I WOKE UP THE FOLLOWING morning feeling utterly lost. I lay in bed for a while, not wanting to go anywhere or do anything. If it were only possible to disappear into the sheets of my bed, I would have. But that wasn’t possible. I had the day off and errands to run.
I swung my legs off the bed and felt the cold floor under my feet. It had a grounding effect on me. The cold always did.
I walked into my small bathroom, and turned on the shower, setting the heat at the highest temperature I could stand. Shedding my T-shirt and boxer briefs, I stepped in, and felt the little pinpricks of heat as the water hit my back. It bordered on painful, but I welcomed it. It allowed me to feel something other than adrift.
How could the system have failed me yet again?
My entire life had been a series of disappointments and hardships, first with the death of my mother, through my father’s alcoholic rages, all the way to the point where I—
No. I will not think about that. Never again. I cannot go down that road again.
But, like Pandora’s box, once that line of thought was started, it was difficult to stop.
I pressed my palms forward, and leaned my forehead against the wall, soaking in the heat. Clearing my head of anything other than the water took some doing, but I had years of practice. I could do this, focus on the water. Pretend it was washing everything away.
I’m not sure how long I stood there, certainly until the water began losing some of its heat. I took that as my cue to finish shampooing my hair and cleaning the rest of me.
On autopilot, I turned off the shower, dried off, and brushed my teeth. Leaving the towel draped over the shower curtain bar, I walked naked to the closet. I pulled out a yellow, long-sleeved shirt and a clean pair of jeans and dressed.
I called my doctor first.
The receptionist answered, sounding almost robotic. “Doctor Scheinberg’s office. This is Janice. How can I help you?”
“Hi, Janice. It’s David Barrows. I need to call in my prescription.”
At hearing my name, Janice’s voice brightened noticeably. “David! How are you doing?”
“Fine, thanks,” I lied. “You?”
“Doing good. Aaron’s cutting teeth now, so he’s keeping me up at night. But other than that, I can’t complain.”
I had begun seeing Doctor Scheinberg just after Janice got pregnant. So, I saw her through every stage of her pregnancy. She used to have her ultrasound pictures framed on her desk, but those had been replaced with pictures of her little boy, now six months old.
“I hear whiskey on the gums is good for that,” I said, and tried to give a little chuckle. If she had the slightest indication that I was feeling anything other than happy, she would insist on my making an appoint with the doctor. I was not in the mood for that. I didn’t want to talk about what was bothering me. For the moment, I simply wanted to wallow in it.
She apparently did not see through my mask, because she gave a soft snorting sound. “I am not putting whiskey in my baby’s mouth.”
After a moment’s pause, I said, “So, that prescription?”
“Oh, yes, sorry. I’ll call it in. I assume you want the same pharmacy?”
“Yes, please.”
“Will do.”
I tried to smile into the phone, even though I knew she couldn’t see me. “Thank you, Janice.”
“No problem, David. You have a good day.”
“You too.”
With that, I disconnected the call and tossed my phone into my messenger bag.
I grabbed a pad of paper and pen, and began making my grocery list, then put that in my bag with my phone. Grabbing a copy of the bus schedule—I didn’t drive, another in my lengthy list of failures—I placed that in my bag as well.
Slinging my bag over my shoulder and grabbing my keys, I left my apartment, checking the lock on the door. Three times.
Riding the bus was somewhat therapeutic for me. It allowed me to clear my mind and watch the scenery go by. Granted, there wasn’t much. Dilapidated buildings, in the area that I lived in, gradually gave way to newer, more expensive businesses and homes. My insurance required that I use a particular pharmacy, which was on the other side of town. I bussed out there almost weekly to grocery shop. I felt safer. So, it was a win/win for me.
My first stop was the pharmacy. Despite having the prescription called in, I still had to wait for it to be filled. I used the time to thumb through magazines that I would never buy. Why the hell Kim Kardashian was still so popular was completely beyond me.
Sad that her primary claim to fame, other than her name, was a sex tape.
My name was finally called, and I paid for my prescription, then walked the three blocks to the grocery store.
As I approached the store, I saw a figure that looked vaguely familiar, jogging through the park across the street from the grocery store.
The last person I expected to see was Adam.