Wednesday, December 28
(Kate)
I'm angry today. I wish I wasn't. Goddammit, I wish I wasn't...but I am.
I saw Dr. Connell this morning. He looked at my charts, my recent lab results, and then to me. He didn't have his poker face on. I called him on it, because frankly at this stage in the game I'd like to see just one fucking person that didn't look at me with pity in his eyes.
Keller's trying so damn hard not to, but even he slips sometimes.
So, yeah. I'm angry today.
Really.
Fucking.
Angry.
I've been yelling at God in my head all morning. Why do I have to be the one who's dying? Why can't it be someone else? Someone I've never met who lives far away?
I know that sounds awful, but it's how I feel today. And that's why I can't go back to Keller's yet. Keller and Stella don't deserve to see or feel this kind of anger.
I'm leaving Saturday to go back to San Diego. I bought my ticket yesterday and told Keller last night after Stella went to bed. To say he didn't take it well would be an understatement. He broke apart into a million pieces in front of me. He tried so hard not to. Watching him fall apart like that, knowing that I was the one responsible for creating that kind of devastation in the man I love with all my heart...yeah, I hated myself.
So, right now, I'm sitting in my car in the parking garage of some random business in downtown Minneapolis, and I don't know what to do next.
And when I don't know what to do next, I talk to Gus. I shouldn't call him angry, but I'm out of ideas, and if I don't do something in the next five minutes, I'm going to fucking lose it. So, I call him. He answers on the first ring.
"Bright Side, how's it hangin'?"
"I don't want to die," I say, defiantly.
"Bright Side, what?" He's confused.
Of course, he's confused. No one starts a conversation like that.
I repeat, "I don't want to fucking die."
"Oh, shit, Bright Side." I hear him take a deep breath, a primer for the conversation that's about to unfold. "Talk to me. What's going on?"
"I'm fucking dying, Gus. I don't want to die. That's what's fucking going on." I hit the steering wheel with my palm. "Goddammit!" I scream. I've only ever freaked out on Gus twice in my life, once when I found my mother hanging from the ceiling, and again when Gracie died. Gus doesn't deserve this, but I know he'll deal with it better than anyone else would.
"Calm down, dude. Where are you?"
"I don't know. I'm sitting in my car in a fucking parking garage in the middle of motherfucking Minneapolis, Minnesota." That was hostile.
"Are you by yourself?"
"Yes," I snap.
"You're not supposed to be driving while you're on your pain meds."
I don't want his fatherly tone. "I know that."
"Are you in danger or hurt?"
I burst out laughing, surprised that I can't even laugh without sounding angry. The question is absurd to me, though. I'm dying.
"Bright Side, shut up for a second and talk to me. Do I need to call 911? What the fuck is going on?" He sounds scared.
I shake my head like he can see me. "No, no. I'm just...I'm fucking mad, Gus. That's all." And at a loss for words because my mind is jumbled up into this bitter, resentful ball. I don't know what else to say, so I repeat myself. "I'm really fucking mad."
"Well shit, by all means, there's plenty of room at my table for anger." He gets it. That's why I called him, after all. "I've been dishing out heaping servings of fury for the past month. I feel better knowing I'm not the only one in this whole debacle with some rage issues. So, fire away. Fucking give it to me."
I do. An explosive, steady stream of expletives flows out of me. I'm cursing it all, shouting out questions, pounding the steering wheel, and wiping away hot, angry tears. Occasionally Gus joins in, yelling affirmations. Sometimes he waits for a pause on my part and takes his turn, and sometimes he just steamrolls over the top of me.
He's not yelling at me, he's yelling with me.
After what could be hours, but is more likely minutes, I stop yelling. In my outburst, I've lost all sense of time and place. It takes a couple of minutes for my heart rate to slow down and my head to clear. Eventually, my tears stop, and I'm able to take normal breaths. My throat feels tight, and my head hurts a little, but I'm calm. On the other end of the line, Gus gets quiet, too. Silence falls between us.
I know he's giving me whatever time I need. He'd sit here all day and never say another word if that's what I needed.
My voice is raspy when I decide to break the silence. "Gus?"
"Yeah, Bright Side." He sounds like himself again. Calm.
"Thanks." I feel like a huge weight has been lifted off of me. And now I need to apologize. "Sorry, dude."
He laughs. "No worries. You feel better?"
I can actually smile now. "Yeah, I really do."
"Good, me too. I think we should've done this weeks ago."
"I think I should've done it months ago." I mean it. It felt so good to let it all out.
"Bright Side, you know I love you all happy and adorable in your little world of sunshine and rainbows, but you're kinda hot when you're angry. I dig aggressive chicks. And that was crazy aggressive."
He knows I'm going to say it, but I can't help myself. "Whatever." I even roll my eyes.
"I think I'm gonna rename you Demon Seed."
"What? I show you my dark side, and now I have to be the fucking antichrist? I don't like that. Why can't I just be Angry Bitch?"
He laughs hard, and my heart swells because I haven't heard this laugh out of Gus in a month. And I love this laugh.
"Well, dude, since it seems my therapy session has wrapped up, I'd better get going. I need to get home."
"Sure. Drive slowly and text me when you get there so I know you made it. And no more driving after this trip."
"Yes, sir. I love you, Gus."
"Love you, too, Angry Bitch." His voice low and dramatic. He pauses, because he knows I'm not going to hang up to that. "I was just trying it out," he says innocently.
"I don't think I like it."
"Me neither," he says matter-of-factly. "Love you, too, Bright Side."
"That's better." I like being Bright Side. I like it a lot.