Metaphor and Simile
Damian
It’s been a week now since Penelope first stopped by. It’s also been about a week since Emma and I first got together, but that’s not really important right now.
What’s important is that I’m standing outside the hospital where Penelope told me to meet her and I’m having some serious second thoughts about going inside.
She was supposed to meet me out here, right here. She told me to wait for her by the smoking area on the north side of the building.
When it comes to smoking, Penelope is a world class athlete.
Forget the smoke rings and the French inhaling. That’s child’s play.
I could swear—nobody believes this story, but I could swear that Penelope once managed to blow a perfectly symmetrical figure eight that just kept growing in size until a slight breeze finally distorted the lines out of recognition.
She just looked at me afterward, too, with a rather self-satisfied look.
Now, she hasn’t shown up to meet me and I think I’m just going to go.
Ed has a lot of hate for me for what happened to Jamie, that’s nothing new. And as great as it would be to somehow work through that and actually get to know each other without all the vitriol, I’m not daft enough to believe that’s actually going to happen.
I’m going to go up there and either the visit turns into an argument, or he ends up keeling over at the very sight of me.
I really don’t see this working out.
“I’m so glad you came,” Penelope’s voice comes from behind me, and I turn around.
“Hey,” I tell her. “I was just looking for you.”
“It looked like you were just getting ready to leave,” she says.
“Yeah,” I tell her. “Sorry about that. I’m here. Let’s do this.”
“There are a few things I should tell you,” she says, “you know, about Ed’s condition.”
This should be a comfortable experience.
I’ve always felt weird about hearing about other people’s health issues from a third party.
“He’s on a lot of medication right now to try to keep his heart going until they can find a transplant,” she says, “but he’s still pretty aware of what’s going on around him. They took the tube out of his throat, so he’s just on an oxygen mask right now. He’s lost some weight since he’s been here, because he can’t bring himself to eat, but his color is starting to look better…”
She keeps going, but as she does, I start to notice a sick feeling creeping into my stomach and I’m not sure I can listen to any more of it. It’s not the description of Ed’s health and the apparatuses that are keeping him alive that bothers me so much as it is thinking back to that black bag of carved, limb-shaped tofu in its raspberry sauce.
Rita called me again today, though this time she didn’t see it necessary at all to say anything to me. She just kept breathing into the phone.
I assume the call was placed so I’d know she was out there, alive and unharmed—a superhero in her own right: Stalker Girl, the only superhero who might just end up killing you in your sleep with a pair of tweezers and a claw hammer.
“How long do I have?” I ask.
Penelope, who had been in the middle of a sentence talking about how I shouldn’t worry that they keep a crash cart in Ed’s room at all times because with the chance that his heart just goes, the doctors don’t feel comfortable having Ed more than 10 feet away from a defibrillator, looks up at me and says, “I know you’re not thrilled to be here, but the fact of the matter is that you are here, and I think the two of you can still make peace in the time he has left.”
“I don’t want you to get your hopes up, Penelope,” I tell her. “I’ll do my best, but he has a lot of enmity toward me.”
Hey, I finally got to use that word in a sentence.
Bully.
“Just having you here is enough,” she says. “I’m just glad you came.”
Penelope takes me by the hand, and she leads me through the lobby to the elevator down the hall, and we go until she stops and turns to face me.
“Just go easy,” she says. “Can you do that for me? I know he can be a hard man to love, but he’s not a bad man. Just go easy.”
I’m not the one I’m worried about, but if it’ll put her mind at ease… “All right,” I tell her. “Are you going in with me, or should I go in alone or what?” I ask.
“Oh, I really think I should be in there with you, don’t you think?” she asks.
I shrug.
It’s going to be hellish either way.
We enter the room, and Ed’s is the first bed in the room.
“Edward,” Penelope says, “you’ve got a visitor.”
He’s lying there, pale and visibly weak in his bed, but when he hears his wife’s voice, he still opens his eyes. When he sees her, his eyes brighten, almost as if the sight of her is giving him new life.
Then he looks over and finds me standing here.
His expression changes pretty quickly.
Ed lifts his oxygen mask, and in a thin, raspy voice, he asks, “What the hell is he doing here?”
“I thought it would be good if the two of you talked for a while,” Penelope says. “It would be good for the two of you to bury the hatchet. I know Jamie never liked that the two of you butted heads and I see no reason why it should go on any longer.”
That was pretty good. I wonder if it’ll have an effect.
“This Hollywood fuckhead killed our daughter,” he says.
I’m not noticing any results yet.
“He didn’t kill Jamie,” Penelope says. “Nobody killed Jamie. She died. It’s not anyone’s fault.”
He puts his oxygen mask back over his mouth and nose and folds his arms across his chest with the universal guy gesture that says, “She’s going to make us talk and there’s nothing we can do about that, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
After a few seconds, the mask comes back up a little and Ed’s saying, “So did you actually want to talk to me or did you just come here for the thrill of watching me wither away?”
“I really miss our talks, Ed,” I tell him. “Everyone needs to hear some good bullshit every once in a while.”
“Me bullshit?” he asks. “You’re the one always saying that my daughter resented me,” he seethes, “that she didn’t want to be around me.”
“What are you talking about?” I burst. “I never said anything like that.”
“Yes you did, you lying sack of shit,” Ed says, “yes you did.” For a second, I’m actually a little worried that he’s going to climb out of that bed and we’re going to have to throw down.
“I said basically the same thing that your wife just said,” I tell him. “I told you that Jamie didn’t like that we’ve never gotten along. Ed, would it be the end of the world if we were to have one conversation where neither one of us tries to push the other one off of a cliff?”
“Oh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you,” Ed says. “You’d love to come in here and say you fixed everything right before the old man keeled over. That way, you’d be the hero and I’d be the old fart that was wrong about everything all along. Well, I’m not buying it and you shouldn’t be selling it.”
“Penelope, I’m sorry, but I really don’t think this is going to work,” I tell the only friendly face in the room.
“Give it a chance, you two!” Penelope shouts. “Listen, if the two of you can’t speak with each other with some kind of respect, then why don’t you both shut your mouths and just listen.”
I’m perfectly fine with that arrangement.
My phone starts to ring, but I press the mute button through my pocket. Ever since that first heavy breathing call—which I was very surprised to find out is a real thing, by the way—Rita, if that’s really her name, has been calling me on the hour, every hour, and as I glance at the clock I’m kind of wishing will fall from its place and just put Ed out of my misery, I’m reasonably certain it’s her.
If not, I’m sure whoever’s calling will leave a voicemail.
“Now, do the two of you remember that one Christmas dinner where I’d forgotten to go out and get the sweet potatoes?” Penelope asks.
“I’ll keep my mouth shut,” Ed says, “but I’m not going to bear listening to the sweet potato story one more goddamned time.”
The way he says it is kind of mean, but I actually agree with the sentiment.
The story of the sweet potatoes is that Penelope thought she’d forgotten to get sweet potatoes for Christmas dinner, but after enlisting Jamie’s help and my help and Ed’s help, we discovered that she actually had a bag in the pantry all along.
The end.
I know she likes to tell that story because it’s one of the few times that all four of us were together and nobody was arguing.
Actually, as I think about it, Ed and Penelope were arguing about whether or not sweet potatoes were actually traditional Christmas fare or not, but it wasn’t the hatefest that Ed and I have so long enjoyed.
“Fine,” Penelope says. “Just think about how much the two of you have in common, though. You both love movies. That’s something, right? Damian, what’s a good movie you think Ed might like?”
“I have no idea,” I answer quickly.
I think we’re getting a bit off topic, but Penelope is trying anything to get us to find some common ground.
“We both loved Jamie,” I tell her.
“That’s true,” Penelope says, “and that’s the most important thing of all.”
“You couldn’t have supported that child even if everything had gone off without complication,” Ed says.
“Ed,” I scoff, “even when I was trying to do the normal life thing, I still had a couple hundred thou in the bank at any given time. I don’t know exactly how much you think a baby costs, but—”
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” he says. “Supporting a child isn’t just about money. It’s about your whole life. Every moment of your life from the moment that child is born is about that child and for that child. That was never you. You were always more content to just go on acting like responsibility was a four-letter word.”
“I don’t know where you’re getting that from,” I tell him, “but I always took my responsibilities seriously when it came to your daughter and the baby.”
Ed laughs. “We’re never going to make any progress here because we don’t know the same language. Sure, what you’re speaking sounds like what I’m speaking, but apparently, you do not understand a damn word that I’m saying. Now, I’m old, I’m sick, and I’m tired. If I ask nicely, do you think you could find it in your heart to get the hell out of my room?”
Sure, Ed. I can do that.
I turn and walk out the door.
Yeah, I’d hoped for things to go differently, but I didn’t expect it. I have a pretty solid memory, and in every single memory I have where Ed and I were in the same room, if we were talking to each other, we were talking down to each other.
“Damian, wait,” Penelope calls behind me.
I’m almost to the elevator, but I turn and wait for her to catch up to me.
“I can’t talk to him, Penelope,” I tell her. “I’ve tried. Look, I’m sorry he’s sick, I really am, but I don’t think that’s going to change a decade of him hating me.”
“I know things didn’t go so well,” she says, “but you’ve got to promise me that you’ll try again.”
“I already have tried again. I’ve tried dozens of times over the years to find some sort of inroad with him, but to Ed, I’m always going to be the guy that not only tried to take his daughter away from him, but the guy who actually succeeded in every possible sense,” I tell her.
She bites her lip and I’m feeling a little guilty.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I said that in the heat of the moment, but you know that’s what he thinks of me. We’re not going to work through that in a couple of hospital visits.”
“Then keep trying until he’s dead,” Penelope says. “The way things are looking, that shouldn’t be too far off, anyway, so if you’d just put forth that small investment, you’d make an old woman very happy. I can’t defend the way he talks to you. It’s not fair what happened to Jamie and it’s not fair that he’s been making it harder on you all these years, but I know both of you so well and I love you both so much—I’m sure that if the two of you could just get past your differences for even a few minutes, you’d find that you’re a lot more alike than either of you would ever admit.”
“Penelope,” I tell her, “you know I’d do anything for you, but I don’t see the point in this. He’s always going to hate me. I don’t know what else there is to say on the topic. That’s just how it is and how it always has been.”
“Please,” she says. “I don’t have that many people left in my life, and I’d hate for two of them to lose their last chance to make peace.”
“Penelope, if you really need me to do this, I’ll do what I can, but I can’t promise next time’s going to be any better than this time,” I tell her.
“I really need you to do this,” she says. “Jamie never got to see the two of you make up or even have a pleasant conversation. I think it’s something he’d be excited to tell her about, though, when he…”
As far as low blows go, that one was pretty far below the beltline, but I am a man of my word. I’m willing to put myself through a little hell for a few days or maybe a few weeks to take some of the stress off of Penelope, but I’m not drinking the Kool-Aid.
For what he’s said to me since Jamie’s death, Ed Morgan is the worst person I have ever met in my life. I get that he was pissed off and scared and gutted, but that didn’t give him the right to tell me that I’m the reason she’s dead.
The asshole future-father-in-law thing was irritating, but it was endurable. Attacking me after I’d just suffered the greatest injury I’m likely to suffer, though, and never letting up, never apologizing or even acknowledging that maybe he’d gone too far, even one time—that’s what’s unforgivable.
“I told you,” I say, “if it’s that important to you, I’ll come back, but I can’t promise anything.”
“I understand,” she says. “Thank you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I tell her, and pull her into my arms. “You’re nothing but trouble for me, you know that?” I ask.
“I know,” she says. “It’s what moms do.”
“All right,” I tell her. “I’ve got to get to work, but give me a call if you need anything, okay?”
“I will,” she says, and we part ways.
It astounds me that a woman like Penelope, so sweet and nurturing, one of those people that just treats you like you’re someone special, even if you’re only meeting for the first time, could be married to a hateful, resentful man like Ed. That’s the way it usually goes, though.
Still, I had hoped that maybe things would be different this time, but that’s what addicts call not playing the tape through to the end.
I get off the elevator and am walking back to my car when my phone rings again.
It’s too soon for another moaning call from Rita.
I pull the phone out of my pocket and look at the caller ID.
I answer the phone, “Hey, Danna. What’s up?”
“Hey bro,” she says, “I kind of need your help here a little bit.”
My blood turns cold.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
The last time she told me she needed help, she was in the hospital for a week. The time before that was just before she was diagnosed.
“I kind of lost my balance and I’m finding it a little difficult to move, well, at all,” she says, trying to mask the fear in her voice. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to dial a number when your hands aren’t working?”
“I’ll be right there,” I tell her, “or do you need me to call an ambulance?”
“Uh, the way my foot is starting to turn colors, I think you should probably just call an ambulance and meet me at the hospital,” she says.
“Hang in there,” I tell her. “You’re going to be just fine, all right? We’re going to figure this thing out in no time.”
“You know,” she says, “for such a famous actor, you’re not very good.”
“Oh, shut the fuck up and let me call an ambulance,” I tell her.
“That sounds more like you,” she says. “You’re probably going to have to do the hanging up on this one. I had to press the call button with my nose and you have no idea how many times I had to go back and delete or re-enter numbers—it’s a pain in the ass.”
“Love ya, sis,” I tell her. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
I hang up and call 911.
After quickly explaining the situation, I tell the dispatcher that my sister will be waiting inside the house, but unable to answer the door, and that, because I’m not close enough to home to make a difference, if they need to break down the door, they have my permission.
I really liked that door, too.
The dispatcher is kind enough to keep me on the phone until paramedics arrive at the house and get Danna on a stretcher. Before the dispatcher hangs up, I ask which hospital they’re taking Danna to, hoping that I’ll luck out and not have to chase her down, but the nearest hospital isn’t this one.
I get in my car and fumble with the keys for a minute before I manage to work the right one into the ignition.
This isn’t the first time Danna’s had an episode. It’s not even the first time she’s had an episode since she’s been staying with me.
They’re not fatal in most circumstances—the exceptions generally being someone falling and hitting their head on something—but they’re terrifying, not only for Danna, but for me.
This sounds like the worst one yet. She’s been unable to get up before, but she’s never lost the ability to move all four of her limbs at the same time.
I get to the hospital and find Danna as she’s being wheeled through the emergency room. The doctor talks to me a little as he and some nurses push her into a small room and transfer her from one gurney to another.
“It looks like she’s got a broken leg,” he says. “When she collapsed, she must have fallen onto something or over something, because there is a definite fracture on the lower portion of her tibia. She’s breathing all right, though she’s very fatigued. We need to run some tests, but we’ll keep you posted. If you’ll just wait outside in the waiting room…”
With that, one of the nurses grabs both of my arms and physically turns me toward the door.
“You all right, Danna?” I call over the doctor’s shoulder.
A weak voice amid all the movement and commotion replies, saying, “I’m just faking it to get out of work, boss.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” I call back to her, and now, with that out of the way, I gladly walk out and find the waiting room.
* * *
Having an episode is a traumatic thing for Danna, and to a lesser degree (or at least a different one), for me as well.
As I sit here in Danna’s hospital room in the chair next to her bed, I think about the odd ways in which people deal with things. Some people get pissed off, some people get more determined, some people crawl into a bottle, and some people just shut down completely. Danna and me, though? We’re dealing with this situation by going out of our way not to even bring it up.
In the half hour it’s been since the doctors let me in here to see her, we haven’t once talked about why we’re having our conversation in a hospital room. She probably doesn’t have long before the fatigue wipes her out for who knows how long. Why waste what time we have by only talking about why we’re in the room.
“By the way,” Danna says, “you got a new message from your secret admirer.”
“Did I?” I ask. “I like that you’re calling her my secret admirer now. It sounds a lot better than crazy-stalker-fuckhead.”
“I’m sure she’s just lonely,” Danna says dismissively. “Anyway, you remember the flowers in different stages of development that she set out on the sidewalk last time, right?”
“Of course,” I answer.
“Yeah, so this time, she wrote you a love note that stretches along the sidewalk all the way around our block,” Danna says. “She used big letters, so I managed to get it written down. It should be in my purse somewhere—did they grab my purse?” she asks. “Did you check?”
“It’s American healthcare,” I tell her. “Do you really think they’d let you in here without taking a thorough look through your pockets and purses for loose change?”
“You know,” she says, “if you’ve got my purse or you know where it is, you can really just tell me. If not, I’m sure if we flipped to the right news station, we’d get an aerial view of the whole scene.”
“I really don’t care that much about what the poem said,” I tell Danna, and before I can continue, her head has jerked toward me and she’s giving me a glare, as if sensing that I’m about to ask her about what happened today. “We’ve got to talk about it at some point,” I tell her.
“We really don’t,” she says. “I fell and broke my leg. I’m probably going to need to stay off my feet for a while and get a lot of rest, but I’m going to be fine. I’m not dying or anything,” she says. “How’d it go with Ed?”
I don’t want to talk about it and so I don’t even respond to the question.
“Danna,” I tell her, “this is happening more frequently now. I mean, is it just going to get worse from here? I think maybe it’s time that we hire Paolo.”
The origins of Paolo are largely lost to antiquity, but I do remember that the name first came up a few months after Danna had been diagnosed.
I don’t remember the exact conversation, but I remember that it culminated in me promising that, in the scenario that Danna gets worse and I, for some reason, am in charge of the hiring and firing of any temporary or permanent healthcare and/or rehabilitation staff, that I would make sure her healthcare worker was a handsome man with a sensual accent.
I do remember that knowing English wasn’t a job requirement so long as he was willing to give Danna sponge baths multiple times a day until she got bored of him, at which time, I’d hire someone new to replace him.
Where the name Paolo itself came from, I haven’t the slightest recollection.
So when I tell Danna that it might be time we hire a Paolo, I’m putting the words in a way that’s likely to be a little easier to hear, but it’s not going to change the weight of what those words really mean.
Danna’s still young and she’s still got a lot of time ahead of her. If she keeps doing what she’s doing, though, she’s going to run herself into the ground.
“We’ve got to do something,” I tell her. “I wanted you to move in so we could keep a better eye on each other. I didn’t do it so you’d overextend yourself day in and day out—”
“I’m sick,” she says, resigned. “It happens.”
“I think we both need a little help here to make sure that you’re not putting your health and well-being at risk,” I tell her.
“You can’t take away my freedom, Damian,” she says. “I won’t allow it, and you’d never let it go on for any significant amount of time anyway, so why bother wasting the time, money, and effort.”
“I’m not trying to take away your freedom,” I tell her. “I’m trying to look out for my sister, that’s all.”
Her eyes are growing heavy, but that doesn’t really seem like the reason Danna’s telling me she’d like to be alone, to have a chance to close her eyes and rest.
Even if it’s only temporary, we are going to have to figure out some kind of help for Danna after she gets out of the hospital, and I’m going to have to try to figure out a way to be there more.
I have to work, and even if I tried to take another break, Danna wouldn’t allow it. She’s the one that got me to take the role in Flashing Lights. I didn’t even want to do the movie.
No matter what I do here, Danna’s not going to like it. I’m sorry about that, but that’s out of my control. There just aren’t enough options.
On the set today, they’re doing scenes with some of the extended cast, so I’ve got the day off. I was hoping to get some kind of repose after everything with Ed, but I’m never going to be able to relax until Danna’s back home.
That tells me something I should have known for a long time, and that new knowledge has me pulling the phone from my pocket and dialing the number.
“Hello?” Emma answers.
“Hey, Em,” I say. “Listen, there’s something I think we should talk about and as much as I’d like to do this in person, I’m not sure how practical that’s going to be right now.”
“Well, this doesn’t sound good,” she says.
“Danna’s not doing so well right now, and that made me realize that I’m really not in a position right now where I’m ready for a relationship,” I tell her.
“Well,” she says, “we’re just dating. If you need some space or some time, that’s fine. I don’t think that we need to call everything off completely, though. We’re still finding out where this goes.”
“I know,” I tell her, “and I’m really sorry, but I do think that’s going to be the best thing for both of us right now.”
“Well, I’m not going to sit here and argue with you about it,” she says. “If you want us to stop seeing each other outside of work, we’ll stop seeing each other outside of work. One thing, though.”
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Are you okay?” she asks. “Your voice is really shaky.”
“I’m fine,” I tell her, and even I notice the quiver in my tone this time around. “Have I really been talking like that this whole time?” I ask.
“Mostly after the phrase ‘Hey, Em,’” she answers.
“I’m just feeling totally overwhelmed right now and I need to be here for my sister. I’m kind of all she’s got right now, and I need to be able to work and still have time to take care of her when I need to.”
“I’m not arguing with you,” she says. “I’ve got a spotless record: I’ve never tried to keep someone in a relationship against their will. I’m asking if you’re okay because you don’t sound like you are.”
“I’m not,” I tell her.
Honesty every once in a while clears the palate, you know.
“Where are you?” she asks. “I’ll come and keep you company.”
“I don’t think that’s the best idea,” I tell her. “Why don’t we just talk tomorrow when we’re in the chair?”
“Because I don’t know if you’re going to be okay tomorrow when we’re in the chair and I do know that you’re not okay right now,” she says. “I’m not saying I want to come in there and get relationship juice all over you, but we can still be friends, right?”
“Yeah,” I answer.
“Well, don’t friends help each other out when one of them is having a hard time?” she asks.
“Well, yeah,” I answer.
“Then let me know where you are so I can come and help you through it,” she says.
Nobody’s said anything like that to me in a very long time, not with that level of altruism, anyway.
“Danna’s sleeping right now,” he says.
“Then just give me the name of the hospital and I’ll meet you wherever you want me to meet you,” she says.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask.
“What do you mean?” she returns.
“I kind of just broke up with you there and you still want to come down to the hospital because I’m having a rough time,” I tell her.
“Yeah,” she says, “so?”
“That’s crazy,” I tell her.
“Not when your friend is having a hard time,” she says.
“I can’t leave the hospital,” I tell her.
“I know,” she says. “Just tell me where to meet you and I’ll come there. You can be as close or as far away as you need to be.”
I don’t know what to tell her. I don’t know what to say.
“Thanks,” I finally mutter, and I tell her where to meet me.
While Danna’s sleeping, there’s no reason I can’t spend a little time talking to Emma.
Before her diagnosis, Danna was in school, training to be a ballet dancer. She was really quite something.
I never really understood the ballet, but Danna loved it. Every time we talked, that’s what she wanted to talk about. I think that’s why it’s so much harder to see her stuck in a bed or struggling to get around the house.
It’s not always like that, though.
With relapsing remitting MS, Danna actually spends most of her life symptom-free, at least to the largest degree, but even with her long bouts of healthiness, Danna had to give up her dream.
Since Jamie, I’ve dated a bit here and there. I even tried being the Hollywood swinger type for a little while, but Danna always needed me more than I needed to be with someone.
A little time passes and I spot Emma walking toward our designated meeting place, so I set off to meet her.
“What’s going on?” she asks when we’re within conversational distance. “Is everything all right?”
“Yeah,” I tell her. “Danna’s going to be fine.”
One of the things about Danna is that she loved Jamie. The feeling was mutual. In fact, I’m not entirely sure that Jamie liked me more than she liked my sister.
That was all well and good, but now that Jamie’s gone, as far as Danna’s concerned, nobody will ever measure up.
It took me years before I realized what was really going on.
After Jamie died, Danna didn’t grieve. Because of my own sorrow, I hadn’t allowed her to grieve.
It wasn’t a conscious decision, it was just the way things played out, and so Danna took the role of pillar while I was allowed to let loose with my emotions whenever and however I saw fit.
I think, more than anything, Danna talks down every woman that comes around because she is afraid of getting attached to someone new only to end up losing them as well, whether to death or to a breakup or whatever the case may be. She never got to grieve and so she’s had to stifle that sadness, she had to channel the hurt. It had to go somewhere.
Anyway, there are a lot of reasons I don’t think right now would be the best time for Danna and Emma to meet.
“I’m glad to hear that,” Emma says. “You sound a little better than you did on the phone,” she continues. “Are you doing better?”
“Yeah,” I tell her. “I don’t know.”
“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what happened, are you?” she asks.
“It is what it is,” I tell her. “I just wish there was something I could do.”
“Maybe there is,” Emma says. “You’re a rich and well-known, if not well-respected, actor. This is what we do, isn’t it? When we want to see something change, we find a cause and we get behind it.”
“Yeah, the problem with that is that a few million here or there isn’t going to change anything,” I tell her. “Look, I know how this whole thing is going to go. I’ve been through this with her before, and I don’t really think we’re going to make all of it feel better or that we’re going to make me magically stop caring.”
“I know,” she says. “I just know that sometimes it can help me feel better when I talk about what’s going on with me. It doesn’t necessarily solve the problem. It doesn’t have to. Some problems aren’t just going to go away by talking them out. All that you can do when there’s nothing else that you can do is to try to get through it without running yourself down mentally, emotionally, or physically.”
I tell her, “I really don’t want to talk about it.”
“Then let’s talk about something else,” Emma says.
“What did you have in mind?” I ask.
“It doesn’t matter,” Emma says. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Right now,” I tell her, “I don’t know what there is to say. I mean, Danna’s sick and she’s not going to get any better in a permanent kind of way. There’s no reason to think she won’t live a happy and full life, but times like this make me just wonder how she can wake up in the morning and decide that life is still worth living.”
“She’s still got a smile on her face after everything, huh?” Emma asks.
“Oh no,” I tell her. “Danna’s one of the most cynical people I’ve ever known. She always has been in one way or another. That’s the comforting thing, really.”
“How so?” Emma asks.
“It hasn’t changed,” I tell her. “She was cynical before her diagnosis and she’s cynical now. I guess the things that make me feel more hopeful aren’t the occasional improvements or the long stretches when she’s symptomless, they’re the things that just haven’t changed.”
“She’s still your sister,” Emma says.
I haven’t shared too much about Emma with Danna, nor have I shared that much about Danna with Emma. In my life, there are two separate and distinct worlds. In one world, I am me, Damian Jones, actor, extraordinarily handsome gentleman, etc. In the other, though, I’m Danna’s twin, and in that world, nothing is more important.
“I know she’s still my sister,” I tell Emma. “I’m just sick of losing so many little pieces of her. This thing, it just chips away at a person, bit by bit, until even when symptoms aren’t relapsing, life and the drive to continue living it just starts to make a little less sense.”
“Have you ever wondered why this happened to her and not to you?” Emma asks.
I’m not entirely sure what to say to that.
“Listen,” I tell Emma, “I told you that I didn’t want to talk about any of this. Now that we have, is there any way we can just let the whole thing drop?”
“I guess so,” Emma says. “It’s a shame, though. It’s a real, real shame.”
I sigh and ask, “What’s that?”
“You almost sounded like you were on the verge of saying something that was going to make you feel better,” she says. “I haven’t the slightest idea what it might have been, but I saw that little gleam in your eye. Come on, out with it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tell her.
“I think you do,” she says. “I don’t know if you were going to answer my question or if you were going to tell me the rules to seven card stud, but whatever came into your mind right then—that was important.”
“That’s the thing,” I tell her. “I wasn’t thinking anything that I wasn’t saying. I don’t know what you want to hear.”
“What happened to your parents?” she asks.
“You’ve seen the magazines and the talk shows,” I tell her. “You must have heard the story at some point, if nothing else, at least on the set.”
“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” she says.
“I really don’t want to,” I tell her.
“That’s all right,” she says. “So, why’d you break up with me?”
“Can we maybe do this another time?” I ask.
“Well, we’re here. We may as well talk about something,” she says. “We may as well work out any issues remaining between us before they overtake and kill the friendship I hope we still have.”
“We’re still friends,” I tell her. “The problem isn’t you. The problem isn’t even Danna or me,” I continue. “The problem is that I only have so much capacity for some things before I get filled up. The problem is that I feel guilty about starting a torrid love affair while my sister’s lying in a hospital bed, okay?”
“She wants you to be happy, doesn’t she?” Emma asks.
“Yeah,” I answer. “I guess.”
“Then what’s the problem?” Emma asks.
“The problem is that I don’t know how to be with anyone while I’m still taking care of her,” I blurt, and as soon as the words are out of my mouth, I know I’ve crossed a personal line.
“That’s some heavy shit,” Emma says.
“Tell me about it,” I respond.
Emma starts again, “Are there any new medications coming out, or—”
“There’s always supposed to be something on the horizon,” I tell her. “They’re always so close to an answer, if not a full-fledged cure, at least that’s what they keep saying, but it never happens. Either the drug ends up not working or it kills the test subjects. Either way, empty words float heavy on the wind.”
“Yeah,” Emma says. “That they do.”
“Listen,” I tell her, “I’ve got to get back in there, but I am glad that you stopped by.”
“Of course,” Emma says. “Anytime. We’re still friends, right?”
We’re still friends, right?
How am I supposed to answer that question?
In a lot of ways, I really don’t know Emma all that well. We’ve been kind of forced into close proximity and so we’ve gotten to know each other at an increased pace, but at the same time, right now, I’m not sure that I’m in a position to make long-term predictions about where this could go and where it will go.
“You know,” I tell her, “no. Emma, I don’t want to be your friend. I want us to be together in a real way, but that just can’t happen with everything else that’s going on. It’s not fair and it’s not simple, but it is reality.”
Emma’s bottom lip rises for a moment and then retreats back into its normal position.
“Really?” she asks. “You’re going to give up on having your own relationships because you think your sister will think you’ve deserted her? Shit, that was a mouthful. It doesn’t matter; look,” she says, “if you’re not happy, how is it that you think you could really hope to make someone else happy?”
“Actually,” I tell her, “it’s really not that hard to do. People get behind self-sacrifice pretty easily. I’ve always wondered where we got the idea that in order to make another person happy, we also need to be happy—not just that moment or that day, but in our lives, in our careers, with our family and friends. A great deal of my life has been spent feeling miserable,” I tell her. “That’s never stopped me from making Danna smile.”
“Okay,” Emma says, “but if she smiles when you’re ‘feeling miserable,’ who’s to say that she wouldn’t smile more if you were happy.”
“I don’t know,” I tell her. “It’s complicated.”
“Well, there’s a cop out if I’ve ever heard one,” Emma scoffs.
“What do you want me to do?” I ask.
“I want you to quit thinking that you have to give everything up to be there for your sister,” she says. “You can be there for her and still live your own life.”
“I should get back in there and see how she’s doing,” I tell her.
“All right,” she says. “I’m not going to hold a gun to your head and say ‘have a relationship with me.’ If us being a thing isn’t going to work out for you, that’s that. I just don’t want to you to think that in order to be there for your sister you have to live the rest of your life in a hole. So, why don’t you think about where you see the two of us on the spectrum between stranger and lover and you let me know. Until then,” she says, “I really do hope that your sister gets to feeling better real soon.”
“Thanks,” I tell her. “I appreciate that.”
The conversation ends and we haven’t really settled anything.
There’s a lot to think about, but I don’t know if anything’s going to be able to change reality enough for me to have what I want to have with Emma.
I head back up to Danna’s room and just watch her sleep for a little while.
My life has gotten so small over the last 10 years or so. It almost collapsed when Jamie died, and when Danna was diagnosed, well, by that time, I’d already started to go numb.
Being with Emma, it kind of feels like putting your hands under hot water after you’ve just been in freezing weather for a couple of hours. It’s the surprising sensation of feeling something after being anesthetized for so long. Right now, it just hurts. Maybe in time, after I’ve gotten used to the warmth, it’ll start to feel like something else, but right now, it just hurts.