October

After a particularly excruciating summer at home in Cranston, I've been back at school for about 6 weeks. Fred Hooper had asked me to be his roommate again this year and I said sure, why not? He told me I was the perfect roommate because even when I was here it was like I wasn't here. I told him how much I appreciated his evaluation of my personality and our friendship. Hoop said he wasn't being critical of me, it was just that I was unobtrusive. Yep, that's me, I certainly don't want to get in anyone's way. Hoop is really a pretty good guy, though crazy as I first suspected. But I think guys our age ought to be a little crazy, though I'm beginning to suspect I may be the actual rubber room, straightjacket wearing kind of nuts.

The second semester of my freshman year I took Professor Fischer's creative writing class as an elective. I also took U.S. History from the Civil War to the present, sociology, geology, poli sci and a psychology class. My dad was not happy about the creative writing class and told me so. He said I was a little foolish to think it was a good idea to take a writing class when I should be deciding on a major. Professor Fischer, however, thought I was doing pretty well. As a matter of fact I made an 'A' in the class. Naomi said I had a good eye for detail, yet exercised a precise economy of words. High praise from her, I thought. I made the dean's list again and still my dad wasn't pleased with my choice of classes. As the end of the semester approached he suggested I come home for the summer and work as a clerk and gofer in his law practice. He said it would help me decide if I thought I was cut out for the legal profession. I started to tell him I wasn't sure if I was cut out for the human race and didn't, but I wanted to. I didn't want to disappoint him so I agreed to take the job. All I can say know, after this summer, is I'm pretty damn sure I don't want to be a lawyer when I grow up, if I grow up. I haven't decided if I want to yet.

My dad and I haven't been getting along very well for some time now and staying home the whole summer was a mistake. Even if I have to attend summer school every year until I graduate I will not spend another extended period of time in my hometown. I spent most of the time I was not at work reading. My mom would pester me to look up some of my old friends, especially on the weekends, but I never did. I wasn't trying to be antisocial, I just couldn't think of anyone I particularly wanted to see. My mom also bugged me about my eating (or rather the lack of), my running and my attitude. She would ask, "Where's that boy who was always joking or being a smart mouth?" I would tell her he was still here but since he was in college he was a little more serious. I didn't want to tell her that boy left home about 3 years ago. She wouldn't understand.

About two weeks before I came back to school, I told my father I didn't see myself ever wanting to be an attorney. He said that was fine, but he thought I should look into applying for business school. I told him I was planning to continue with literature and writing. This did not go over well; sort of like a turd in a punch bowl actually. He told me he didn't intend to pay for that kind of degree and that I would be better served with a degree in finance, accounting or economics. He held my feet to the fire with the threat of not helping me with the college fund and so I guess I'm applying to business school. It seems to me that my father always thinks the best decision for me is to give up the one thing I love the most. I always get back to the question, am I being selfish? I guess I was, so I'll go to business school. My life couldn't be more fucking complete. Sorry, that may have sounded bitter.

I've not been feeling well for about the last three months, since late July. At first I was just a little tired, but it seemed as if I was a little tired all the time. Within the last two weeks my throat has gotten sore, very sore and now I have these little hard knots along my jawline on each side. My weight is still about 165, I think, although since my throat has been raw I've been avoiding everything but soup and very hot coffee. Plus the fatigue has reached the point where I'm only able to run about half as much as I was. It just tires me out too much. I've also acquired another friend; a nasty cough that causes me to stop every so often when I am running and double over in a hacking fit. It hurts to breathe too deeply. And just this week I started feeling like I am running a temperature, my sleep is jangled with nightmares and I wake up sweating. I keep telling myself I need to go to the Health Center, but I don't do it.

This morning I woke up late. My throat has gone from raw to on fire. I keep a glass of water by my bed; I reach over, get it and take a drink. It goes down like a handful of salt, actually not that pleasant. I am burning up, too. When I start to get up it seems my legs won't support me and I fall on my ass. About the time I do this, Hoop walks into our room, fresh from the shower, towel around his waist and witnesses my less than graceful exit from bed. It is a rare event for Hoop to be up before me, anyway. He likes his sleep. When he sees me fall down, he rushes over and helps me to sit on the bed.

"Shit, Luke, are you okay?'

"I think I'm coming down with something, Hoop."

"Yeah, you don't look so well. You haven't looked real well all semester, ya know."

"Looking good has never been one of my concerns."

"Luke, I think you need to go to the Quack Shack."

Quack Shack is the universal metaphor for all college Health Centers throughout the known and unknown world. I found out last semester why. I cut my right index finger on a glass and had to have stitches. It was nighttime and I went to the Health Center. They called one of the doctors in on emergency since it was a pretty nasty cut. He came in, looked at my finger and sewed it up. What I noticed first about the doctor was the palpable aura of alcohol that preceded every word out of his mouth. I was less than confident with his abilities at that precise moment, but what the hell, I was bleeding like a stuck pig and couldn't afford to be picky. Now I have the funkiest looking scar on my right forefinger you have ever seen.

"Well, Hoop, I think I'll just take the day off and lie around. Maybe I'll feel better later."

"I'm not sure that's the best idea." Hoop says placing his hand on my forehead. His hand feels amazingly cool against my skin. "It feels like you're running a temperature."

"Yeah I think so too, but I can probably wear it out if I stay in bed."

"Okay. But if you're not better by this evening when I get back, I think I should take you to see one of the docs."

"I'll let it be your call, Hoop."

Hoop dresses for class and tells me to feel better, bye and is out for the day. I get up and change my tee shirt and underwear. I go over to the stereo and put some music on my turntable. This summer one of my favorite albums was 'Dark Side of the Moon' by Pink Floyd much to my parents' irritation. This is what I'm listening to as I drift into my fevered nap. God I think I may be running a high temperature

I may be dreaming because it seems like I've gone back to when I was eleven and had a bad case of strep throat. I hadn't felt well at school that week; scratchy sore throat, achy and feverish. On a Thursday night the whole thing kind of fell apart. Whenever I would awake in the middle of the night alone and scared of the dark, I would seek out John Mark's room and crawl into bed with him. He never seemed to mind and it always comforted me to snuggle up against him. Besides he was my big brother; the closest in age, my protector, my best buddy. This night I climbed into bed with him and I was burning up. John Mark went and got dad and mom. I was thrashing around on the bed, I think I was hallucinating or having a ferociously bad nightmare. I can remember my dad holding me down, then embracing me and telling me to wake up. I tried to focus on him but I couldn't. When I had gone to bed I had on a tee shirt and briefs, but I had gotten so hot I had taken off my shirt. My dad said to my mom, "We need to check his temperature, but I'm afraid to use the regular thermometer, he might bite it in two. Get the rectal thermometer." My mom leaves the room. I am way out of my head; it feels like I am outside on the hottest day of the year. I ask my mom for a Popsicle because my mouth is so dry. Dad tells me she will be right back. When she comes back, my dad flips me onto my stomach and moves my briefs off my hips to my thighs. He asks John Mark to hold me down by the shoulders while my mom holds me at the hips. I feel my dad's hands on my thighs and he spreads them apart just a little bit. After a few minutes or maybe it's a few hours, I kind of lose track of time, my dad says I have a temperature of 105. I'm wondering how he can tell my temperature just by taking my pants down. Dad tells my mom to go call Dr. Luckett. Dr. Sam Luckett is our family doctor, he delivered me, or at least that is what they tell me, I don't actually remember. By this time the whole happy family is up. My oldest brother Matthew is off at college, but James and David have awakened and joined us in John Mark's room. My dad tells James to go get all the ice he can out of the freezer and put it into the bathtub and run water. I can hear all kinds of commotion going on; my mom on the phone crying, James and David out in the kitchen and my dad sort of praying or maybe it's just all part of this febrile hallucination. I can feel John Mark holding my hand, squeezing, telling me everything is going to be okay. James comes back in the room and tells dad he has filled up the tub with ice and water. My dad picks me up in his arms and it feels like I am flying down the hall. We get to the bathroom and my dad stands me up. My mother (hey there she is, may I have a Popsicle?) steadies me with her hands under my arms and my dad strips me of my underwear. He picks me up again and then drops me into the water, the freezing cold water. I gasp, my eyes fly open and I burst into tears. I reach out my arms to my dad and beg him, "Please, daddy, take me out of the water. It's too cold." And my dad says, crying, "Luke, don't cry honey, I'm so sorry, I love you, you have to stay there for a while." I just cry harder. I am hot and cold at the same time, my teeth are chattering and I feel like I'm sliding down a dark tunnel. I see John Mark standing by my father and he has a stricken look on his face. My dad takes a washcloth, dips it in the water, sluices it over my head and I stop breathing. I can feel him shaking me by the shoulders and calling my name, but I can't see him.

"Luke, dammit, wake up." It sounds like John Mark, not my dad.

Someone is shaking me violently. I feel like I am on fire, my eyes open slowly. My pillow is soaked with sweat and my hair is plastered to my head. I think I can hear John Mark talking to Hoop.

"Has long has he been like this, Hoop?"

"Shit, Johnny, he was sick this morning. When I got home this afternoon he was burning up so I called you."

Someone lifts me up by my shoulders and embraces me.

"Phillip?" I ask, but my voice doesn't work right. The word comes out more like a croak because my throat is closed.

"Luke, it's John Mark, you need to wake up and look at me."

I open my eyes and Johnny sort of swims into view, out of focus, but I think it's really him.

"Johnny, what are you doing here?" I whisper, barely audible because it hurts so fucking much to talk, "can I have a Popsicle?"

"What in the fuck are you talking about, Luke?"

"My throat hurts, my mouth is dry. Please let me have a Popsicle?"

"Goddammit!!. Fuck, Hoop, we've got to do something to get his fever down. This has happened before, when he had strep throat as a kid. We need to get him down to the showers and put him under the cold water."

"Johnny, we can take him down to the training room on the first floor. We can fill up one of the Jacuzzis with water and ice."

I wake up again when Luke is wiping my face with the tee shirt I had one when I laid down but had taken off during the day, overheated by the fever. He's holding me up with one arm. I look at him, a little dazed.

"Where am I, Johnny?" I whisper. God, my throat hurts.

"Luke, you are in your room. Hoop and I are going to take you down to the 1st floor training room and give you an ice bath. You are giving off heat like a fucking camp stove. I'm sorry we have to do it, but we have to."

I can't help myself, I start to weep. John Mark embraces me and holds me for a long time.

"I'm sorry, little brother. I'm sorry you are so sick."

I begin having this dream about Phillip and we're walking in the creek. I can see him standing waist deep in the water, his hair wet. He turns, smiles his crooked smile at me and begins to speak. I can't hear him, but I see him clear as day. It's late in the afternoon I can tell, the sun low in the sky catching him in the amber light shining off his wet hair and body. It makes him look like burnished brass or gold. I move toward him, but I don't seem to be making any headway. Then it seems the creek is running over our heads. I hear the song 'Siberian Khatru' by Yes, the line "river running right on over my head" in my ears. And then I am close to him and I reach out my hand to touch him. My fingertips brush his chest, it feels so familiar. I feel like my heart is breaking. Why?

Johnny is shaking me by the shoulders, breaking my dream. "Luke, wake up, we need to take you downstairs."

"Phillip," I ask, "is that you?"

"No Luke, it's me, John Mark."

"Okay, could I please have a Popsicle?"

"Shit man, you are out of your mind."

"Who's Phillip?" I hear Hoop ask Johnny.

"A friend of ours from high school. I think Luke's fucking delirious."

In a few minutes, John Mark and Hoop walk me out to the elevator and down we go to the 1st floor. We walk into the training area; we have access because Hoop is a baseball player I think to myself. There is a big room that has about 10 of the steel tub Jacuzzis. Hoop has filled one up with ice and water. We move over to the tub and Hoop and Johnny lift me into the ice water.

The dramatic temperature drop makes me snap to, somewhat.

"Shit, are you guys crazy, this is freezing. Please help me out of here." I say stuttering and chattering.

John Mark is standing over the tub looking down at me and he says, "Luke, Hoop and I are going to take you to the Health Center, but we had to cool you off, break the fever."

They let me sit there for a while. Then they lift me up by the arms, I get to my feet and I think I black out.

I wake up in a completely unfamiliar room, in a completely unfamiliar bed, covers up to my chest. I'm wearing a hospital gown. I look to my right and I see John Mark asleep in a chair. I look to my left and there is Catherine, awake, glowering at me. She looks very, very pissed.

"Do you know how worried your brother is about you?" She asks.

I open my mouth to speak but can't. My throat is on fire and I instinctively grasp my neck. It feels like someone has taken a wire brush to the inside of my larynx.

Catherine gets up from her chair, picks up a big plastic mug with a top and a straw sticking out from the bedside table and offers it to me to drink. I lean forward and take a long, painful draw from the straw. I lean back and sigh.

"Thanks, Catherine." I whisper.

"Fuck you, Luke. John Mark thought you were dying tonight. He says he is taking you home tomorrow if the doctors let you out of here. He has not been sleeping well because of you and that's not good because he is in law school now. He needs to study, go to class, eat and sleep."

"I'm sorry Catherine, I didn't mean to worry anyone."

"Oh Luke please. Johnny tells me all these things about you, how you used to be this great, fun kid to be around and how you've just hit the skids. You don't come over, you don't call us and the worst part of the whole thing is he doesn't know why and he worries himself sick about it. I think he thinks part of it is his fault."

"Okay, Catherine, that's enough." John Mark says. He has reentered the world of the awake and walking.

"Johnny, am I lying? Is anything I just said not the truth?"

"No, but maybe now is not the time to discuss this with Luke."

"Johnny," I murmur, "I'm really sorry. I don't want you to worry about me."

"Luke, when I saw you tonight all I could think about was that time when you were sick with strep throat. I just kept flashing to that moment you stopped breathing and Dr. Luckett resuscitated you. You know we were lucky mom had called him before dad dunked you in the ice water. Do you remember the little bruises you had all over your body? I remember Dr. Luckett said those were small subcutaneous hemorrhages caused by lack of oxygen. I think that may explain your hard headedness."

I start to cry. Man, my emotions have been on a short leash lately. Johnny puts his hand on my head and strokes my hair.

"Johnny, please don't take me home," I sob, " I promise I'll do anything for you if you just don't take me to Cranston."

"Look, you need to see Dr. Luckett. You are a sick puppy and I plan to do something about it."

"Couldn't you just take me to see Dr. Sam? I promise I'll do what he tells me. Just don't make me stay at home."

John Mark considers this for a minute. "Okay, Luke, I'll call him later today and make an appointment. Then Catherine and I will drive you to Cranston to see him. After he's seen you and made his diagnosis, you can come back and stay with us. Does that work for you?"

I nod my assent.

Two days later the three of us head to Cranston. On the way John Mark and Catherine talk easily. I am silent. I feel completely wrung out. The doctors at the Health Center didn't want to release me, but Johnny had Dr. Luckett call them and tell them he would take responsibility for my welfare. The trip to Cranston is not a long one, about an hour and a half. When we get there mom and dad are waiting for us in the reception area. My mom hugs me, tells me she loves me and that I don't look so well. My dad hugs me as well and concurs with mom's opinion of my appearance. I move away and talk to Dr. Luckett's nurse and she shows me back to an exam room almost immediately. She tells me to hop on the table and I comply.

Dr. Sam enters the room just about five minutes later. I've known him all my life and he looks about the same as he ever has. He is bald, about 6 foot tall, handsome in his own way and a great, personable man.

"So, Luke, what is going on here? You look like you've been rode hard and put up wet. The doctors at the Health Center told me they gave you a big old shot of amoxicillin and gammaglobulin. They also said you probably need some bed rest and a regimen of antibiotics."

"Well, Dr. Sam, all I know is I have a sore throat and a cough and I'm tired all the time."

"Okay, why don't you get undressed and let's give you the once over."

I shuck my clothes and Dr. Sam starts out by weighing me. I tip the scales at just a hair under 160 lbs. He gives me a hard look. Then he sits me down on the examining table, looks at my eyes, listens to my chest, front and back, checks my reflexes and then looks down my throat.

"Damn, Luke, your tonsils are so inflamed I'm surprised you can swallow at all. There are bacterial excreta, little white streaks, all over them. Your throat must hurt like a son of a bitch."

I nod.

He probes my throat and jaw with his fingers, cupping my face in his hands.

"You've got some extremely swollen glands there. Can't you feel those knots on your jaw?"

Again, I nod.

"Then why haven't you done anything about it?"

"I guess I thought it would go away."

Then Dr. Luckett puts a hand on my back between my shoulder blades and a hand on my chest. He applies a little pressure with the hand on my chest and lays me down on the examining table. He probes my abdomen, especially under the rib cage and then lower. He presses his fingers into my armpits and checks the lymph nodes. I wince. "Does that hurt?" he asks. I nod. He checks out my testicles and announces I have some swelling there, then probes the inside of my groin and locates the lymph nodes. I wince again. Yes, goddammit, it hurts. The he sits me up and he calls in his nurse. She takes blood and urine samples.

Dr. Sam takes my clothes from the coat stand where he hung them and helps me into my shirt. Then I put on my underwear and pants. He pats the examining table indicating I should sit back down. I'm still barefoot and my feet are cold, but I hop back up on the table.

Dr. Sam pulls up a stool, picks up my socks and shoes and helps me put them on. Then he leans forwards, catching me directly in his gaze.

"Okay, Luke. I won't know until I get the results from the blood and urine, but I'm betting you have a bad case of mononucleosis and maybe upper lobe pneumonia. All of your lymph nodes are inflamed and tender to the touch. You are at least 25 to 30 pounds underweight, your liver and spleen are swollen and you are probably anemic. Your whole immune system is probably in distress. You got any ideas how you got to this point?"

"No sir."

"Luke let me completely honest with you. I mean, you're what, nineteen now, I don't think we should have any secrets. I've known you all your life, I delivered you, I nursed you through a pretty bad case of strep throat and just about every other childhood illness known to man."

Man, is my mind racing now? No secrets, what the fuck does that mean? My face starts to flush, I can feel my face burning, or maybe my fever is coming back.

"Your parents are concerned you may be involved in drugs or alcohol. Is there anything like that going on?"

It's not like I'm a teetotaler or I haven't smoked weed, but those things usually make me feel unable to control my emotions. Example one: what happened at John Mark's apartment with the Jackson Browne album. I've got a vested interest in being in control.

"Dr. Sam, I'm not drinking and I'm not doing drugs."

"Luke, I believe you. Now, I'm not a psychiatrist but after talking to your parents and John Mark, I think you may be exhibiting classic symptoms of clinical depression. Are you feeling emotions like sadness or hopelessness?"

I almost fucking snap. I want to stand up on the examining table and shout, at the top of my lungs; Sad!! I am in total, fucking despair; can no one see that? The best thing to ever happen to my miserable fucking life has been taken away from me and I did not have any say in it. I am pissed off, I am furious, I am crazy with fucking grief and nobody, no fucking body gives a good tinker's goddamn! I should want to die, but I am too fucking angry to die.

"Luke, are you all right?"

"Yes sir, I think I drifted away for a moment. But, yes, I think I may be depressed. The best I can tell you is I've been a little bit stressed by school. Maybe that's it?"

"Actually, son, it appears to me it may be a little more than that but I'm not qualified to make that diagnosis. What I would like for you to do is go home and rest for at least two weeks. Then maybe you can think about going back to school. I'm going to prescribe some antibiotics for you, we'll get the results from your blood and we'll go from there."

"Dr. Sam would it be okay if I rested at John Mark's apartment at school? He and Catherine said they would take care of me. That way I can at least get my class assignments. I promise you I will do anything you say and I will get better. I will gain weight, I will take better care of myself."

"I didn't want to lay this off on John Mark. Your father has said he is up to his neck at law school, but John Mark has also told me that he is willing, no, he wants you to stay with him. So, if you're dead set against staying here I will agree to let John Mark take care of you."

"I think that would be best, Dr. Sam."

"All right then, that's the way it will be."

I hop off the table and Dr. Sam puts his arm around my shoulder and hugs me.

"Luke, I want you to get back on track. You are a good kid and whatever it is that has got you all tied up in knots, I want you to let it go, okay."

I almost break down, black spots fly across my field of vision and for a moment I think I might pass out but I buck up, look at Dr. Sam and smile wanly.

"I will do my best and thank you, Dr. Sam. You're one of the good guys."

"That's not what you used to think when I gave you your immunizations." He gives me a big winning smile and another hug.

We walk out into the waiting room. Dr. Sam writes me about half a dozen prescriptions and tells me to go get them filled today. My mom and dad start lobbying immediately to get me to come home. I tell them what I plan to do and after much wrangling, they reluctantly agree to let me go with John Mark and Catherine.

Outside by the car my mom takes my face in her hands and kisses me.

"Luke Aaron, I love you," she says, "please get better."

"I love you too, mom."

"But I love you more."

"Yes, I know."

My dad walks up and hugs me, squeezing me to him. I return his embrace.

"Luke, try very hard to get over this. I love you."

"Yes sir, I'm doing my absolute best. I love you, too."

John Mark, Catherine and I load up in the car. We make a stop at the pharmacy on the way out of town. I get about a grocery bag of drugs and we are off, back to school. As we drive, John Mark asks me how I am doing.

"Well, Johnny boy, I'm bloodied but unbowed."

Catherine turns around and says, "Luke, I apologize for being so rough on you the other night, but I want you to rejoin the land of the living."

"I understand Catherine, I will take your advice."

The motion of car rocks me to sleep quickly. The next thing I know, John Mark is shaking me by the shoulder, helping me out of the car and leading me into the apartment. This apartment has an extra bedroom so they set me up in it. I undress, get into bed and as I move slowly into sleep, I send up a brief prayer. It's similar to one I usually send up but with a request for myself added on. "Please God, be with Phillip and take care of him. And please God, I need to get on with my life. Help me. I don't want to forget, but if I keep living with the past I think it may be the end of me. And I don't think I'm ready to go yet. Thank you." With that, I fall asleep, dreamless.