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CHAPTER – 30: Blood on the Floor
On the way to the hospital, I asked if we could get a full blood panel. I wanted to get that out of the way, so I wouldn’t have to repeat it for my annual medical checkup. Sarah said it would be easy to arrange. In the hospital, she led us to the lab, and specified full blood panel. While I waited for my turn (there were four patients before me), Sarah left for the Orthopedics department; ‘to put an appearance’ was how she put it. She would be catching up with me after doing her rounds.
An eternity later (I hate waiting in hospitals), my name was called, and a nurse directed me into a small room. She pointed me to the chair in the curtained area, and told me somebody would be with me shortly. Arranging a tray with needles and test tubes, she closed the curtain and left. A few minutes later, a woman in doctor’s whites opened the curtain. It was Lizzie. Closing the curtain behind her, she turned her attention to me.
Oh, shit! OK, Mitch. Chin up, be civil... whatever happens.
With that thought, I readied myself.
Giving me a cold smile, she greeted with, “Good morning, Mitchell. Nice surprise.”
I doubt that, Lizzie!
“Good morning, Lizzie. Nice to see you, too,” I replied with as warm a smile as I could manage. It didn’t have any effect at all, and I prepared myself for the worst, and to try my utmost to be polite. But, I was determined not to let her get away with anything.
She scanned her clipboard, and without raising her eyes, said, “Full blood panel,” before she paused, her eyes catching something. “You’re also taking the ‘test’.” Looking at me, she gave a nasty grin and said, “Sooo... Are you scared you caught something nasty from that little slut?”
“Lizzie. You’re a doctor; I’m a patient. We’re not at a party. We’re at the hospital, and this isn’t a social visit. I came here for a blood test, not to discuss my sexual history. Are we clear on that?”
Ignoring my remarks, she attacked again. “What? Did I strike a chord?”
From her question, it was obvious she was going to keep on insulting me and Sarah, and I didn’t care for her attitude. So, I decided to return fire on another front to see if I could get her to back off. “Do you want me to file a complaint for unprofessional conduct, Lizzie?
Her eyes tightened for a moment, but she marched on. “Sarah is a slut—”
“That’s enough, Lizzie,” I cut her off sharply. Standing up, I said, “I see we have to do this the hard way.”
“What are you doing?” she asked, suddenly alarmed, as I headed towards the curtain.
I turned to face her, and replied, “What do you think? I’m going to file a complaint. With your attitude, I wouldn’t be surprised if this is not the first time this has happened, with a patient or one of the staff members.”
“You can’t do that!” she cried.
“Lizzie, are you delusional? The last time I checked this was a free country, and if I had complaints, I could voice them. I didn’t know I have to ask your permission,” I came back.
“I... I meant... you don’t have to do that,” she replied, stammering.
“What do you suggest I do? Sit here and take your abuse?” I asked, pointedly.
“I apologize,” she said quickly.
She could see I wasn’t impressed by her response. Collecting herself, she tried again, with a pleading tone. “Please, Mitchell. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything.”
“I was... I was hurting and angry,” she offered, with a small voice.
I was getting pissed off with her attitude. When I had rejected her advances, she had resorted to a verbal attack, and brought it on herself. What’s more, during the whole exchange I had never resorted to name calling. Now, instead of acknowledging her own fault, it looked like she was blaming me. I was almost tempted to give her a piece of my mind, and teach her a lesson. I wanted her to acknowledge her part about what happened at the party, but...
Why don’t I ignore her, and get on with the program? Why am I trying to get to her? What do I care?
Then, why did I respond to her attacks? Why do I feel like teaching her a lesson? Why do I want her to acknowledge her part? I even wanted to hurt her. Am I just as spiteful as she is?
I never had been. I had hurt people before, with angry words when they tried to hurt me, and afterwards they had kept away from me. A few had tried to come back, but I had ignored them and, not getting a response, they had quit. I could be like a deaf and mute wall, when I wanted to be. Lizzie had been another one, trying a second time to hurt me, and I had responded, threatening her. Now, I wanted her to acknowledge her fault. Why?
Then, another thought crossed my mind. Why did I resort to threats? I could have just ignored her, until she had run out of invectives and attacks. Eventually she would have stopped, seeing she was talking to a wall. It was a time tried method, and very effective. In fact, some of the people who had tried to come back at me had been hurt more, because I was indifferent, not responsive to their attempts. It was an adaptation from Go Rin No Sho, Musashi’s timeless strategy guide; ‘being the mountain’, immovable, indestructible. So, why didn’t I try that? What did I care what she said or thought? She didn’t count, and neither did her opinions or invectives. And, I seldom held grudges; it was a waste of time and energy. Did I hold a grudge against Lizzie?
I stood there, glaring at her, then took a deep breath trying to calm myself. I decided to let it go. Without a word I turned on my heels, walked back to the chair, and sat down. Leaning over, I clasped my head between my hands, my elbows resting on my knees. I kept massaging my forehead and temples, trying to ease the tension. But, my mind was still busy, trying to find answers to the questions that bothered me.
“Why do you hate me so much?” she asked with a scarcely audible voice.
I don’t hate you, Lizzie. I just don’t like you. Not one bit!
I didn’t hate her, but I didn’t like her, especially after the way she attacked. She was a vicious, spiteful little bitch. Previously, she had been just annoying, but now, she was an ugly little thing. I didn’t care for her attitude, and manners, but they weren’t enough reason to hate her. Was there ever a reason to hate somebody? Perhaps. But, I haven’t found it yet. Composing myself, I turned my attention to her. She was standing there with the clipboard clutched to her chest, arms crossed. It was hard to miss the defensive posture. As my eyes took her in, I tried to soften my expression. She was watching me like a hawk, apprehensive, and irate at the same time. Although she tried to hide it, I could see the hurt and vulnerability.
“I don’t hate you, Lizzie,” I said, softly. “I never have.”
She got a puzzled look. I wasn’t sure if she was reacting to my soft tone, or expression, or both. I couldn’t get a good read to judge if she believed me. Lowering my head and resting it between my hands, I thought about what I wanted to do.
Do I want to explain to her why I don’t hate her? What do I care if she believes me or not? She wouldn’t understand anyway.
Then, why am I considering if I should or not?
My thoughts were running in all directions, looking for a clue, trying to figure out the answer to that question... And, I stumbled onto something else; how Dana had lent a helping hand to me at the airport.
Why did she do what she did?
She was hurt in the past, and saw me hurting. Even though she didn’t know a thing about me, she had guessed something bad had happened, and had taken a chance with me. She said as much, when we were at Sarah’s discussing opening up our relationship. And, I had discovered her generous, kind, sharing soul, and had responded to it. If she hadn’t crossed my path, I would be...
I thought about ‘what if Dana had not crossed my path?’ I was staggered by the implications. I wouldn’t have learned things about Reina, I wouldn’t have gotten involved with Dana, and I doubted I would have accepted Sarah’s offer... If I had, it would have been a friendly, casual thing, but now it might be... I was aware of Lizzie’s presence, standing there, watching me, and I could feel her apprehension and confusion, radiating out, in waves.
She brought it on herself, and deserved it...
Did she deserve it?
Of cour—
Why?
Because she hurt me.
Yes, but...
Suddenly, I wasn’t so sure. I knew I didn’t like her, but... it was my hurt and resentment responding. Did she have any redeeming qualities? I had no idea.
Did Dana know if you had... any qualities?
No, she di—
I realized I didn’t know much about Lizzie. Almost nothing. What’s more, I didn’t understand why I was reacting to her so strongly. I went over the incidents at the party. At the time, when Lizzie had tried to get intimate with me, I had felt annoyed, and wanted to teach her a lesson. Now, I realized I had been very much offended by her actions, and very angry at her. After Sarah and I had put on the show for everybody’s benefit, Lizzie’s attempt had felt like a slap on my face, an affront; especially the thought she could sway me away from a woman I was involved with—it had been a carefully orchestrated show to prevent any such attempts, but that was besides the point. Afterwards, when I had taken up Sarah on her offer, and unsure if I was cheating on Dana, my guilt had added up to my anger at Lizzie’s actions. Now, I guess, I was projecting my own guilt as anger at her. I suspected she was jealous, and I didn’t care for that quality in any person, especially when they lashed out at anyone. She would probably go on with her life, doing the same thing to many others...
Could I make the effort... do I want to make the effort... to make her understand? Why should I?
Well, why did Dana do what she did?
She did it because she saw the hurt?
Yes, but—
But?
She had a generous heart, and that drove her to take action.
She... yes, she decided to do something about the situation, didn’t she?
My eyes returned to Lizzie, taking her in. Her question to me was a trigger... haunting me... I kept thinking about her jealousy, her bitchiness, and vicious tongue, and her attacks, comparing it to my earlier impression of just annoying. Because I disliked her, I was tempted to say she wasn’t worth the effort, and she didn’t need the time of day from me or an explanation...
And who am I to judge? Why don’t I make an effort?
She viciously attacked both Sarah and you.
And what am I doing? Am I any better? I call her spiteful, jealous bitch, and put her aside. If I don’t—
If I didn’t make even an effort, I would never know. It was all about taking chances, like Dana had taken with me. I’d been lucky... Making my mind up, I decided to give it a shot. The question was, could I pull it off?
Damn good question! How to go about it? It’s going to be tricky.
Tricky? You’re joking, right? Fuck, man! You don’t know what you’re getting yourself in. It’s going to be like crossing a mine field. She’s hurting, scared, suspicious, and her anger could flare at any moment.
I knew I was going to fly seat-of-the-pants, but I needed to work out a general plan and consider possible scenarios of how things could play out, otherwise I was bound to fail. Even then, there was very little chance of success depending on how receptive she would be, how open to the idea of looking at her own actions.
As I got busy working on the general outline of a plan, I turned my attention to Lizzie, and said, “I’m sorry, Lizzie. I wasn’t ignoring you. I was thinking why you should believe what I said. I hardly know you, and I doubt you know much about me. I think you deserve an explanation, but it might take a bit of time. Do you have the time? I know you’re busy, and there are patients, but this is important. Please?”
I must have caught her off guard with my request, because I saw her expression change from surprise to suspicion, to confusion, before she assumed a posture of relative calm, and seemed to consider my words. Perhaps, she sensed I was serious and sincere. After giving me an appraising look, she said, “Yes, I have the time.”
“Thank you, Lizzie. I appreciate it. Please take a seat, and give me a second to collect my thoughts.”
She pulled up a chair, setting it some distance away, but the distance between us was closer than before, which gave me a slight hope. In the meantime, I tried to formulate my thoughts; how to approach the subjects, in which order. There were ideas already taking shape, and I went about organizing them. The first step was to gain her trust, and I had an idea I wanted to use; remove the threat of complaint, consequently remove her perception that I was holding her to ransom. Blackmail or leverage might get you cooperation but it was nothing other than arm twisting, and trust never came into play. That was going to be tricky, because I suspected she didn’t know anything about me. I didn’t expect her to buy into my words, and knew she would need some concrete evidence. I kept working around the problem until I had a solution to my dilemma; how to remove the threat and make her believe I was sincere. I had no solution to deal with the question of her jealousy, and how to make her see it, and decided to wing it out if we ever came to that part. To tell the truth, I was dreading getting into that part, and was hoping we wouldn’t.
Collecting myself, I turned to face her. “Lizzie, as I said, I don’t know how much you know about me. Before I get back to your question, and explain, I have a question for you. Do you know that if I make a promise to someone, anyone, I keep my promise?”
She thought about it for a moment, and carefully choosing her words, she replied, “I’ve heard something like that.”
“Do you also know that I keep my promises, regardless of the situation? Have you heard that I don’t renege on a promise, because I’m at odds with the person at a later date?” I asked.
“I–I’ve heard that, also” she answered, hesitantly.
“Good. I didn’t know if you knew those things about me. I believe in ‘a promise is a promise’. I make a promise knowing that I intend to keep it, and I don’t make promises lightly.”
From her expression, it was obvious she was wondering where I was going with what I said. I didn’t keep her waiting long.
“As I said, I don’t hate you, Lizzie, and I don’t have any interest in hurting you. For what it’s worth I have no intention of hurting you professionally. So my promise to you is that I won’t file a complaint... whatever happens from now on.”
For a moment her eyes widened in surprise, but it was quickly replaced with a skeptical look.
“You may find that hard to believe, but I meant my promise, and if you’ll allow me I can prove it,” I added.
I didn’t need a crystal ball to know that she was wondering how I could prove such an impossibility.
“By any chance, do you have any extra paper on that clipboard that I can use to scribble a note?” I asked.
When she heard that her eyes tightened, and it was obvious she thought the ax was going to fall.
“Lizzie, it’s not what you think. If I wanted to file a complaint, I would be already at the front desk, doing just that. I made you a promise, and if you give me a chance, I’ll prove it,” I said, trying to reassure her.
Even though she was scared, she seemed to consider my words, while keeping her eyes on me, trying to figure out what I was planning to do. She knew I could have filed a complaint, and I haven’t done that, yet. With a curious expression she slowly pulled out the first few pages—the patient forms that were already filled-in—and hesitantly passed the clipboard and her pen to me.
“You can use the back of the empty forms.”
I pulled out one of the empty forms, and turning it over, quickly scribbled a short letter, dating and signing it. Holding onto the clipboard, I looked at her.
“As I said, I don’t hate you, Lizzie. I don’t hold grudges, and I don’t go out of my way to hurt people. I have nothing to gain by hurting you. This is a no-strings-attached letter that you can use in any manner you want,” I said, and held out the clipboard with her pen.
After a momentary pause, she took it, holding it as if it was going to burn her hand, and put it on her lap without a glance. Instead, she kept watching me. She was hesitant to look at my letter, and I got the feeling she was trying to figure out if I was setting her up in some way. Eventually, her curiosity got the better of her, and she scanned the contents of the letter. As I expected, her eyes flitted to me immediately for a few seconds, before returning to read it.
It was a short, ‘Thank you’ letter, commending Lizzie as a doctor for an excellent and professional service; the kind that patients write to show their appreciation. After she finished reading it, she kept her gaze on the clipboard, lost in thought. I guess, she was trying to come to terms with what I had said, and God knows what else. We both knew that I had no way of putting an official complaint when I had signed a letter to the contrary. Trying to give her some space, and privacy, I decided the contents of the tray with the needles and test tubes required my close examination, thus, I turned my gaze to the little tray. As the silence dragged on, I thought about what was in store for us in a short while from now on.
She broke the silence with a soft, “Thank you, Mitchell.”
I turned back to her, and tried to gauge her mood. The apprehension she had had was gone, and she seemed calmer and more composed.
“I’m sorry for what happened,” she said.
This time she sounded sincere, and I waited to see what else she was going to say. To tell the truth, I didn’t have much faith, because of the words she had used. She didn’t say “I’m sorry for what I did,” instead, she used, “for what happened,” and that implied she was distancing herself from her own actions.
Not only that, but that also implies you’re not fully responsible for what happened!
As the thought crossed my mind, I felt something stir inside me. Although she sounded sincere when she offered her apology, I wasn’t sure if she realized what she was doing. I waited patiently, to see if more was coming, but when she didn’t continue, I felt disappointed. Her apology felt hollow, and now, I could feel resentment welling up inside me. I didn’t want to engage her any more. We still had a journey if she wanted to go the distance. I didn’t know if she would take the steps, and I dreaded accompanying her on that trip. From the looks of her simple apology, I suspected it was going to be an arduous journey, and I didn’t feel ready and up to the task. What’s more, my resentment could complicate the difficult task more than it already was. The silence dragged on, as she mulled something in her mind, and I was caught between hope and dread; hope that a proper apology might be forthcoming, and dread if she would choose any one of the dangerous destinations awaiting us.
You chicken shit! Looking forward to high tailing at the first opportunity!
Yeah? Well, I’m not ready. I’m not Dana. I have my own fucking problems to deal with. Jesus, man! Didn’t you hear the lousy apology?
What did you expect? A gift wrapped letter in neatly scripted hand writing? You know she has issues, and maybe she can overcome them, maybe she can’t. Are you going to quit on her?
Aaggghhh! Shut your trap! You always get me into trouble.
My thoughts were interrupted by Lizzie. “You don’t like me.”
Although she offered it as an observation, it was a question.
“I’m not going to lie to you, Lizzie. I don’t like what you did... what you do.”
“But you never liked me, Mitchell. Why?” she asked.
Now, her previous question made some sense. Initially, she thought I hated her, and now, she thought I never liked her.
“Never is a big word, Lizzie. In the past, I didn’t know much about you to like or dislike,” I replied.
“But you avoided me,” she came back.
“Yes, I did. I’m not going to deny that. After a few occasions of meeting you, I avoided you, but, that’s got nothing to do with like or dislike. I did the same to a few other girls, like your friend Macie, for example. While some girls tried to gauge my interest a few times, they quit after I indicated my disinterest. Macie, you and another—I don’t remember her name—were more insistent, and kept ignoring my hints. After a while, I found the attention annoying and irritating. Since none of you seemed to give up, I tried to avoid you all. You’re a beautiful woman, Lizzie. You must have had unwanted attention from some guy who didn’t take a hint. Just because I avoided some girls doesn’t mean that I didn’t like them. I just didn’t want to keep fending off the attention. So, in the past, I didn’t particularly like or dislike you. I wasn’t interested in anyone.”
She thought about what I told her, then asked, “Then, why did you do what you did?”
“I just told you, Lizzie. I thought you understood.”
“That doesn’t explain anything,” she replied.
“Umm. What are you talking about, Lizzie?” I asked, confused by her reaction.
“Don’t play games with me, Mitchell,” she retorted with an irritated tone.
I didn’t like her tone at all, but trying to keep my composure, I calmly replied, “I’m not playing games, Lizzie. I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”
With an exasperated tone, she said, “I’m talking about that slut. Why did you...”
I didn’t hear the rest of what she was saying, because when she used the word slut, and I made the connection to Sarah, my resentment turned into instant anger. As my anger welled up, I heard the rush of blood in my inner ear, rumbling like a freight train, and the rest of her words got lost in the noise. I felt my temples throbbing with each heartbeat, and the heat of my anger. Then, my training kicked in, and I took control of it, shaping it. It became a cold wind, sweeping through my body, filling me with an icy chill. With a detached aloofness I contemplated my next action. My mind was already busy going through a list of choice words, making selections—like ungrateful, miserable, venomous, bitch—for an opening salvo of my verbal attack. Just as I was getting ready to tear into her...
“I–I... I’m sorry... I am sorry!”
She was fortunate, because somehow her voice made it through, and that was what saved her. It focused my attention on her, instead of what I was planning to unleash on her. I caught the alarmed look on her face, and that had been enough warning for me to clamp hard on my anger, and stop myself from opening up on her, as if pulling on the emergency brake in a runaway train. I averted my gaze, and tried to get rid off my anger and resentment. My heart was beating hard, and I tried to calm down, taking deep, cleansing breaths to get rid off the tension I was feeling.
Jesus! That sure came from nowhere!
In my mind I had the image of myself, right-smack in the middle of a minefield, stepping on the tripwire of a bouncing Betty. A second later, it jumped some 5–6 feet off the ground, and burst open, releasing a big yellow balloon with the words: “Danger, danger, danger! Mine field!” painted in black. The incongruity of the mental image was so acute and so absurdly comical like the cartoons on the TV, it was enough to pull my mind off from my anger, delivering a much sought relief.
God! You have a twisted sense of humor. It’s sick... perverted!
“I’m sorry, Mitchell,” she repeated.
By then, I had collected myself, and my eyes returned to her. I tried to gauge how she was doing. She looked tense and nervous, but I was glad to see I hadn’t frightened her too much. For a moment, I wondered why I was glad, then putting the thought aside I gave her a nod, not trusting my voice for the time being. My mouth was dry from the short lived experience.
I need a cigarette, and a glass of water!
Gathering her courage, she tried again. “You said you weren’t interested in anyone. Now, you’re with her. I just don’t understand what you see in her.”
I was tempted to tell her it was none of her business, but rethinking my position, I decided on a different answer.
“What is there to understand? I’ve known her for a long time, and I know who she is.”
“But you know what she’s like. Everybody knows,” she responded immediately.
“I don’t know why you think the way you do, and I don’t care what you think. I doubt you’ll understand, Lizzie.”
Thinking over, she said, “So it is sex?”
She had jumped at the wrong conclusion, as usual, and it indicated she still thought of Sarah as a slut. Keeping my temper in check I decided to deflect her question and end the conversation. I didn’t want to play the guide anymore.
“Lizzie, first of all, what you said implies Sarah is free pussy, and secondly, it implies I go after free pussy and I’m a pussy hound. Sarah doesn’t offer free pussy, and I’m not a pussy hound, going after any available pussy. If I were, you would have seen or heard I was fucking several girls at any one of the parties. There certainly had been quite a few offers. So, I find both implications very offensive and insulting, and I don’t like insults.”
She quickly said, “I wasn’t trying to insult you.”
“Look, Lizzie. I think we talked enough. Why don’t we call it a day? It certainly had been a difficult time for both of us,” I suggested.
“Please, Mitchell. I didn’t mean to insult you. Not after all you’ve done,” she said.
That last one caught me off guard, giving me a pause. This was the first time she had said something meaningful, and sincerely.
You could scratch ‘ungrateful’ from the list!
You’re sick, you know that!
“I want to know what you see in her,” she came back, insistent.
Ohh, God! Leave it alone, Lizzie. You’re not ready. You’ll get hurt. Worse, you might get burned!
“Contrary to what you think or believe, Sarah is not a slut. You’ve known her for a few years. I’ve known her since we were kids. And you know how it is with affairs of the heart. There’s rarely an explanation,” I replied, trying to end the conversation.
“There’s always something. I just want to know what it is,” she insisted.
I thought for several seconds, trying to come up with an answer that would prevent us from starting on the trip that I wanted to avoid, but I couldn’t come up with a good answer. In the end, I decided on part of the truth.
“She has a good heart, and a kind soul. She’s warm, funny, loving, gentle, and generous. She treats people with kindness and respect. I love those qualities in her.”
“And you think I’m not like that?” she asked with a hurt voice.
“You’re putting words in my mouth, Lizzie. I know very little about you to pass judgment.”
She raised an eyebrow, challenging me.
“Let me ask you this; what do you think of Kathy?”
She wasn’t expecting the sudden change of topic, so after a momentary hesitation, she said, “She’s a very nice girl. Everybody loves her.”
“Yes, she’s loved and respected by many people. Ask yourself, why she would choose a slut as her best friend. Ask yourself, why I would get involved with a slut. Ask yourself, what happened at the party and why.”
After a long interval of silence, she asked, “You think I hate her?”
“Do you?”
“Of course not. Why should I?” she replied indignantly.
“Then, you don’t,” I said.
“Don’t play games, Mitchell. You think I hate her,” she accused.
“I don’t know what to think, Lizzie. I’m trying to figure out why you would call Sarah a slut. If you’re going to call her a slut, why don’t you call Kathy a slut too?”
“What!!! Kathy is not a slut. She’s nothing like Sarah.”
“Really? Care to explain why?”
“Well... Kathy doesn’t sleep around.”
“Kathy has had quite a few boyfriends. What are we talking here, numbers?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“So, if Kathy breaks up with her boyfriend, and goes through several unsuccessful relationships trying to find the right guy, what are we going to do? Do we call her a slut, or do we raise the bar for Sarah?”
“Well...”
“You realize it’s an arbitrary and sliding scale. While we’re on the subject of numbers... who is going to decide how many men are too many men? Do I get to decide or do you get to decide?” I asked.
She didn’t have an answer. I waited patiently, and raised an eyebrow, challenging her, but she averted her eyes.
“Why doesn’t the woman get to decide?” I asked.
“So she could sleep with as many men as she likes?” she came back immediately.
“Why not? Women have as much sexual drive as men. Sexual fulfillment is an important aspect of our lives. Yes, you can get it with masturbation or mechanical aids. But, as a doctor and a woman you know that psychological and emotional fulfillment is as important as the physical part. What about companionship? Are you advocating single women should settle for second hand imitations and a lonely life?” I asked, trying to make a point.
“I didn’t say that,” she replied.
“I hope not. A guy sleeps with many women, and he’s called a stud. A woman does the same, and she’s a slut. We both know it’s a double-standard.”
“Yes, but a woman has to be discreet,” she came back.
“Discreet? Let me get this straight. You’re saying that a woman who doesn’t hide her affairs is a slut, and another who had more affairs but has been discreet, isn’t?”
“You’re distorting my words,” she replied, but there was no conviction in her voice.
When she stepped back, I went on the offensive, and was on a roll.
“Am I? There are a few differences between Kathy and Sarah, but they are alike in many aspects. They’re loving, generous, and treat people with respect. They like men, and they don’t hide that fact. Just because one of them had a few more relationships doesn’t make her a slut, and Sarah doesn’t sleep with everybody. Sarah makes choices, and I know for a fact she never made a move on another woman’s man. A slut is a loose woman who sleeps with anybody, and is indiscriminate. By definition Sarah is not a slut, and I have yet to hear a good argument from you to label her as one.”
She didn’t respond, and lowered her gaze.
“For your information, not everybody thinks she’s a slut. Since you don’t seem to have a good argument, I’m wondering why you call Sarah a slut.”
“I don’t have to explain myself,” she replied.
“No, you don’t. As I said before, I think we talked enough.”
“You said you wanted to explain things,” she tried.
“Yes, and I did. In fact, I did more than that if you remember. But, I don’t want to get into another confrontation or a fight. That’s not going to help anyone.”
“I’m not looking for a fight.”
“Lizzie, you just told me you don’t have to explain yourself. That’s fine. I’m exercising the same right.”
“I just want to know what you’re getting at. I told you I don’t hate Sarah.”
“Sarah is only a part of the equation. The issue is what you do and why you do it. You’re a doctor. You deal with patients and solve problems. This is not any different. You can find the answers without my help, unless you already have the answers.”
“What are you talking about?” she asked, confused.
“I’m talking about Saturday night. Why did you make advances?”
“I was being friendly.”
I was almost tempted to give her a piece of my mind. Taking a deep breath, I collected myself, and tried to soften my expression.
“Lizzie, please. Don’t play games. Trying to sit on my lap is a very intimate act, and we’ve never been close enough friends for you to be that intimate. You just told me that I avoided you. What’s more, you tried to be intimate with me knowing I was involved with Sarah. You know what couples do. They touch, hold hands, lean to each other, and cuddle. Those are signals to the world that advertise their status as a couple, their union, and to keep people from invading their space. You challenged our status as a couple. You didn’t respect my relationship with her. Neither did you respect my wishes when I expressed them. If you’re going to deny that’s what happened, go ahead. I’m not going to get into an argument, because it would be pointless. You want answers, then think about your actions.”
As she was listening to my words, she got an embarrassed flush on her face. Then her expression changed, and I knew her anger was flaring. I tried to project a “Don’t do that, Lizzie,” look. Somehow, she must have gotten it, because instead of a verbal attack, she said, “I’m not jealous of her.”
When I didn’t respond she insisted again.
“I’m not jealous of her.”
Not wanting to escalate things, I nodded. After a pause, I said, “I think we should get to the blood test.”
“Why are you trying to hurt me?” she asked.
“Lizzie, I’m not trying to hurt you. I told you before, I have no interest in hurting you, and if I had...” I said, taking a dramatic pause to make my point. “I told you before, in the past, I wasn’t interested in anybody. Now, I’m interested in only one person. So, I don’t see any reason why I should try to hurt you. Can you think of something?”
“You were angry with me, with what I did,” she responded, but it was almost an automatic response.
“Look, Lizzie. I didn’t want to get into an argument or another confrontation, and I suggested we should stop. You insisted on continuing the discussion. Can we please agree that we disagree on some things? Can we stop, now?”
She was going to respond, but thought better of it. Instead, she sat back, and looked down at her clipboard. I averted my eyes, inspecting the tray again. The silence stretched, weighing heavily on us, but I didn’t know what to do. To tell the truth, I didn’t want to do or say anything, scared of disturbing the delicate balance where everything seemed to hang. I felt her eyes on me, and turned to face her.
“You... you hurt me, Mitchell,” she said, softly.
I knew she was hurting, and I’ve contributed to it, but... I nodded, acknowledging what she said, trying to gain time to respond in some way.
“I know, Lizzie. I know that you’re hurting, and what I said must have hurt. I didn’t want to get into the argument we had, but... It seems we couldn’t avoid it. Can you accept that? Can we leave it at that?” I responded, after collecting myself.
“I–I... I’m not jealous of her,” she said.
“Maybe not, Lizzie,” I replied.
“You don’t believe that.”
“What I believe is not important. It’s not going to change how I feel about her, is it?”
“B–B... But—”
I cut her off by raising my hand, and said, “Lizzie, a while ago I was ready to tear into you, because you called Sarah a slut. I have a temper, and I don’t take kindly to attacks, especially to my loved ones. I’m also judgmental. When I don’t like something, I try to avoid it.”
“So, you dislike me. You told me you knew very little about me to like or dislike,” she retorted.
“Lizzie, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, and this conversation is not going to help neither of us. I told you before. You can find the answers to your questions, yourself.”
“You’ve already hurt me, Mitchell.”
“Did I? I guess I did. But, how did that come to happen? We never had any problems between us before. Do you know why you’re hurting? You’re hurting, because you know the truth, but find it difficult to accept it. The most difficult thing to do is to admit our own faults. I’m no different, Lizzie. I have my own faults. I don’t try to get to know people or allow them to get to know me. I can’t expect them to like me or love me. I know many people think I’m a cold, arrogant son of a bitch; rightly so. If I don’t make the effort, how can I expect people to like or love me? Those things are earned. I can keep on doing what I do and keep away from people, or I can make an effort to get involved with people. Over the last several years, I didn’t make any effort to get to know people, nor did I allow them to get to know me. It was a choice I made, and I have to accept the consequences. I can’t blame other people for not liking me or not loving me, without changing my ways.”
“What’s that got to do wi—”
I cut her off, and continued with, “I don’t know if you’re jealous or not. I don’t know what made you do what you did on Saturday night. You’re the only one who can say why you challenged my relationship or why you attacked me when I rejected your advances. That night, Macie didn’t even attempt to chat with me, even though she had been relentless in her pursuit in the past. Why would she suddenly give up, unless she recognized I was involved with another girl?”
She colored up when she heard the comparison to Macie, because she knew she couldn’t make a defensive argument. As she was busy trying to come up with a reply, I added, “I told you what I was like. I’m still like that. More than that, I’m judgmental. From what I’ve seen, I labeled you as a jealous woman, and wanted nothing to do with you. I never stopped to think if there was more to you. Do those things make me a better person? No, and we both know it. We all have our faults. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Am I really that bad?” she asked, hesitantly. She was making an effort, but it was clear she was having difficulty.
“Lizzie, nobody is bad or good. I told you I’m judgmental, and I’ve treated you unfairly because of that. I’m having difficulty because I’m still working on my issues. If I think you’re bad, does it make you bad? You have to know what the majority of people think about you, and how well they like you and for what reasons. I’m only one person, and told you about my own faults. So my opinions are very subjective. Why is it important what I think of you?”
“You know why,” she replied softly.
“You value my opinion?” I asked.
She nodded in the affirmative, her face flushed.
“Even after all that happened?”
She gave another nod.
“How can you? I told you what I’m like.”
“It doesn’t change the fact that you’re honest.”
When I raised an eyebrow, she continued, “Most people know. I know. What you did and said today...”
“I... I’m flattered, Lizzie. I don’t know what to say,” I stammered. She had really surprised me with her revelation.
“I think we’ve said it all,” she replied, her voice breaking up.
Quickly thinking, I said, “I think not, Lizzie. There’s one thing I forgot. I never apologized for my parting shot at the party. I do owe you an apology for it.”
She gave a strained smile and tried to say, “I was the one—”
But I cut of her quickly, “It’s not a question of who started what or why, Lizzie. It’s not right. Hurt and angry we all do things we’re not proud of. It happens, even though it’s not right, and I’m sorry for my part.”
“Thank you, Mitchell,” she replied with an emotional voice.
“I’m sorry, Lizzie. I wish I could take away the hurt, but I don’t know how,” I said, softly.
After a drawn out pause, she replied, “I’ll manage.”
“You socialize more than I do, and there are good people around you,” I offered.
“Yes, there are... Will you be...” she said, but didn’t finish what she wanted to ask.
“Will I be?”
“Will you be around?” she asked.
“I... I don’t socialize much, Lizzie. In the past few years, I attended parties to keep Kathy company, because I rarely get to see her, and she was trying to get me out to gatherings even though she knows I don’t like to. I’m still dealing with my own issues. I told you I have a temper, and I might hurt people at the slightest provocation, so I’m still keeping away from people, except a handful that I know. However, I’m not going to ignore or avoid you, if that’s what you’re asking. I’d like us to be friends, but I’m scared of hurting you due to a misunderstanding. I hope you understand what I mean.”
“I think I do,” she replied.
She was quiet and mulling something in her mind, and finally making up her mind she asked, “You really love her, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do,” I said, without hesitation, mostly for her benefit after all the things I’ve said, but... Well, I loved something in Sarah, and more than that, she had been a friend for a long time, and I liked and loved her as a friend. I didn’t know what else I felt for her, but that was besides the point, and it was non of Lizzie’s business.
She nodded with a resigned expression, then lowered her eyes onto the clipboard. After a while, she said, “You were right. She’s not a slut.”
Looking up, she continued, “You were right about a lot of things.”
Her eyes were moist, and somehow I could feel her hurt—in terms of pain—but I didn’t know what to do about it. I just hoped she would get over it.
“I might have been right about only one thing; that there’s more to you as is the case for most people. Don’t be too hard on yourself, Lizzie. It’s true for all of us. For some, I’m a no good prick, and for others I’m the all around good guy. Neither is true. Let people discover what’s in there,” I responded to encourage her, and keep her mind off her hurt.
“I... I don’t know how.”
“Try to give rather than ask. Try to put yourself in the shoes of other people, and try to see things from their point of view. Most people would respond to that; especially the ones that are generous and kind, and usually they are the best kind. As I said before, you have some good people around you.”
“You’re talking from your own experience?” she asked.
“Sort of,” I retorted with a small smile. “I told you how I was, how I am, and I’m still learning... from others.”
“Sarah?” she asked, curious.
“Not only her. I still have a few close friends.”
But mostly it’s Dana! There’s Kathy and Sarah of course...
She nodded. We sat in silence, and it wasn’t as uncomfortable as it could have been. Somehow we had a sort of an understanding.
She stood up, heading to the curtain. “I better get the nurse,” she said.
“For what?” I asked.
She stopped, and turned on her heels. “To take your blood. I’m a bit... nervous. I’m still hurting, and part of me is angry at you. I’m a doctor and I don’t want to hurt you,” she replied.
“You don’t really need to call the nurse. Do you, Lizzie?” I responded, trying to encourage her.
She hesitated, standing there. Then taking a deep breath, she gave a strained smile, and walked back to me. Putting the clipboard aside, she pulled her chair close to mine, and sat down. While I unbuttoned the sleeve of my shirt, and rolled it up, baring my arm, she got busy with the syringe, attaching a test tube, and the needle. Tying a rubber band on my upper arm, she slapped the spot where the main vein was located, and then wiped the spot with a swab. When the needle was over the vein, her hand was shaking, and I realized she was really nervous.
“Lizzie, if it would help you calm down, why don’t you slap me in the face,” I quipped, trying to bring some comic relief.
She gave a sharp look, before a hesitant smile broke out on her face. “You should have said that a while ago, and I would have taken you up on your offer,” she retorted.
“If that brings a smile to your face, I should add a punch to the offer, and maybe I’ll get a laugh,” I came back.
“Or you might get the punch. Your offer is becoming more attractive.” she responded, with a smile. “Now, hold still, and no more wise cracks. I want to do this right.”
She was being very careful with the needle, but a nervous tick in her hand at the last moment, and it hurt. It didn’t hurt badly, but I knew from past experience it would be sore for a day or two.
“I’m so—”
“It’s all right. Come on, just relax.”
She released the rubber band, and with her hand steadier, she looked at me, as the test tube attached to the syringe started to fill with blood. I gave her a reassuring smile, and she relaxed more, but she was still feeling guilty.
“Shit happens all the time. It’s just a needle. Didn’t hurt much,” I said.
“Maybe so, but it will leave a blue spot, and will be sore for a few days.”
“So? Big deal. Remember? I was asking for it... literally.”
As the test tube filled up, she replaced it with a new one.
“How many do you have to take?” I asked.
“Four.”
“That many! I thought you’d leave some in my body,” I quipped.
She was more collected, and came back with, “Paybacks are a bitch, aren’t they?”
“I wouldn’t know. Where are they?”
Smiling, she replied, “Thank you, Mitchell.”
After all the four tubes were filled, she carefully pulled the needle while pressing a cotton pad. She labeled the tubes, and stacked them in the small tray, then checked the needle mark on my arm. It was neat and clean with little bruising.
“It doesn’t look bad, but you might still have a sore arm,” she said, giving me an apologetic smile.
“It’s all right, Lizzie.”
We both stood up, and she collected the tray, saying, “I’d better run these to the lab.”
I wasn’t sure what happened next, because I was busy rolling down my sleeve and buttoning it, but there was a short scream and then the sound of metal crashing to the floor and glass breaking. I looked up in alarm. The metal tray was on the floor, the broken test tubes with blood spilled all over the place, and Lizzie stood still in the middle of the mess. Beyond the curtain, a few feet away, stood Sarah. We were all frozen to our respective spots.
* * * * *
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