Prologue
January 22, 2013 North Memorial Hospital, Minneapolis, MN.
12:30 PM. One hour before the surgery start time.
"Hey Doc," said my chief surgeon as he stood in the entry to the surgery preparation room where I was sat waiting. I smiled. "It looks like your blood pressure is still sky high....," he said with a half look of concern but yet pleasant demeanor. It was true. My blood pressure seemed to go onto a hot air balloon ride and was hovering around 195/140. It had steadily risen the last three months for likely and some 'not-so-obvious reasons. We had already discussed all the possible outcome scenarios of the surgery a few weeks prior. I had to laugh; it was my way of dealing with the gravity of the situation--serious. With a 55% survival rate because of arterial involvement, I could only laugh knowing the BP was only decreasing that percentage; I usually laugh or smile like there's nothing bad happening in my reality...my movie. All the while, I'm carefully calculating in my head the way in, or as it was in this situation, the way through to whatever tune is playing in my thoughts (Bon Iver's "Flume").
"I have a request or two, Sir," I said humbly. The situation was completely out of my hands. A feeling I was never really used to experiencing.
"If any of the less favorable outcomes start to come into play, please don't have my family informed till it's over. Until I've breathed my last breath. We wouldn't want a waiting room full of people having heart attacks...that might not go over so well with for the hospital's rep! Hahahaha. " I said laughing and slightly joking.
"Also, if the odds start to go against me, please have your doc attempt to bring me out from anesthesia as much as possible. I want to see my end coming. I don't want to miss it," I said with some level of determination.
"I'll have that discussion with the anesthesiologist. You'll get to talk to her too, shortly," he said.
As he left, I felt neither afraid nor sad that I was going into life-saving surgery. I skipped by the philosophical debates with myself or even with the Almighty that attempted to answer the questions, "why me, why now?" It was just maybe my time, and if it was, "I figured I better show up and see what would happen." Which ever the case, I came to my home state to be with my family and friends. More importantly, I had not come to live, but rather, I came to die...to end the life and the person I was till that very day. All that I had become; all that had transpired between the months leading up to that day had to end. It was really out of my hands and up to those of a skilled surgeon--whether I was going to live and have a different life or just have people read about my old life..either of them would be likely found unbelievable.
The Anaesthesiologist & The Surgery Prep Room
When she came into the room, I asked her to sit. We started talking like people would when meeting for the first time at a coffee shop or grabbing a happy hour cocktail. I asked her where she was from, if she had any children, and how she got into becoming an anesthesiologist, etc. We chatted for a few moments, and then she gave me the talk about coming out of it, or at least coming back into consciousness, during the procedure if needed. I look her dead in the eye as she spoke, periodically looking at the land-line phone next to where she sat. I was getting eager to call Fae but was waiting to hear if what I was asking for was even possible. She said, "Yes." But there were risks involved which may or may not have matter considering the condition I was asking to be brought up in...nearing my end. She was sweet and to the point, but vaguely uneasy as if I was supposed continue the conversation.
Somehow, hearing what I was asking for was possible started a different song track playing in my head, "...there was a time, I met a girl of a different kind.. "(S.H.M.). It was then that the doctor sitting in front of me, the anesthesiologist, pointed out my heart rate monitor had gone up noticeably. I had this reaction when I thought of the girl, all our time together, and the struggle that ensued between us and one other person up until the day I flew home to MN. I was somewhere between giddy, sad, calm, and anxious in my emotions instantly as I sat looking at the phone. I had an hour left to sort out some of those emotions and speak calmly and lovingly to Fae knowing full-well what was transpiring in our Hollywood home in my absence. Some of those minutes would be spent giving instructions to my liaison on texting the groups with my blackberry about my surgical progress; some of that hour would be spent saying 'good-bye' to my family. And, of course, taking the very last of those minutes to call her and listen to her voice one last time.
I starred at it--the land-line phone--wondering what the conversation would be like in those few minutes between us. Most of our last conversations were tumultuous involving high emotions, disagreements on what the truth was, the use of alcohol, and some other 'third-party' commentary that had only grown in its influence over the girl by the day. But usually, at the end of them, like 96% of those 'conversations' and nights, we would come to terms and pass out just inches from each other. It was only then, when she was within reach, that I would find calm and doze off.
The anesthesiologist began to ask why I seemed so calm as one of several nurses started to come into the room bringing me back into the moment. The last came in to inform us that the surgery had been moved up and was now going to happen in 15 minutes. I thanked her for taking a few minutes to talk with me and tell me about her role in my surgery and for being real and in the moment about her life and family.
"And....? she asked politely but very intently again as if waiting to find out why I had no fear and was essentially lounging with her making small talk about a serious situation.
I responded after getting my thoughts together in those few seconds after the notice.
"......I had a dream, and it had come true....at least for a little while," I said to her as a tear trickled down my cheek. I was slightly embarrassed. She paused.
"And she can't be here," I thought, but continued to say, "If I see you on the other side of this procedure, I'll tell you, but if I don't, Google my blog 'Get Adjusted To The Good Life'; it will tell you the story of my life till now...all of it, and maybe in there you'll find the answer you're looking for."
She smiled as a look of curiosity and emotion grew in her face. She wanted to talk more, and tell me how it was she had ended up there, why she had made that career choice versus others, and why she wasn't happy in her current life situation even though she'd not mentioned it. All this from a few moments of conversation in which we had connected. It was something that I'd been gifted with or cursed with depending on how you read my story (There is neither any thing good or bad, but rather how we think of it...Hamlet.). I am just the messenger...I guess.
I was emotionless.....for the most part. I felt some sorrow for my mother and grandmother cause I knew if it was my time, they would suffer the most. The sensation that I was about to bite-it never really gripped me till well after the surgery (like now as I compose) and for a few fleeting seconds during conversations on the subject with Fae. As I thought about our 'final days' together, as I called them--the days leading up to my surgery--I went through a milieu of different emotions ranging from sad, to angry, to happy and content, to concern, and then ultimately love and compassion. The woman I was in love with couldn't be in front of me in those very few minutes leading up to my surgery because of me...." No. It was her. Maybe it was me," Is what I thought. It was actually "both of us and some other third party person," that created the situation; I drifted into my thoughts as the anesthesiologist left the room.
Approximately 12 minutes before the surgery....
The time was approaching, and I was ready. I had taken the last two months to prepare for checking out; I had created instructions for both scenarios: Me living; or, me dying. For a select few people, it was going to be a wind-fall of dollars from the life insurance policies I had to fund all of the activities that were to transpire as part of my final wishes. Legal documents, bank accounts, all things legally pertaining to me had been painfully found, gathered or written out. Either way, I hadn't thought about it much--living through the surgery--but, I had lived every day intensely preparing for it. Some people were going to be sad, some surprised, and at least one or two people...content or very uncomfortable. "Every dog will have his day," I thought with a slight touch of malice. Hahahaha.
As my remaining few family members came to wish me well, I grew nervous. My brother and his wife came as did my sister and her husband. Most of my aunts and uncles had come to see me as I was, by all practical measures, their youngest sibling having nearly been raised most of my formative years by my grandmother. My mother had come in one last time with her both with pleasant smiles and warm embraces. They would go and pray as the surgery was happening. I couldn't believe how many people came to see me "live" versus my original intention. I was also surprised how many people said they would pray for me that were non-church-going types. My family had taken the time to gather a few days before the event so we could talk and share one of our favorite family activities--eating food! Lol. Yes, if we knew how to do something well together as a family apart from camping, fishing, hunting, and the occasional family dispute, it was eating food. Everything from traditional Mexican to modern American comfort food...we had a little more of this type this time around even though it was tamales I had hoped my grandmother would magically produce in her old, ripe age; she was/is still the best at it. All of that love from my family came into mind as they left and the music started to play in my head.
The Phone Call To Fae...(minutes before the surgery).
As I reached for the land-line, the flute from Zamfir's (The Lonely Shepard.)track had already begun playing in loop. It was calming me evident by the decrease in the heart rate monitor's readings. I began dialing the number (612-XXX-XXXX). I knew it by heart. She was the only family I had in my Californian life experience the last eight months we had lived with each other. She was the one I had desperately wanted some level of affirmation from that maybe this too might pass if I lived and we tried. She needed an escape from the disaster we had created together leading up to the day I left to the airport. It was her voice that I wanted to hear one last time if only to hear her say good-bye. But, she said more than that...
"Ring......ring....ring...Hello," she said answering the line. I nearly lost it, but replied, "Hey...."
The rasp in her voice was still apparent; a bug had been gripping her body the last couple of weeks. She just needed to get adjusted, drink more water, and actually rest, and maybe lay off the drinking a bit. But, her girlfriends from Minneapolis were in town visiting just a few days before, and she felt responsible to host and facilitate as much as she could leaving her with little or no time, as it was, to continue recovery.
"The surgery got moved up, and I'm going in after I hang up with you." I said with a half smile. "I want you to know I didn't want things to end between us as they did when I left. We didn't want any of this," is what I said as I thought, "Well, I didn't at least...". The various incidents that lead to her inability to be home and in front of me came to mind as did my attempts to clear the pathway for her to be. She could have come it seemed, but one excuse after the next kept on coming up. Whether they were actually true or not was immaterial; they didn't make sense except for the other contributing reason she couldn't be there--affirmation--affirmation to a third party personality that she was not gonna continue to be involved in anything "us" but would "handle" our situation. I could hear her starting to tear up evident by the immediate sniffling.
"Remember, I love you. It's hard to see that right now and accept it, but I do. And there's nothing that I wouldn't do to hold you and kiss you." The tension and emotion in her voice rose as she responded..
"I love you too. I left you a message, and I hope you got to listen to it." I hadn't. I didn't have my phone; it was with my liaison already with instructions awaiting for either of the events to unfold. "I'll be thinking of you, " she said while continuing to ask me to not make her feel guilty about what had happened during the time leading up to that minute. I was just happy she could take the call; it was something she was only able to do when she was alone.
We exchanged other words in those few moments that I can't quiet recall as the sedative that was injected into my IV line was starting to take effect. Interestingly enough, my BP continue to rise as I strived desperately not let my emotions overwhelm my thoughts or the reverse--let my thoughts flood me with emotions and ruin my last few words with her.
"Okay," I said softly. "I better go. The nurse is here to cart me out. Go do something. Walk Alis (her dog). Go work-out. Find somewhere to be so you're not just sitting there alone." I could hear her crying lightly.
"You'll get the updates via text on how things are going," as I repeated my continued affirmation of her. "If I don't make it, you'll find out. Please understand I"m not leaving you by my choice. This thing was not part of my plan for us but some other things are. (Pink's "Try" started to play in my sound machine) She waited for me to hang up.
And as I did, the music in my head grew louder. No fear. No real emotion. Life to be continued or not...didn't matter cause I had a plan, and how that plan was to unfold, wasn't up to me. It was out of my control, and that was somehow comforting. The nurses' voices sounded like they were taken from the Peanut's series--the blurred adult voice telling Charlie Brown something he alone understood but would remain a mystery to the rest of us. My vision blurred. The face of a person I had only seen once before outside our California apartment came into mind. And then, nothing....
May 27, 2011 Kieran's Irish Pub, Minneapolis, MN (Memorial Day Weekend, Two Years back)
Making my way from the hotel to meet up with an old friend and former employer, "Burlington", as I called him, I stopped to grab a bite to eat at the first place I could via the sky way system. Kieran's Irish Pub. It was full of nostalgia cause of my history with it. Before the Irish had taken over the spot and the new Twins Stadium was built, and fledgling security types would come and learn basic security 101 from me, an infamous restaurant and nightclub existed--Bellanote. It was here that lines of 'want-to-be-participants' would form for hours waiting to get past the front door and be apart of the ambiance.
Every kind of exotic car, business owner and a few politicians would grace, with whatever high-dollar girl would indulge them for the night, "the show" as I called it. It was here where deals were made contributing to the housing industry's boom (and necessarily its bust), and the color green wasn't just part of the rainbow; it was the way past the line at the door. This is where you would find me smiling at you with firm handshake, polished manners, a new tailored suit, and a distinct laugh...at least for a few hours a couple of nights a week. Through random shifts in the management and the eventual purge of the original doorman team, I was asked to step up to fill the role. (You can read this story in the True Stories Series titled...'A drunk, A girl, And The Show.) The role would not only earn me local revere but would also lead to an attache I grew to appreciate in the long run, "Lord of the Nightlife." One of them at least.
Walking into the front door, a few familiar bartenders greeted me and asked how long I was in town. "The usual. Just the weekend. It's been few months, and I thought it was time to enjoy a weekend home," I mentioned.
The place was full less a couple a chairs at the bar. One seat, the easier of the two to get to, was free. I made my way over to it hoping to 'get in and out' without too much trouble. As I grabbed the seat, I asked the two ladies sitting to the left of them, "Is this seat open?" The one closest me said, "Yes." With her black hair pulled back, the simple curve of her face and the paleness of her skin made their contrast very apparent. "Norwegian or Swedish," I thought attempting to place the gene lineage. (Turns out she is Scottish.) Not making too much of a scene, I took my jacket off, and asked for a bar dish and a beer. The gal next to me, in semi-dressy clothes was open to some small talk, and asked where I was from.
"I'm from here. This is my home town. I just flew in today for the weekend," I said without trying to say anything really about myself .
"What are your names?" I asked attempting to keep both parties involved. The gal next to me answered, "This is my sister Annie, and my name is Fae." And so went on the conversation for a bit leading to the eventual validation that I was an actual doctor of chiropractic and that I lived in both San Jose and West Hollywood. Before long, it was obvious, the 'nurse' next to me was interested in continuing the conversation, and I was likely not going to make it to see my friend Burlington in NordEast mostly due to rain. By the end of a couple of hours, it was time to go.
"Are you free for a drink tomorrow night?" I asked Fae hoping she would say she was. Her sister was with her, and really her being out was to be with her sister and not be entertained by me. She agree and gave me her number.
"Fae, I have a favor to ask?" as I pulled her chair slightly closer to me while watching her sister look on into oblivion not noting the 'other' conversation that was transpiring between her sister and me. She said, "yes....?" with a slight intonation of question. "Kiss me," I whispered into her ear. What happened next was telling of the rest of our days together forward. She said, "I'm with my sister." As if to say, "If my sister wasn't here, maybe!" Lol.
To which I replied, "That's not a 'no'," I laughed out load. "Hahahaha." Followed by, "This might sound really stupid, but I'm staying at the Hyatt Regency, which is just eight blocks or so away. Could you give me a lift there?" with no real interest in taking her away from her sister but rather avoiding ruining the coat I had just purchased. It was a personal achievement symbol of having come that far much like the watch I purchased myself for finishing college.
She laughed at me. "You don't want to get your 'fansy foo foo' coat wet?" slightly mocking me but in a nice way. She had my attention. It was the first nice thing I had purchased for myself after having started my official corporate training role. It was nothing from one point of view, but it was also validation that I was succeeding, which meant everything to me. Eventually, Fae agreed to drop me off, and let me sit in the back seat with her shop vac that she used at the barn she kept her horse. "Funny." I thought.
Arriving at the front of the hotel, I got out as she did to see me out of her pick-up truck.
"So, tomorrow night?" I asked with some level of optimism. And she said, "yes," again with a slight level of reserve and gave me a slight hug and left.
It would be 7:00 PM the next day, Saturday, that I would see her again on the roof-top bar at the Cafeteria in Uptown. I picked area because it was the center of my Minneapolis world; the lakes were close. My favorite shoe shop was there, and I had a sense of being 'home' when I was actually home while taking in the weather. So, in the event she cancelled, I could at least enjoy the sun set over the lakes and still have an opportunity to say "hello" to other people I'd not seen in a while. After all, I was still a former lord, and even after years of not having filled the role, it still afforded me the occasional free cocktail or the company of a patron that just wanted to catch up with me and see what I'd been up to since they saw me last.
The Cafeteria, Uptown....approximately 6:45 pm the next day.
Ordering my first cocktail, I was joined by a few Minneapolis socialites--the Persians--that more or less owned most of the non-Irish bar/club establishments in the city. With some level of surprise, they welcomed me as I informed them I had a date. She texted me that she was on her way. I thought in the event she might not be able to identify me to inform her I was wearing white pants and a blue button down. I laughed. Recollecting what she had said about having been in the process of divorce and finally needing to get "back out" came to mind. "I guess," is what I thought realizing I was slightly bending my own dating rules. I had no intention of the evening leading to a relationship, but I figured it would be nice to share the time with someone from home that was sweet and trying to get back to real life then to sit and shoot the shit with a people that were trying to escape it.
When Fae arrived, the Persians stopped talking to take notice of her. There in the distance approaching cautiously was the nurse. She wore her hair down and didn't have on the nerd shades from the previous night. We couldn't help but stare slightly as this tall, beautiful woman came our way to see me! Lol. "I get to be the special one," I thought. I was giddy but concealing it. "Hello," I said and introduced her to my 'friends', and we moved slightly to have some level of privacy. She was cute in her mannerisms, and polite in her interactions with the gentlemen. She spoke softly and laughed freely as we went through some aspects of my previous work in the city and her role as a nurse at the local VA hospital. She was one of my kind--a Minnesotian--and I felt like a million bucks getting the chance to hang out with her.
By the end of the weekend, I was on my way to the airport. I texted her the days before, but she was working or had to be home or was just plain busy. Those were the signs that it was done. I couldn't help but think of all the things we spoke of that were not the normal 'run of the mill' conversation for a first date. Like, in the instance with the anesthesiologist, I saw in her eyes and heard in her voice a story that didn't have an end in what was actually being presented to me 'en vivo'. So, I called her as I was getting on the plane.
"Ring... Ring...Hello. Hey. It's the 'doc' as she had been teasingly calling me all weekend. "I'm on the plane, and I wanted to tell you that I had a good time getting to know you a little. I come into town usually on a monthly basis. It would be awesome if I could get to know you a little better along the way, and if you're open to it."
She said it first, "I have no expectations of you at all. I've got stuff going on in my life." And I said I understood. "Me too. I figure the distance could give you the time and space you need to deal with what you're dealing with, and if it works out, cool. If it doesn't, than that's the way life goes. I have no expectations of you either other than you being real and in the moment. But, I think you want 'to be the only girl in the world, the only one that understands and can make me feel like a man," quoting Rhianna. She laughed, but I could hear the emotion in her voice as I slightly sang the words.
With all that being said, I asked her straight up, "Would you be okay with me staying in contact with you after today?" Her answer would be the name a song that we would claim as our own relationship tune in the very near future. She said, "Yes." And I said, "Wow."
And so began the beginning of our getting to know each other as best as people can via txt, the occasional phone call, and upcoming visits to the homeland; it was the beginning of our long-distance relationship that would prove, at least, that where there is a will, there is a way.
The Second Hour Into The Surgery...(coming out of anesthesia).
People say that there is a light at the end of a tunnel that they seem to be traveling along when they die or have an out-of-body experience. I often wonder if it's just the way their sensory is starting to come back into function from the anesthetic or if it's something else. People also say that when they're right about to die or have a near death experience, various scenes from their life flash before them as if to be happening all at one time. I also wonder if there is a point when we're about to leave our physical life as a spirit, taking into consideration that I believe we're composed of both a body and a spirit, that maybe we do experience our life's events as one event because the time factor separating them becomes null. It's just a thought I have about these topics..but either way, hard to say which is true.
The sound of commotion surrounded me. As had been predicted, the high blood pressure had knocked off a few percentage points on the survival rate for the surgery. Being able to hear sounds meant it was likely the end of my surgery or the beginning of my end. I still could not make out the sounds for what seemed only a few seconds. The surgeons voice called my name.
"Dr. Fil.... Dr. Fil... Do you understand what I'm saying to you." he said. I nodded. The breathing apparatus had just come out of my throat, and the taste of blood become more obvious to me.
"Dr. Fil. We brought you 'up' cause you are losing too much blood too quickly." It was the sign that my end was near being brought up. I guess for what seemed a few moments, those scenes that people see as they're approaching the end of their life flooded my thoughts along with ones of my girl, Fae. I could hardly mumble. But, what did come out, the internist working with my surgeon would later relate to me. I thought about learning to ride a bike without training wheels the first time; being in Mexico around a bond-fire listening to my uncle sing and play guitar in the cold night's air; fishing with my grandpa and laughing at him being mad he didn't catch any; I recalled hearing the Almighty's mandate, "Who will go for Us and stand in the 'Gap'? Who will go and intercede for them?" Here Am I. Send me..." in responding to the call. I thought about all of the people in all the places around the world that had come and gone in my life as if in some kind of orchestrated fashion; everything was connected; all things are one.
"Tell her that I love her," is what the internist said I mumbled right as my eyes rolled back. My vision was fuzzy in those few moments before, but my thoughts were crystal clear. And that crystal was starting to turn to black. And then nothing.
The events that followed according to the my surgeon and the internists were hard to describe and difficult to relate.....
1:30 AM Late Night After The Surgery: Watching The Snow Fall ..
I recanted in my thoughts an old letter I had written to a colleague regarding the matter of truth as I watched the snow fall through the window. I was in pain but trying to mentally cut it off.
"It is written, 'And you will know the Truth, and the Truth will make you free.' In my life-time, I have grappled with the idea of freedom and how it comes with knowing the truth. What is freedom? How does one come into it fully? It is, first, the capacity to deliberate or weigh alternatives. "Will I be a doctor or a lawyer? Will I vote for this candidate or another? Will I be a member of this association, or that association? Second, freedom expresses itself in decision. The word decision like the word incision involves the image of cutting. Incision means to cut into and decision means to cut off. When I make a decision I cut off alternatives and make a choice. The existentialists say we must choose, that we are a choosing creature; and if we do not choose, we sink into "thing-hood" and become part of the mass mind. A third expression of freedom is responsibility. This is my obligation as a person to respond if I am questioned about my decisions. No one else can respond if I am questioned about my decisions. No one else can answer for me. I alone must respond, for my acts are determined by the centered totality of my being.
From this discourse, it becomes more clear how deceitfulness and misrepresenting the truth are wrong. They cut off one's capacity to deliberate, decide and respond accurately in a given situation.The absence of truth is the denial of freedom and the imposition of restraint to my ability to deliberate what I will do, how I will do it, and the kinds of tasks I should pursue. I am robbed of the basic facts from which I'm to make a choice, and this degrades my quality of 'man-ness' when I can"t see the full picture of all things involving the truth. It means, in fact, someone or some other system has already made the facts I will base my decisions from a priori for me, and I am then reduced to an animal. I do not live fully; I merely get to exist in part of a truth. The only resemblances I have to a real life are those motor responses and functions that are basic to being human. I cannot adequately assume responsibility as a persona because I have been made party to a decision on what the truth will be for me in which I played no part in making.
For sure this is a hyperbole, to some point, but it demonstrates what actually happens to a person when they are robbed of the truth and told what to believe the truth is and then asked to decide. The very nature of nature of your life is altered you cannot make the full circle of person-hood because that which is basic to the character of life itself has been diminished. So I hunt down the Truth relentlessly.
I could not believe what had just transpired in the last twelve hours much less what had been happening the three months leading up to it in general. "It must mean something," I thought.
Three Hours After The Original Surgery's End Time.....
"Beep..... Beep....... Beep.......," went the sound of the heart monitor. The commotion happening around me seemed a bit much considering. The nurse talking to me seemed very expressive as if I was late to a show of which I had missed the best part.
"You're a lucky man," she said. "We're just waiting for a room to monitor you in for a while before we put you into recovery. "Where are you from?" she asked to which I can't remember answering. "Lucky," I thought. It's a word that had been ascribed to me a number of times in my life; it was usually when I felt I had had the least 'luck' that I was told that I was lucky. It would usually happen as I'd be walking away from some tragic catastrophe with a big cheesy smile and an attitude that expressed nothing had even happened even if the ambulances, fire department or police were involved--it was how I was trained: Think now. Feel later. Act now. Understand later. I guess feeling "lucky" wasn't part of my programming. Either way, one of my old and close college friends, Ganyon, would say I was "blessed." Hard to say. But, I took it for what it was worth. I would later thank the Almighty for being good to me and having mercy on me on that day. It was my custom to do so when I 'lived' through things.
The recovery room was pretty standard with a window next to my bed. Fortunately, I was the only occupant which made it easy for various family members to take shifts staying by me as they were allowed while I went in and out of consciousness. My sister and her husband brought me treats from the Castle that is White of which I could only spoon small amounts of the chocolate shake. Lol. I could hardly move. And even if I wanted to, I was virtually strapped down to the bed by I.V.s, monitors, pressure apparatus attached to my legs, and a body harness so I wouldn't 'accidentally fall' out of bed. So, I was grateful to them for bringing me things I couldn't get to like my signet ring and watch, and my blackberry. When I came to again, I told everyone to go home and rest. I would be fine. I needed to be alone with my thoughts and my phone.
I would check to see what was sent and received, and which lists of groups had been contacted about the surgery, and eventually check the voicemail when I was alone as I was constantly being attended by nurses that would check my BP, my fluid intake and output, and, of course, how much pain I was in so they could inject my I.V. with pain killer. Someone was prodding at me nearly every 30 minutes. The drugs made me hazy or essentially put me out. So, I would wait till I couldn't bear the pain or the monitors would alert the nurses that something was up before I would take more meds. I had lived; it was something I had only planned for in brief. But, now that I was alive, there was work to be done. So, I thought...deeply. It's all I could do only so many hours after surgery. I could hear the nursing attendants talking in the hallway informing other staff that "that's the Hollywood doc..... and he....," I would laugh to myself quietly as the Black Keys played on the sound machine...little black submarines, operator...please put me back on the line...told my girl I'd be back; this is wrecking my mind..
My liaison executed my instructions precisely. It was he who would notify the groups if I had expired, and all the appropriate people woven into them would receive notice of their pending instructions according to my will shortly thereafter. I had a plan; a very detailed one, which included informing various people of my passing. I had written letters explaining my end and thanking a number of them for their contribution to my life. Some of those would also receive some undisclosed amount of dollars aiding their efforts in the world or that of their children as I have none of my own. There were letters of apology to a certain number of recipients for either one of two reasons: I was not as honest as I could have been with them about all the things that transpired in our time together; or, we never got far enough to do one of a number of things we had discussed doing together. I figured if they knew the truth and they had enough money to do the activities, they could be free to decide how the transactions really had gone and remember me in whatever way they wanted. Other letters conveyed information about my observations I had made.
A small number of letters gave notice of my passing and the cancellation of any debt that person may have owned me, but not all of them would be cancelled in my death; a select few would still have to pay or at least would have to ask to be forgiven that debt out of principle as Mexican culture would dictate. This was the "Give All My Secrets Away" clause in my living will. All of the truth would be known, but I lived, and now had to decide what to keep and what to send.
All I could do in my hospital bed was read text messages, and listen to the voice mails from the various people praying for me or had kept me in their thoughts that day. All of it seemed to comfort and hurt me as I was filling with emotion. That, or, I had just run out of pain killer. People from various places around the world had taken the time to think of me and whatever time we had shared. I was, again, humbled reminded by my signet ring to have compassion. And without warning, I came to the message from Fae I hadn't had a chance to listen to before the surgery.
When I heard her voice the banjos from Mumford and Sons started playing on my mental sound machine..."and I will wait. I will wait for you." It was the music I would associate the most with her in our final days; it was music that moved me; expressed great emotion with a high level of determination in the midst of what seem to be horrible odds; she had no idea what I was handling largely cause she didn't believe me (or mislead to not believe me). I tried to laugh as I listened to her tell me she was going to go to Bikrum for me, but my wound stitching hurt too much if I moved more than a smile.
Bikrum Yoga. It was one of our 'healthy' activities I had got her started into for lots of reasons...peace of mind, getting into better physical shape, and secretly, so she would meet other people doing healthy things. She could connect with a group and develop a routine and eventually a sense of belonging in our shared world. She went on to say nearly tearing again, that she loved me and would be thinking of me as I went under, and to call her before I went into surgery or when I got out if I couldn't; she was being optimistic for me. Hahahaha. I missed that part of her.
Eventually, my BP monitor would go up signaling the attending nurse to check on me early leading to a slight sedative and pain killer that would put me out. My call to Fae had been disturbing when I finally managed to get some words out to her. Our conversation would soon be interrupted by an incoming unidentified phone call to her by him...Esteban. I would eventually be woken up by the surgeon and the internist a few hours later.
The Surgeon And The Internist... 6:47 A.M. The Morning After the Surgery
It was the internist that reported to me I had started talking incessantly the moment I was able. He was christian and strangely interested in what I had said; it was he that would relay the events in the operating room; it was he who would later recant my talk of a woman I described in high detail and other conversations I was having; it was he and my surgeon that would, with disbelief, describe to me how my heart rate would crescendo before it flat-lined to nothing.
"Morning Doc," my surgeon said with a high level of interest. "Don't be afraid to ask for the meds. We don't want you in pain cause it makes your heart rate shoot up." And with his intern, he grabbed a chair and lowered himself to my eye level and spoke plainly to me.
"Now, I'm not a believer of things religious or spiritual, but I've seen so many things in my 30 plus years of doing surgery that I have to wonder about some things. I began wondering again when you revived during surgery." I looked at him, and asked, "What?" "Your heart rate went out of control after we brought you up for obvious reasons (and some not so obvious ones) and you had lost a lot of blood. We followed your final wishes as you requested if you were to pass--that is, not to revive you. You flat-lined for over a minute and had stopped breathing. And I was gonna have one of the other docs call it. But then, it was as if something crashed into you! You literally bounced some, and then started breathing again," he said with a look of amazement moving slightly closer to me.
"My internist says you speak other languages?" he said with a questioning tone.
Unsure of what he meant, I said, "Well, I learned languages in school I thought would be useful to travel freely with and not get bothered by the locals." To which he replied, "Do you make it to heaven much?" he said sincerely and kinda laughed in the process but then waited for my response.
I shook my head as to say, "No," but was still uncertain what he was telling me.
The christian internist smiled and chimed in saying,"You speak in Tongues. I'm penticostal, and I know it when I hear it." I thought, "Great, a Bible guy," half uncomfortable but I said, "and you heard this?" Not exactly what I was expecting him to say, as he continued,"and French, and what sounded Arabic, and a list of other things he and the other docs had identified some time after my resurgence to life.
"Let me clarify. When we thought you had died, we took off your oxygen mask after you stop breathing past the minute, and when you started up again, you were mumbling in tongues." After we released you to the observation room, you were having conversations with various people in those languages. When you started speaking English, you spoke of a girl non-stop." I wondered what I had said, and who those people were. He asked if she had been present to which I could only painfully say, "No."
"Well, doc, I'm glad you surprised me and scared the shit out of me a little. Your stitches look good, and you need to rest. I'll see you in a week," my surgeon said exiting the room with the internist that relayed a few other things to me along the way. It was starting to make sense to me now....why the nurses in the hallway were making conversation about me as a new one took over or was just interested in getting a peak at me; the Hollywood doc...the guy that spoke multiple languages with people not in the room. But I hadn't spoken any, other than Spanish, in years...especially the one the internist was making reference. I had to decide what it meant now that I was alive.
Monday November 5th, 2012. The apartment in Hollywood: Two Months Before Surgery.
It was a normal day of work events for me. The weather was, again, hot, and the sun was shining. I wondered how the day would end as most days since Fae's visit back home to Minnesota the month prior had only seem to add to the already high level of tension between us. It was as if an argument had already taken place in her head between us for which I had no actual participation but was getting the aftermath: critical attitudes, conversations that seemed to only try and agitate our relating and the random need to be away somewhere else out of my presence.I had hoped for better. I hated when we would argue over seemingly nothing at all usually prefaced by her love of her old life, her X-husband, and her firm belief that he secretly wanted to be back in a relationship with her, but he couldn't cause of Patricia. It was a lose--lose situation. I had things I had wanted to tell her that were important that would likely add to the situation, but we hadn't had enough 'down' time to just relate as normal people. I had hoped that tonight would've been the night I could tell her what I desperately needed to, but she came in the door already angry and paranoid that I was "following" her the day before. A sentiment she had expressed back in the homeland when I would visit; she was then too under the same suspicion about being followed except that it was her x-husband she was worried about then getting information about her activities with me. It had always made me wonder "why" if in fact she was divorcing her husband that it would matter she was "moving on", and was trying to start over again, here in California.....with me. She raged as she stormed into the apartment, and then out disappearing down the street into the night saying to not call or bother her; "I'll be staying at a hotel or somewhere you can't find me."
When 2:30 AM had rolled around, I walked down the street looking for her at the most popular of places we would frequent--she wouldn't deviate too much from what she knew; otherwise, she'd end up getting lost. And in Hollywood at 2:30 A.M., it's not a good idea. My search for her continued to no avail. As sat on the sofa with the dog keeping me company, I watched the hours pass. As light started to chase away the darkness, I called her parents out of concern and maybe the remote possibility that she had contacted them and informed them where she had gone and why as she had done with her husband during their arguments. Which lead me to also send him a text...for the same reason knowing she had been in the process of trying to "get his attention" with sensational stories of our life together. But, no one had heard anything. When she did make it back, she was pale, lacking of sleep, and clearly hung-over...a look I would see regularly from that day forward. Fortunately she worked a mid-day shift allowing time to get her stuff for work together.
"Where did you stay," I asked out of concern and slight frustration."It doesn't matter. I was safe, and that's all you need to know," she said spitefully.
"I called and left a message with your parents cause I didn't see you anywhere, and you didn't come home. I was worried... walked down the street to our normal places, and I didn't see you." I then asked her for a receipt for the 'hotel' she had stayed at to which she responded,
"No. There is nothing for you to see."
"Ha. Well considering you say you have no "work" friends, and you haven't made any others that I'm aware of, I would guess you'd have a receipt cause you didn't sleep in your truck."
I continued to say as she grabbed the flowers I had put into a vase on the counter and angrily through them into the trash.
"Why are you being nice to me now? Cause I didn't come home? Cause you care?" As she became more angry as she proceeded to get her things ready for work. She had a point. I had been critical of her actions, attitudes toward our situation, and all of the background "stuff" she claimed didn't exist...like a different person.
"I guess," I mentioned as I walked over to the kitchen to pull the flowers out of the trash and place them back into the vase.
"You don't have to be destructive. The flowers could be for me too. Something to bring a little color to the place."
This became my weekly ritual from that point forward; I would buy different flowers of bright colors to help the apartment's atmosphere. It was something she would grow to appreciate and continue after I had left for surgery.
"I want you out! I want you out by the end of the month," she went on saying furiously. It was something she had started to say before her trip to MN and then after she returned. And, every time I would decide to take her up on her offer and start to move my things out of the apartment to storage, she would block the way out, tell me to see what she was saying physically versus what she had said verbally. She was in conflict, and we had both fed that fire. But, so was someone else; a person I didn't know was in the picture, but I had had my suspicions as it was in her nature to have an "out" in the works.
"Look. You're angry. I understand cause I called your parents, you clearly didn't sleep much, and are hung-over. You can be angry all you want if you feel you need to be, but when you're ready and before you leave, I have something I need to tell you," I said calmly and in a very even pitched voice. She stormed into the room getting her things while asking if I had taken care of the dog. I always did take care of her--the dog; she was dependent on one of us letting her out when Fae worked her 12-14 hour shifts. I would always do it--care for the dog--even if I said I wouldn't in the weeks to come so as to give Fae a reason to come home and not go to where ever she'd disappear.
"What?" she smirked at me nearly ready to hit me with the facts of her night as a prodding tool, but she didn't. She stopped herself from letting it escape her mouth.
"When I was home for the high school reunion, I got my thyroid checked as you had suggested, "but I never let on to you that I appreciated your concern for it and telling me to," I thought.
"And?" now listening with a slight elevation in her interest of it.
"After I got back, and I was driving to work, my endocrinologist called me."I had left him a standing letter of permission to call me with any news other than normal or whatever as I had moved to California to finish my studies when I had had a massive goiter develop in my right thyroid; it had been benign, and had receded nearly 90% leaving no real concerns of any kind less one previous event, which had turned out to be minor.
But this time, he said, "I've got some news for you." "Okay," I force out pulling over on my way to an interview on Sunset." Fae was now listening more intently and looking at the clock on the microwave cause she never wore a watch and needed to leave. I went on to relate the rest of my conversation with the endocrinologist.
He said, "Remember when I said you'd never have to worry about that goiter ever having a problem?" as he paused, "I think we have a problem." His voice started to blur as overwhelming emotion gripped my thoughts and being. "Fae." Came to mind. Her worst fear would potentially have the ability to manifest...she might find herself.....alone with no one she would say. And I had brought her here so she could be away from her last disastrous relationship. As my Alpha-persona started to kick-in cutting off my emotional components, I asked the doc to repeat the last part of his talk to me to which he followed up by asking how soon could I make it back home. The extent of what I was dealing with was a mystery to me but not my doc as he proceeded to tell me to plan for the worst until we could conclude otherwise. As I hung up, I began feeling cheated. Angry. I had gotten this far only to be hit with something else to handle. I was failing in my relationship, so it seemed, and I was fast-tracking it back into a more official doctor role in preparation for end-of-the-year contract negotiations with my then corporate client, whom, by-and-large, had funded my life. And, I didn't want to get caught with my pants down if things were going to change.
As I looked at Fae in the kitchen, I said softly, "I'm going home in 11 days to do the follow up stuff. I have cancer in my thyroid, and it looks as if the tumor is right next to an artery, but they're not sure if there's any damage to the artery yet." I was stone hard emotionally but soft in my speech to her at that point. All she could do at that moment was start to grab her things. As she left, she turned to tell me,
"I don't believe you. You don't have cancer. You're making this up," and she storm down the hallway. It was that perception, the one that I had made it up--the whole thing--that she would maintain till the week I'd leave for my surgery. But by then, it was too late...two and a half months too late. I had been sitting on the information for two weeks....maybe two weeks too many according to Fae.
She would swivel between one end of her emotions of being distant and unconcerned to being periodically broken, sympathetic, and the supportive girlfriend I thought she could be (considering she was a nurse); except she wasn't "officially" my girlfriend any more...not verbally at least. It was why she didn't make it back the night before; she was to start driving the stake between us it seemed. What she was going to share with me as a means to incite rage, and anger from me, lead to compassion and unconditional love for her. I had failed her and misunderstood what was really happening in her person and her attempts to express it with me seemingly always lead to explosive arguments. It was then,the morning of November 6th that I had dropped my critical demeanor towards her and her 'extra' activities between other people. I decided, as I was unsure if I would be leaving the planet soon, to love her unconditionally. I had eleven days till I'd go home to verify what I had feared. Eleven days to start to make a difference in her world. I couldn't change yesterday, but I could certainly change today, and tomorrow, and the day after. And I did.
Every day I would wake, even if I didn't have to, to help her ready for her day. Make coffee; break out the toast, walk the dog as she was leaving, make sure she had her water bottle, walk her to the elevator door, and tell her that I loved her.
Every day for the following weeks, she would attempt to find a reason to start an argument with me so she could fuel her own anger towards me find a reason to leave, to which I'd let the bullets ricochet. Something she hadn't expected; She'd verbally knock me down, but I'd get up again. Only making her try harder. And every time I thought I was going to loose it, I'd remember that these were our final days together, as I called them, and I wanted them replace some of our less than memorable ones. One day at a time. Every now and then, she would stop at the door as she left, and ask me, "Why are you being so nice to me? I know this is not you. You're only doing this cause you're sick, and you'd go right back to the way you were before..." to which I would say the same thing every time, "Cause I love you, and I'm not confused about that," even as I continued to ignore, in part, what was continuing in the background of our home life (Madylin Bailey's version of Titanium playing on the sound machine.).
When the first 30 days had passed, she had grown to accept my expressions of love and support of her. We enjoyed some level of peace and understanding for a while during which I'd read to her various parts of the Five Languages Of Love attempting to both better understand how it was we communicated love. She would often see new things she had missed about herself in her former marriage or even between us, but she was getting it--she was learning. I would later get a book that was titled, Talk To Me Like I'm Someone You Love that had great verbiage for occasions one might not have any clue how to identify what one was feeling much less the right thing to say. And so we went on in our remaining time together, but it didn't stop her from allowing a certain person's continued pursuit of her; it was her 'Plan B' as I later would discover I was for her when she was still 'working on' getting out of her marriage...or trying to stay in...something that would come up as I moved the last of my things out...
Monday, January 28th, 2013: Six Days Post-Surgery...Arriving Into LAX.............Part One
The air was crisp, and the sun was setting. The flight home was smooth and had arrived early. Eager to get to my jeep and get home, I hurried through the terminal to jump on the next shuttle that would take me to my green machine. When I found him in my normal parking spot, 3C, he was covered in dust and hot from the day's sun. I nearly cried when he started up. After fifteen years of service, he had never failed me. Not once. He always started even in the bitter cold of MN. Now 2500 miles from the homeland and over 216,000 actual miles, he was humming smoothly and ready to go. It was comforting to me (Jeep, it runs deep.) knowing I could depend on something in my life in the middle of a strange land.As I cruised down the roadway leading home making one detour along the way, Nelly"s Just A Dream came on over the airwaves, "I was thinking about her...thinking about me, ...thinking about us, and what we're gonna be. I opened my eyes, and it was only just a dream." And so the tune played nearly all the way. "How stupidly fitting," I thought!
My post-surgical visit earlier that day was both surprising but disconcerting. The surgeon had remarked at how fast my scar was healing and how much my energy had already seemed to be returning. The blood pressure reading on the other hand, was still high. The surgeon had went on to inform me that the biopsy of my tumor had been sent to the Mayo Clinic for a final conclusion on what the nature of the lime-sized invader was. The results would be in sometime that week, but he was unsure when as there had only been a few other instances his team took that long to deliver the results. And really, I could have cared less if it took a month, all I wanted to know is that I was "clear" or not so I could plan accordingly.
The wind blew through my hair as I cruised down the 105 en route to my home and the music changed to Wisin & Yandel's "Hay Algo Que Me Gusta De Ti." I was excited to start Part B of my life; it would hopefully be different, clean, and forward moving. I had determined to let some things go and leave them in the past as it seemed the Almighty saw it fit to send me back to finish up whatever my life's ultimate end was to read as. But, there was a situation with a certain someone that needed some attention...namely the girl--Fae. She knew I was on my way back into California but not sure exactly when I would arrive. I had been ambiguous purposely hoping to maintain the element of surprise and keep her co-worker guessing.
When I opened the apartment door, Alis ran up to me immediately nearly knocking me over. I had missed the 76 pound dog, and her constant giving and taking of affection, but now she was giving me the look, the one that indicated she needed to go out. Fae was still at work likely doing another 12+ hour day. "Hmmm," I thought looking around the apartment for subtle changes or things left behind by our visitor. Not to my surprise, she had moved all of my things out of sight and into the closet. I guess it made a certain someone more comfortable while "filling-in" for me. "Ha.Ha ha. No matter. What goes around eventually comes back around," I thought proceeding to unpack and take the dog out. As I was assessing what needed to be done in the next few days, I became nervous. I would have to move my remaining things out of the place to somewhere; care for the wound in my neck that was still tender and freshly exposed to the elements that morning rendered me temporarily vulnerable--the scare didn't allow for quick or jarring motions. These facts, and the fact I would exhaust after anything taking more than a few minutes, I would keep to myself in order to keep a recent visitor guessing in the event he wanted to have a follow up conversation earlier than planned.When she did finally make it home, the silence between us was so thick that even the dog didn't know what to do. Fae kept her distance, and didn't say much except ask, "Are you going to be staying here?"
Which I thought was an odd question considering all the bedroom furniture was mine leading to my reply, "Of course. It's still my stuff till you pay for it in full." I continued to tell her, "..then I'll sign off on the lease." I had already told her I would sign off when I was ready and not before, and for sure, I wasn't gonna let her co-worker use her to pressure me in any direction. We were still legally bound together via the lease--a very familiar situation she'd only gotten out of earlier that year from her divorce in the matter regarding their shared home. She couldn't sign off without my consent or the reverse; it was a legal glitch her and her co-worker had seemingly gone through the various scenarios of, "If he does this, then do this...If he does that, then do or say this." It was apparent he was using the girl to gauge my behavior..."Interesting," I thought. Some odd teaming had been occurring between the two of them in my absence but was now starting to make itself very apparent but not unexpected. Remember, I had a plan in play.
"I'm not going to be staying in the apartment while you're here," she said with some detectable level of anger. "I guess not. I suppose you have to keep your 'boy' validated now that I made it back....now that I'm alive. Cause I did live, and I hadn't planned on it." But now, drifting into my thoughts slightly, "I will win this struggle with cancer. Do what you need to do for you cause I'm pretty sure you didn't give US a "continuation" plan in your story telling to everyone," I said with some level of sarcasm coated with remorse. The fact of the matter was she had in her own mind imagined it if I didn't, "..make me out to be so terrible or the situation so bad that I can't come back," she said as I informed her I would be telling the story. What she didn't know, is there was no return. Not in this life. It was something I had reminded her of constantly in our final days together up until I left for my surgery; she had more than two months to change her mind and cut off our relational intruder, but she didn't.
As I watched her, the struggle in her person had already begun. I was in front of her, and not just a text message or voice over the phone, but an actual live breathing person she cared for in the very immediate past or maybe still cared for in the moment, and slept with till the day I left for my surgery. She relished my person, and I guess I did her too till I left.
"I can't be around you. This is too hard for me emotionally. I'll be in and out as I need to be till you leave, but I'm not gonna stay here with you," she'd continued to say as her phone started immediately buzzing--the co-worker or her 'boy' was checking to make sure she was "OK" but still leaving for the night with him.
"Why are you leaving? This is your home. This is our home till Friday or I sign off on the lease. You shouldn't have to leave because some guy you started screwing two months ago thinks he's in love with you and is uncomfortable with a situation that shouldn't have even existed, but I guess you decided that for us. What happen to, 'whatever makes you happiest' and 'I respect your decisions too' talk your boy was giving you before we knew when I was leaving to surgery?"
I smartly asked, "Did all that disappear when I was "no longer" in the way and going to meet my end?" A look of question started to filling her eyes. I knew what had been happening all along, but I just let it happen for a very specific reason; she needed to believe the story she was telling herself and everyone else involved....More, importantly, I wanted her to believe the story her 'boy' was telling her. So I let her believe everything...even if it wasn't true. Truth or not, she would find a way to make it true for her to continue to justify her actions just as her co-worker would so she would follow. And even in that, a part of her struggled with the US factor and its striking similarity to her marriage's debacle.
Her immediate response was to walk over to me and nearly hug me, but she didn't. She just looked at the gaping scar on my neck. "Yes. I actually did have cancer, and you didn't want to believe me," I said to her changing my tone of voice to a more soft and welcoming one while looking into her green eyes. I could smell her shampoo, and her perfume she'd only started wearing just before Obama had been elected. It was one she'd wear just in case she smelled of work or other activities. She reached up to touch it, my wound, noting the stitch job. Before too long, she'd crack open a beer as she readied herself to exit the place. This was how it went the following days except she'd stay a little longer and talk a little more each day about normal stuff till my replacement, her 'boy' would start to chime in our life via text or phone, which she 'had' to answer it seemed only getting off the phone paranoid and in fear something was gonna happen to her because of me....or was it something that was gonna happen to her from him...."Hmmm," I'd sound out while thinking through my plan.
When Thursday morning arrived, my phone buzzed waking me from a partially descent night of sleep. Alis, the dog, had been sleeping next to me as she did every night I was home. Fae hadn't returned from where she was when the phone call came in from MN. I didn't answer. It had been too long for any normal anything to have been determined. I waited for the voice mail and listened after I got up to walk Alis trying to focus on something different than the voicemail.
"Hey Doc, It's your surgeon Dr. (name omitted). I finally got the report back on your tumor tissue samples from the Mayo specialist. We need to talk today," he said with a level of urgency. It's the kind of sound you know only has a less than favorable message following. I forwarded it to Fae so she would also know I had been contacted about the results of the biopsy; it was something she seemed remotely interested in knowing but attempted not to seem too concerned. When she finally did come in, she was tense. She was under duress as my replacement was already on her case for wanting to be home on her day off, but she rebutted him with obvious things she had to get done to include dealing with me. He did this via text, email, and calling...again...and again when she wasn't actually in his presence making sure she wasn't getting too involved in a conversation with me or around me at all if he could help it.
"That didn't take long," I'd say to her shortly pointing out the obvious telephonic invasion she was under.
"What did the surgeon say?" she asked as I made my way to the balcony replying, "I'm not sure, but it doesn't sound awesome judging by the tone in his voice. Are you gonna be around today?"
She nodded as to imply, "No!" Eventually she responded by asking, "Are you gonna be out by the first, which is tomorrow?" I hadn't signed the lease release waiver cause her plans for the place seemed to be constantly shifting, and I still hadn't found a place to move; it wasn't a priority before surgery, again, cause I hadn't really planned on returning, but I had lived--something a different person hadn't planned on either. I attempted to interrupt her telephonic invasion with a lite conversation, but my phone rang with the all so familiar '763' area code--it was the surgeon.
I answered, "This is Dr Fil." He started to talk, "Hey Doc. I got your results back from the Mayo. This is probably not what you want to hear considering you just got back home, but we need you back. The Mayo has re-defined that tumor as an invasive neoplastic sarcoma. We may not have gotten all of the cells out of you. You have some time if you need it."
He was right. It was not what I wanted to hear, but I was expecting it after the long delay in contacting me. "Free and Clear," is what I was hoping to hear, but I didn't get those words. I briefly mentioned I'd get in contact with his people to make arrangements. Fae, now listening intently to my conversation, walked over to me.
"What did he say?" as she moved to stand in front of me reaching for my arm. It was the first time I'd seen more than casual concern from her in the days I had returned home. I could hardly speak, but as a tear rolled down my cheek, I muttered, "I'm not clear. I'm not clear, but I have some time." She hugged me strongly, and even though she was emotionally disconnected from me on the whole, in that moment, I could tell she was struggling to not be.
I wasn't supposed to be in the picture anymore according to her and everyone else, but I was. And, I was determined to heal and grow strong again with or without her. In that moment, however, all I could do was weep. Uncontrollably. She kissed me, again, on the cheek as she had once before upon my return--her continued struggle with her emotions for me and between us was evident in her struggle to stay or leave every night and all the writings she'd put on our bathroom mirror. Eventually she would be helped in her decision to leave paranoid and convinced that something terrible was going to happen to her ...my replacement and...."More propaganda," I thought but said nothing.
It was obvious, she really didn't have much say in anything at that point, because Esteban was now threatening to leave her if she didn't comply; something he must have figured would matter from her fears of me leaving her originally. I would chime in now and then and smirk, "Who's threatening you now?" Something she again had to think about as it was always her thought that it was me that threatened her. I guess I had by telling this very story to everyone; by telling her I was gonna talk to whomever, including her parents, ex-husband, and friends as I saw fit to find out the truth about her past and now her present series of partial truths. And if needed, I'd put them all on conference call to see if the stories we were all being told even matched up. It was her way of controlling people--only telling them partial truths that they could neither confirm or deny....till she met me.
"I'm still confused about you, this situation, and US. I don't trust you, and you and me both did a lot of wrong to each other," she said as emotion filled her face. Eventually her tears of sorrow would turn into tears of rage.
"I guess so, but you could've stopped the confusion two months ago had you not let that piece of shit into our home and into our life together. And you've had more than two months to TRY. But, instead, what did you do?" I said not trying to stop her from leaving except ask her if all the things that seemed so open-handed by her now 'boy-friend' co-worker were still true....
"Don't you get a say in what you will do, or whom you will do it with, and where? Doesn't your opinion matter anymore, and aren't your choices also important and not just the ones your 'boy' says are important for you? I thought Esteban 'respected' your thoughts and desires! Did that change as I told you it would when I was 100% out of the picture or he felt he had closer to full control of the situation? Cause it's very easy to be the non-stressful, slightly more interesting 'cool cat' when it comes to what he was doing--keeping you in the rotation; then he doesn't have to put up with your bull-shit cause there are other girls being groomed and waiting for the attention." (Although, I admit I was being generous to his actual ability or talent with the girls..these kind of girls that is...white, middle-class, educated.)
"But now he, as any player would, started letting the backup girl(s) go feeling that the 'choice' one was 'lock-in' and could now start being made demands of when I was out."
I said all this pointing out all the other obvious things about the situation. I wasn't trying to convince her to be with me because we were done (98%). Rather, I was trying to convince her to stay in control of herself and her thoughts and the reality of her pending situation.... because it seemed clear that someone was taking advantage of our situation, her vulnerability, and her drinking issue, and it wasn't me (After every 'evening' out with her co-worker, it was evident she was supporting their outings obvious by the receipts she leave out or in the trash. I always found it funny that she would pay for their outings, but she'd 100% make me pay for ours not to mention the 60/40 rent slit she'd not pay equal amounts of after she started up with her 'boy'.).
She started to tear, "I wanted to be there for you at your surgery. I took the time off and moved my vacation time around twice, so I could be there, but your surgery date changed, and I couldn't get everything else taken care of in time. It doesn't even matter, I had to be here cause you had me arrested, and I spent the night in jail!"
It was true. I had called the police leading to her arrest three weeks before my departure home, but the reasons why she thought I did it were completely different than why it actually happened.
It was another long day at the office. As the day's end approached, I got eager to make it home and see what my night would entail. Would it be a night Fae was left home to share some time with me or would she leave into the night....inebriated only making it back, barely, in time to see the sun rise. This was the cause of most of my anxiety the nights she'd get into an ever changing car (I would make my way down to take a picture of the car noting the plate number, vehicle type and model...just in case.) that would pick her up or she would drive.Fae was on the second of a four day weekend which was becoming her normal schedule through the VA were she worked as an RN. The days prior started out fairly rough with random heated arguments about seemingly non-topics but important ones nonetheless. The never ending conversation with Esteban and nights out with my him had started to increased in frequency. But, when we could agree and ignore the obvious heated topics, we'd find our way to do something festive like watching the Holiday parade go by on Hollywood Boulevard or attempt to keep up with the neighbors' seasonal light displays on their patios. However long it lasted, it was usually a good time that involved cooking, speaking to each other constructively; it was an momentary pause from the dramatic life we were caught up in by what seemed now to be circumstance. We were living and still sharing life together mostly but separately depending on the day.
As I approached the door, the all so familiar conversation had already been in swing, and my entrance into the place didn't stop it. Listening to her make fun of our situation and what they would be planning when I was "out" of the picture was aggravating. His voice--slower, dense and ethnic in nature--could be heard any number of feet away from the kitchen where she stood watching me enter into the place. She would Que her 'boy' an account of it attempting to cut the call short normally, but he couldn't or wouldn't stop talking.
"I'm pretty sure I asked you to either leave the apartment or discontinue your conversation with your 'boy' when I'm home. Could you at least be respectful of that?" I'd say only to have her ignore me. Repeating myself only lead to a number of defiant disrespectful looks. They were the looks I had grown to be familiar with over the last few weeks; most of them were the attitude and persona of the girl Fae would become once the alcohol flowed through her system. Already a bottle of wine down and looking for it's replacement, (I had began keeping track of her drink as it seemed her ideal of one or two glasses of wine or other alcohol seemed slightly off when I'd ask her how many drinks she had had at any point.) she would pretend that it was just her second glass or so. I guess had I not been a professional doorman a good number of years, I might not have questioned it, but I was, and I was really good at noticing the slightest level of 'buzz' someone was experiencing. My question of how much she had had to drink lead to her putting the phone on speaker mode to further amplify the conversation she was having with her boy to drown out my voice.
My response was simple....
"Fine. Put your 'boy' on speaker so I can more clearly hear how you down-graded in your quest to be...what was it your supervisor asked you before...Oh, yeah, 'are you universal (meaning did she date non-white people)?' But whatever, I'm sure your friends will approve of your choice once they get a chance to know you're with an East Compton thug." I could hear him saying, 'What did he say?' I laughed telling Fae to inform Esteban, "I don't speak thug." And so started the dual verbal assault between her and her co-worker via speaker phone.
This lead to a very critical move on my part. I began to finish moving the rest of the bedroom furniture out of the place into the hallway.
"What are you doing?" she said angrily attempting to block my way out of the apartment.
"Well, you haven't given me a payment plan on how you intend to pay for the furniture that you want to buy from me. So, when you can do that and pay me or start paying for it, I'll bring things back to you. Otherwise, it's going to storage...as I 100% paid for it myself," I said very smoothly and in an even toned voice.
"You are a coward!" she began to say tauntingly with her 'boy' who was attempting to chime in via her mobile phone." "A coward...really. Is that why you're using 'our' girl and her already drunk condition to insult me versus being in front of me to do so....or is it you that's the coward?" I thought and then said, "Get out of my way. You can have your mule help you buy new stuff, deliver it to the apartment, and....Oh yeah, help you assemble it too."
"I said I would buy all this stuff from you," she started to yell and visibly become more aggressive in her mannerisms toward me as she realized the insults weren't stopping me moving of the furniture out.
"You did say that, but like I just said, you've not provided me with either a written agreement or give me any money for the stuff," spouting out as I continued to move our dresser cubes. "Besides, who's to say you will pay after I leave and the stuff stays....cause once I sign off on the lease I'll not be able to come back here and take it or make you pay." I wasn't gonna fall into a 'dumb' move by not having an agreement that was enforceable in a court of law or be in control of my belongings. It seemed to make sense to me at least.
Her tag-teaming with Esteban in our conversation was annoying; it was the only way he would 'interface' with me, behind the skirt of the girl he must have talked himself into believing he was in love with or as I mention earlier, just taking advantage of considering our situation and her drinking issue (maybe not realizing he was the pawn). It was a developing sentiment that would make itself much more clear in their email correspondence to each other in the weeks to follow. I was already starting to loose my cool.
Either way, a 32 year old RN that had been working for nine months just out of school and service time but still not managing to make it out of his mama's house in East Compton seemed to me to be a highly suspicious circumstance.
"How does one not manage to have even a shared space of their own to 'facilitate' a relationship with any woman, let alone a white-middle class one from the North?" I'd asked. And her answer bothered me, "People have circumstances."
"I guess," I spat out with a high level of criticism and disbelief. It was a circumstance that didn't even make sense to her as various similar conversations on the topic had come and gone, but he was the option she allowed to persist "outside" of our relating. It was an 'option' no one else had any knowledge of--not her parents, her friends, or even her ex-husband......until I politely informed them all. (Because as far as I could tell, all her parents and friends knew was that we weren't getting along and our conflicting personalities were the cause of most of our arguments. Maybe they'd see the story a little differently if they knew she was trying to get her husband back into her life, which she managed to do, and taking on a different relationship with a co-worker in the middle of it. Maybe it was those "extra people" that were also contributing to the problem......maybe.)
I had to wonder what story Fae was selling this guy so he would continue (or maybe not) to look past the obvious--she was a woman still living with a man she moved across the country to start a new life with as well as still struggling to let a past divorce go. It made no real sense to me or any other professional I presented the matter to for an outside opinion.....except it did, all of it, the multiple 'truths' and the segregation of the people those truths were being told to.."maybe her ex-husband was right," I thought again. "Maybe."
Her drinking bouts had increased in the days approaching my departure as did her physical need to express herself to me, which started with the throwing of random things that would eventually end in holes in the walls and eventually physical strikes at me.
Fae's Shadow Life...The Past Brought Into The Present....
Her move to California in the middle of June had seemed delayed and, according to her, by and largely undesired. She quietly wanted to be in her former home and back in a marriage with her ex-husband--a fact she had reminded me of constantly as we had entered into September only three months after our move-in together. She had, according to her, been forced to leave and move in with her parents the two years prior-- the reason: "He threatened me with a gun, beat my my dog, etc." It was during this period of time that I met her--the second year out of her former home. It was over the course of this year, the beginning of her second year of living with her parents that I got to know her.... as well as anyone can get to know someone via text messages, periodic phone calls, and a fairly nightly conversation via Skype. Most of these would end with one of us passing out considering her nursing schedule--out at midnight (Central Time).Of course, the nearly monthly visits home for business of some sort or another afforded us some "real" time together. The time together eventually would add up and overcome her desire to be home where everybody knew everybody, and would live their lives doing the same things annually, ritualistically not always realizing maybe there is a different way to live. Besides, having mutual friends with an ex-anything is really only putting yourself in the information pathway that you either need.....or should avoid. I reasoned with her that maybe a temporary transition to California may be good, for a while, so she could air-out from her former marriage and get some new perspective. At least, so I thought...
It was mid September when I got an unsuspected phone call. "Hello, this is Johnny, Fae's ex-husband. I'm only talking to you as a courtesy, cause I wish someone had extended me the same gesture when I was dealing with Fae in our marriage....You have your hands full," he'd say repeatedly the week before her visit home to MN. I knew what he was talking about but wasn't sure what it all meant.
"Before you say anything else, Johnny," I said to him not really knowing him beyond what Fae had described him as or her parents description of him for that matter, "Please be aware that I will take everything you say at face value. I will hold you accountable for every word that comes out of your mouth. Choose your words wisely and watch what you say to me cause I will clearly take Fae's side," managing to say it with some level of firmness.
"Can you tell Fae to stop contacting me! She's emailing me, calling, etc., and it's got my girlfriend a little freaked out. I'm trying to get a restraining order on her, but it seems I can't do that cause she doesn't have an address here," he said with some level of question as to how.
"A restraining order?!" I thought, but I actually said, "I"m not sure that I'm the person to be asking about that type of action, but if you don't want to be contacted by her, why are you responding to any contact she's attempting to have with you?" "Cause she said she wants my help to move back home to MN," as he laughed never really answering the question.
Patricia, one of Fae's wedding bridesmaids was now her ex-husband's live-in girlfriend, and that pretty much qualifies as messed up on both their parts: the bridesmaid and the ex-husband. Not to mention what that does to the now ex-wife...must've messed with her, but it made sense as to why Johnny and Patricia were wanting some legal distancing in place having had a colorful police history at the address.
"Hmmm." I thought. Regardless of whomever was making the 9-1-1 calls, either the neighbors, her parents, herself, or the new live-in girlfriend, Fae had in been involved in one way or another as the public records had indicated in over a half dozen incidents even after she had moved out. The life she had "wanted back" so badly was either as bad as she described it or had been made so sensational so as to draw the attention away from other looming facts in the making of all that drama.
By all accounts given by her parents, and herself, it was her ex-husband that was the violent one or the cause of the disruptions. It was he, according to her, that put a gun to her head, beat her dog, and later lead to her vacating the home by force when she would take up asylum at her parent's place. With all those descriptors, one could only want to sympathize and take the side of the story their loved one told without question. Who would make up that kind of stuff? And even if we may think to ask the obvious questions, you wouldn't cause your friend or your child is in need, and you're left with the 'truth' as it's presented to you. I believed her cause I had a personal interest in us as we were starting out, but I continued to wonder.
For months I had asked Fae questions about how things really had been between her and her ex-husband to which most of her responses had been to mind my own business. But now, being validated by various comments her ex-husband had made, the questions regarding her past separation from her husband, and the events that lead to it were much more clear. Something from her past was also happening in the "here and now." Fae and me had had our "truth" talk about how she ended up at her parents, but it hadn't completely made sense to me. Johnny, after some questioning, said he'd forced her out of the place cause she'd been maintaining and expressing inappropriate feelings of "love" and the subsequent behavior for a third party person to their relationship while attempting to reconcile their marriage. It turned out to be an ex-boyfriend she had demanded Johnny to allowed in her life, "...cause I had know him before Johnny, and I shouldn't have to give up my friends," she said as her reasoning. Unfortunately, his allowance had gone too far essentially allowing Fae a "Plan B" to their reconciliation process in the event they couldn'd come to terms. "Hard to reconcile when you have another guy in your pocket that you're using as a bargaining tool," I'd think while taking in the various conversations.
Then it started to hit me. Her stated "confusion" about our relationship had come from feelings she not only had for me (appropriate), but also her co-worker (unexpected and inappropriate) as well as her ex-husband (never really having let them go...her 'guilt' of the situation she had 'not figured out' why she had done what she had done)....and not to mention that original Plan B guy from the fall-out of their marriage. It wasn't that she had shared feelings for all of us at one time, but rather it was her having feelings for us all individually..a different persona per person it seemed--simultaneously. This is were the confusion came from--the inter-conflict of the personas. I guess I'd be confused too considering. Johhny thought she had "multiple personality disorder (MPD)". He was close in his guessing but off when all the factors were taken into consideration. She has a similar but different psychological problem it seemed as I took in the rest of the stories and 'field' information.
Unfortunately, Fae's 'old habits' as her ex-husband called them in various emails to her and in texts to me--had been at play. This is what was happening with us. She had started to care, again for the person I had become when it seemed ridiculous to keep being critical of her knowing I'd only have so much more time left with her. This kinder, gentler non-critical change was not part of her mental program for me, and she had already started to run. And her hesitation to me, and her eventual brutality towards me, came cause of all the things we thought we got over involving the truth--her truth. It just turned out her new third-party person--Esteban--was also pushing his own agenda while we were attempting to work ours out,which she allowed; it was her way of dealing with her fear of being left alone...I guess.
7:38 PM .....Approximately One Hour After My Initial Arrival Home From Work.
As Fae's anger fueled from my unwillingness to stop moving my furniture out of the place, not to mention the number of shots she was now putting down like water, her inability to control her expression of anger evaporated. She would temporarily hang up the line with her boy, but she then, again, started pushing and eventual striking me. It was the third time she had done it. The two previous times came with warnings to not touch me in her anger or drunkenness or face the consequences of her actions. All of her outburst and angry talk came when she was drinking or fresh out of a conversation with her 'boy' as it turned out, and that night was no different than any of the ones preceding it except one--a night I would reach out to her and break through her anger and hug her knowing that somewhere inside all of this--the drinking, the anger, the physical violence--was a person struggling to communicate and be heard/understood. I embraced her strongly that night and broke through to her. She would eventually let up and calm down passing-out on top of me on either the sofa or the floor like other nights.
By nature, I'm a lover and not a fighter, and till this very moment as you read this story have not broken a promise to myself. The promise is simple, "Never lay a hand on a woman in anger or in any aggressive fashion," as my step-father had done in his drunkenness and anger toward my own mother. So, I did the next best thing one can do when you know your starting to loose your cool, and you can't reason with a drunk. I call 9-1-1.
"9-1-1 emergency. What is your emergency?" said the control board operator. "I'm calling to report a domestic violence incident." And so went the conversation that Fae finally chimed in on as she got Alis ready to leave the apartment realizing I actually had made the call. She walked out notifying her 'boy' I had done so. When the police arrived, the officers took in all of the pertinent information to include the fact that we were both professionals with licenses to be concerned about.
"I called you to intervene because she's losing it with her drinking, and her recent physical battery of me is unexceptable. Of course I can take it, and I could defend myself, but the minute I do that, my license is on the line," I'd said noting the officers' disbelief that the woman I had described could actually make a dent in me. They were more concerned, as I was, that she would leave driving...drunk, as she would do on several occasions to where ever her 'boy' would have her drive to so as to meet him away from our place. They said she would be arrested if she came back to the place or came to close to me and or felt I might need to defend myself.
Within, the hour, the police had circled back to the building for another call and had passed by the apartment after I had seen Fae return. I showed her the paperwork the officers had given me stating exactly what I had told her. "If you are here and you become violent, the police are gonna arrest you if I'm within the building," she shrugged me off not believing me. As I left the apartment to give her time to get ready to do whatever she was going to do, I returned to see the officers were already in the process of arresting her. I was immediately conflicted as it was likely too strong an action for her to deal with in her mental state. But, as she looked for me to intervene, the officer instructed me to remain silent and would then leave me instructions on what to do next. It would be a few hours before she would be able to be located in the system during which I spent picking up all the things she had dumped out of the drawers in her "attempt" to help me out of the place. "At least she was safe for the night," I thought.
In the hours that followed I struggled to know what the appropriate thing to do was. "Do I call her parents and tell them their daughter went to far again as they should've know from her colorful past," I thought to myself questioning if I had made the right decision. What I did do was text her ex-husband that I had called the police on her to which his reply was more laughter than it was of concern. As the hours passed, I would start to get phone calls from an unrecognized number; it turned out to be Fae calling me collect from the LA Metro Detention Center. Her conversation to me was simple....
"I need you to help me get out of here," she said a few times in a partially paranoid voice. I informed her I had no idea where she was or how I would go about doing so, but I was working on it. The conversation would eventually end with her agreeing to three basic requirements for what would be two basic things she wanted in exchange from me getting her out of jail at that point....
"Will you to answer a question for me. Will you do that?" She said, "Yes."
"Take a good look around you. You don't belong there at all. I'm sorry you are there, but you have to ask yourself a question, 'How did I end up here?' Do you know how you ended up there?" I said in a slightly firm but concerned voice.
"No. I don't apart from you had me arrested because you were angry at me for f'n some other guy," she say starting to change her tone of voice.
"If that were the case, I would've had you arrested two months ago, but that's not why you are there. You are there because you broke the law when you struck me. You struck me because you were drunk; you were and likely still are buzzing from the alcohol in your body. You drink way too much alcohol when you're on the line or hanging out with that neanderthal. The combination of those two elements, the alcohol and your 'boy' helped you make very, very poor choices like drinking and driving. And like tonight, striking me. Am I being clear with you?" I said slightly condescending tone while making sure she was following.
"If that were the case, I would've had you arrested two months ago, but that's not why you are there. You are there because you broke the law when you struck me. You struck me because you were drunk; you were and likely still are buzzing from the alcohol in your body. You drink way too much alcohol when you're on the line or hanging out with that neanderthal. The combination of those two elements, the alcohol and your 'boy' helped you make very, very poor choices like drinking and driving. And like tonight, striking me. Am I being clear with you?" I said slightly condescending tone while making sure she was following.
"I will help you out of jail as soon as I can find you, but you will have to agree to a few things till we can work out the legal charges now being put together against you. They are as follows: One: You will stop drinking, and seek out a substance abuse counselor to help you. Two: You will temporarily cease all communication with your co-worker less work-related contact with him at the job. Three: You will participate good faith conversations with me about what has happened here. Am I clear? Do you understand what I am asking you?" She agreed that she did. Participation in good will dialog was needed beyond her normal participation in every other aspect of our non-relationship.
Now the more difficult thing was to find her. It would be nearly sunrise when I would find her and be instructed that she needed to be let out on bail....a 20k bail that it is. Ha. If she waited for her arraignment on Monday, she would would've have had to pay anything, but she was freaking out it seemed. So much so, that she had already broken her agreement to not contact her co-worker Esteban, whom magically beat me in posting her bail only to have me pick her up. I felt really bad and guilty she had gotten arrested but had determined I would have felt worse if she had gotten into a wreck or her 'boy' somehow hurt her as there continued to be evidence on her physical person and in her conversation that something was amiss apart from their teen-aged activities in the back seat of her truck. For the ride home from Downtown Metro, she was quiet, unsure of what had just happened, and what needed to happen next.
The following day, Sunday, Fae insisted that I transfer the bail bond to my name so as to take responsibility for the 20K and not keep Esteban involved. I agreed that I would listen to the stipulations of it, but ultimately, I was uncomfortable in trusting that she would perform and left it in her mule's name not wanting to give anyone a tactical advantage over me. After all, it was her 'boy' that decided to get involved at that level, and he should've cause he was the driving force behind her explosive behavior the night of her arrest. What he likely didn't calculate was my involving the police. But now, he was demanding that the 2K, the needed 10% to get a bail bond, be dropped off or returned to him immediately! I would ask Fae, "Why? Why did he put that money down if he really didn't have it in the first place? That seems strange to you doesn't it?" I'd ask her noting a level of question in her eye. What was more interesting is that he wouldn't agree to it being wired, Western Unioned over to him or just take a certified check in the mail with a priority tracker on it. All to fishy it seemed to me. He wanted it hand delivered to him at his mother's place in East Compton. "Ha. This guy must think I'm an idiot," I thought but had already hatched a plan for the exchange.
"Let your 'boy' know, we'll let him know where to meet us 30 minutes before but not at his place," I instructed Fae.. She was reluctant to do it but did noting the obvious break in her agreement to not talk to her co-worker while we figured out our legal issues. And, she was afraid I was going to continue to press charges against her.
"You tell him to meet us at the out-let mall in Commerce in 30 minutes. If he's late, the deal is off. If he comes with anyone beyond one person, we're leaving. Make sure he understands that," I'd instruct Fae.
One never knows what to expect when dealing with "hoodies" from East Compton, and having a rich history of dealing with gangs in Minneapolis, I didn't want to show up and be surrounded.
"30 minutes in front of Star'land' coffee where there are plenty of people," I continued to tell Fae as we started our way over. The photo of the two that I had encountered along with some other relevant locating information had already been forwarded to a few friends from SD that had confirmed they were already on-site and "heavy" awaiting our arrival. When in doubt, call in a favor from the boys at Pendleton. If anything suspicious was going to happen, I wanted it to be very public, on the parking lot cameras, and have a way in and necessarily a way out if things went south. I also wanted to make sure Fae was safe considering. It's better to be over-prepared than, again, show up with your pants down.
Fae was tense asking questions about my conversation with an old buddy of mine and how it seemed to not really be the time to talk to on the way to hand over a 2K check to her co-worker. He was somehow playing "HERO" (So would imply their email correspondence in the following days). Not a big deal I thought, as we approached the drop-site. We would be exposed from at least three directions as the exchange was to happen. The text came into me that I had already been ID as were the incoming personalities by my team. The co-worker hadn't come alone, which was obvious to my observers but not to Fae and only making my knowledge as a couple approached. Two other personalities beyond the co-worker's mule were in the area pretending to be casual shoppers. Again, a fact that Fae would never see or buy.
As the couple approached, Fae recognized the male--Esteban's cousin. The female that accompanied him looked at Fae with disgust. She would actually grab the check and review it for the correct amount. "Funny," I thought but said a number of things in Spanish to including an apology for the inconvenience.
As we walked away, Fae seemed she wanted to run up to her co-worker and explain what was happening as if he didn't know somehow.
"Go ahead. Go talk to your co-worker, but remember, you agreed not to. You can do whatever you want, but you have made requests of me to drop those charges. If you want me to keep my end of the deal, you better keep yours. Or, I'll see you in court." I stated with anger while reading my team's input on the scene and our eventual "clearing" as we drove off. She would continue her secret conversation with him after the fact through email versus text messaging as the sound was a dead give-away (where there's a will there's a way); it would've been less obvious if there were other people texting her, but she had all but stopped communicating with her Minnesota friends less her husband that she managed to convince into a regular dialog again via email. It seemed she had achieved her primary objective that had under-pinned our whole relationship's problem--not getting over why she had destroyed their marriage in the first place and her husband's rejection of her because of it. I guess.
Saturday January 19th...The Hollywood Home: Approximately Three Hours Before My Departure To The Homeland-MN.
The weeks that followed the arrest were interesting to say the least, but she did attempt to keep her end of the deal while trying to regain the control of her life. Fae managed to get through two whole weeks without drinking. She did this largely avoiding places that served alcohol till her friends came into town the day before my departure for surgery. She actually made it to one counselling session to which she would, as she always had in the past, disqualified the professional as not knowing what she was doing and continued to evade needed help. Her avoidance she stated, was based on the notion that it would jeopardize her nursing license.
"I hate you, and I love you," she'd say with some frequency as she started drinking again. At that point, I had already had her charges dropped, help make her court date essentially 'null' clearing the pathway for her to actually go home, but she stayed in California. I was hoping for her to drive me to the airport, but she wouldn't stating it would be too much of an emotional ride for her to see me walk away to my impending end and her having to drive back home alone. As we hugged each other strongly, cried, and eventually kissed, I would start to remember all the better things that had transpired between us in our time together. We had reached the end of the road in those moments, and as much as I wanted her to drop what she was doing and come with me, I knew it was an impossibility. The web of lies she had propagated to everyone was spun. Something would have to die in the situation in order for it to be rectified for another time or life if that were even a possibility, and that death would be my own (Titanium by Madilyn Bailey).
"Call me when you get to airport," she'd say as I started my way to my jeep. "Ok. I will," I said as I turned and made my way to the elevator. As I started my green machine up, I saw her come down with her dog Alice to the garage to watch me drive away. I nearly lost it emotionally, but I didn't wanting to appear strong. Her eyes were full of emotion and starting to tear. "I love you, " she said. I repeated it back to her, shook my head in agreement, and started to pull forward.
As I drove down the roadway to the airport, I had decided how the plan would unveil. It was then that I finally got it together and turned on my radio. Maroon Five's "Pay Phone was playing..."How fitting," I thought. When I arrived to the gate at LAX's Terminal 3, I called only to get her voice mail knowing full well it meant our visitor was already there or had her on the line and likely the reason she couldn't drive me. There it is.
..... A Discussion on this story will be posted independently of this story line posting..
