innocent look of awe and excitement is enough for me to bite my tongue.
“It really is,” I tell her. “How did you know this place was still here, anyway?”
“People never move a graveyard unless they absolutely have to, and this one’s still collecting bodies. Come on,” she says, and starts walking toward the Ferris wheel.
“Where are we going? I seriously doubt that thing’s still got power running to it.”
“Oh, there’s no way. That’s why we’re going to climb.”
Even if I weren’t a doctor, I’d still know this is a bad idea.
“I really don’t think we should,” I tell her.
“And why’s that?” she asks, continuing to walk toward the base of the old ride. “It’s there and we’re here. What’s the problem?”
“For one thing,” I start as I catch up with Grace, “that thing’s falling apart. For another thing, it’s dark. Even if the whole structure doesn’t come toppling down, we’re going to have a hell of a time getting onto any of the cars without falling. For another-”
“I’m sure you have a long list of reasons not to,” she interrupts, “but have you ever stopped to consider the reasons that you should?”
“Like what?” I ask, stepping between her and the rungs of the built-in ladder.
“It’s frightening,” she says. “Isn’t that reason enough?”
“Jumping out of an airplane without a parachute would be frightening,” I tell her, “but that doesn’t mean that you should do it.”
“That’s completely different. This is the one thing that I never did when I was tooling around here with the guys. If it can hold half a dozen football and lacrosse players spread throughout the top three or four cars, I know for a fact it can hold the two of us. Now come on, get out of my way.”
“Grace,” I say, putting my back against the metal rungs, “you’re not ready for this.”
“I’m fine,” she says. “I’m great at climbing shit.”
“I believe you,” I tell her, “but you’re not there right now. You can’t do this.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because you needed my help getting over the fence,” I answer.
I feel like an asshole saying it, but it needed to be said. Idealism or not, people have physical boundaries, and a person on chemo, even the kind of dose and frequency Grace is on, tend to reach those boundaries a lot faster than the rest of us.
She’s not saying anything, and she’s not making a play to get around me. With that sentence, however honest, however necessary, I feel like I’ve done what the diagnosis and the treatment hadn’t been able to do: I’ve put a crack in her spirit.
“I’m sorry, Grace,” I tell her. “Let’s get you through this round of chemo, and when you’ve got some more of your strength back, I’ll come back here with you and we’ll climb up there together. What do you say?”
She’s still not saying anything, and it’s killing me.
I’ve had to tell patients a lot of difficult things in the short time I’ve been an oncologist, but I never would have expected that something so bizarre and clearly beyond her present capability would feel just as bad as any prognosis I’ve uttered.
“It’s fine,” she says in a tiny voice. “I was just kidding.”
“Yeah?” I ask, doing my best to hide the fact that I can see, hear, and feel her deepening realization that’s she’s just that sick.
“Yeah,” she says. “I mean what kind of freak breaks into an old scrapyard of amusement park rides to climb to the top of the Ferris wheel? Of course I’m joking.”
“I meant what I said,” I tell her. “In a couple of weeks, before your next round, I’ll come back here with you and we’ll make it to that top car together, okay?”
“You’re not listening to me,” she says coldly. “I told you that I was making a joke. I’m obviously too weak to do that now, and even if I wasn’t, it would be a monumentally stupid idea, anyway. Can we just go?”
“There’s other stuff we can find,” I tell her. “We just got here.”
“It’s getting late,” she says. “I’m getting tired. That chemo just drags it out of you, doesn’t it?”
“Okay,” I tell her, “I’ll take you home, then.”
I did the right thing, and I know that. Even she knows that, but it doesn’t change the fact that what’s going on in her body just became a whole lot more real than it ever was before.
As a doctor, this is an important thing, though rarely a pleasant experience for anyone involved. False hope only leads to a harder crash, and as tempting as it can be to let a person think they’re doing better than they are or that their treatment isn’t taking as much out of them as they’d like to believe, the right thing to do is be straightforward and take the hit sooner.
It’s better in the long run.
But it’s in this moment that I realize that I’ve been doing the same thing that Grace wanted to do in climbing to the top of that Ferris wheel. I’ve been pretending that it’s still okay that I’m her doctor — that the friendship we’re developing or whatever else it may turn into down the road isn’t going to affect my judgment when it comes to her treatment.
Today, I received a gr
oup email from the dean of medicine at the hospital regarding a new clinical trial, and I already know that I’m going to sign her up for it. That wouldn’t be a big deal if it weren’t for the fact that the trial is specifically for oligodendroglioma patients who have lived with the diagnosis or are otherwise known to have had the condition for at least five years, for whom chemo and radiation have had little to no impact.
I told myself I’d just be taking my first step back toward being true to myself, doing what I know to be right regardless of how it looks to others. Now, though, it’s starting to set in that my growing affection for Grace, this patient of mine, has just put me in a position to lose my job, possibly my license to practice medicine.
Administrators don’t look too kindly on falsifying medical records to get a patient into a trial, and that’s what I’m going to have to do to make it happen.
Still, though, as I catch up to her, trying to cheer her up, I know the damage is already done. I can’t stand to see that look on her face again, and I’m going to do whatever I can to make sure I don’t have to.
“Grace,” I start, “there’s something I need to tell you.”
Chapter Nine
Under the Radar
Grace
It’s been a week since Jace told me about the clinical trial.
At first, I was just thrilled that there might be something that could change the course of the rest of my life, but once he let slip what he would have to do to get me in, I tried to back out of it.
I know what kind of a risk he’s taking in doing what he’s doing, but he had a point when he told me that while chemo may extend my life, though there are no guarantees on even that; without some other intervening factor, chances are I’ve already lived more than half my life.
That’s a hell of a motivator.
He’s coming over tonight and we’re going to go over the kinds of things I’m going to have to know when I give “my history” to the doctors running the trial.
Right now, Yuri’s here, keeping me company.
We’ve gotten pretty close over the last while, and it’s nice to have someone who’s not an employee to share my thoughts and feelings with. It helps that she’s almost as crazy as I am.
