The Queen of Hearts(22)
I loathed Nick. Not only because of what he had done to Zadie, but because he was an incarnate reminder of all my worst failings. It was one thing to know on an intellectual level that I’d have to see Nick again, and another to encounter him when I wasn’t expecting it. I tossed, wide-eyed, to a silent slideshow of hazy, jumbled memories and pushy flashbacks, tormenting me every time I closed my eyes: me, holding a man’s large, still, cold hand and feeling the weight of immeasurable shame descend upon me.
—
In the year 49 BC, Julius Caesar commanded his army to march across the shallow green waters of the Rubicon River in the north of Italy, committing himself to a treacherous course of action from which there would be no return. Caesar himself recognized the irrevocability of his decision, uttering the famous phrase “alea iacta est”—the die is cast—and in the process, he gifted the future with the well-known idiom “crossing the Rubicon.” We’ve all heard it, even if we don’t know its origin. I certainly didn’t when I was twenty-four. Nonetheless, that is exactly what I did. One day, I made a fateful decision that cast my life neatly into two halves: Before and After. Unlike most people’s Rubicons, my own personal point of no return was not subtle, or gradual, or something I didn’t recognize until it was too late. It was an obvious demarcation, a clean line in the sand. I knew what I was doing when I stepped over it.
What I didn’t know, and didn’t see until it was too late, will haunt me forever. It has taken me an immense amount of mental discipline to get to the point where I can function without allowing these memories to surface. I’ve had to build a mental fortress, a no-fly zone where none of it can get in.
And now my wall was crumbling.
—
Everything seemed slightly better by Monday, as I fixed yet another cup of the world’s most popular drug. This was already my second cup of coffee today, but that was fine. There was some good information about the health benefits of caffeine—decent research about decreases in the incidence of Parkinson’s and some forms of cancer and heart disease, and even things like headache reduction. So having multiple doses in a day was okay. But I knew from experience that any more than four cups and my hands might shake. Too much adenosine antagonism.
My God. I was boring even inside my own head. When alighting on a particular subject, other people’s minds did not fill with a torrent of evidence-based analysis of risks and benefits. Even if they were trying to avoid thinking of something else. Actually . . . what did other people think about?
“Wyatt?” I asked. “If I say the word ‘coffee,’ what comes to mind?”
Wyatt looked up. He had arisen unusually early and was searching for something in the kitchen junk drawer, probably his keys, which he refused to keep in a designated location. “Sex,” he answered promptly. He flashed his gleaming symmetrical teeth at me and resumed his mauling of the tidy junk drawer.
“What? Why sex?” I asked. I knew his keys were not going to be in the junk drawer, but I restrained myself from going over to reorganize. Now I’d face having to choose between being late to the hospital or leaving the junk drawer in a state of violated disruption, both of which would cause me some anxiety.
“That’s the male default mode,” he answered, triumphantly holding aloft a small rectangle of purple plastic. “Looky here, muffin! I found that Zip drive you needed. It was in the junk drawer.”
I sighed. “That’s where I keep the old ones,” I said. “Have you looked for the keys in the pants you were wearing yesterday?”
Wyatt tapped his forehead. “Brilliant!” he shouted, as if that wasn’t where he always left his keys. As soon as he left the kitchen, I whirled around and quickly lined up the contents of the junk drawer in their bamboo divider. Whew.
I acknowledged to myself that my behavior was even more type A than usual. This was probably secondary to stress and poor sleep over the weekend. But you have to endure.
Usually, I responded to adversity by manning up: I stayed calm, I calculated the most advantageous response to a situation, and I carried it out with maximum efficiency. The only flaws in the system occurred when I was faced with the emotional vagaries and unpredictable behavior of other humans. People who respond irrationally throw me off. But in this case, things were further complicated by unusual circumstances.
This time, the irrational person was me.
Chapter Nine
TRAUMA SEASON
Late Summer, 1999: Louisville, Kentucky
Zadie
After the tantalizing burst of weekend bliss, I was back on call on Tuesday and again on Friday, trying to avoid staring at Dr. X every time we rounded together. It had only been a few days since breakfast at Twig and Leaf, but it seemed like a hundred years.
On the A Team, we established a rhythm. Ethan, the other student on the service, met me every morning at five o’clock to preround, give or take half an hour. Summer was trauma season, so this tended to be on the earlier side. Ethan was an ideal trauma partner; he didn’t care about getting procedures, he had a keen wit once you got to know him, and he was blazingly honest. We covered for each other, each of us double-checking the other’s work. In addition, Ethan showed up every morning with a delicious homemade vanilla cappuccino for me, and I’d given up on trying to get him to stop.