Maggie May: Part 6

Cinematic Moment: Short Story Time: End

“You do know that the baby on the show will not be the real spawn of the two actors who play the fictional characters, right?” Patrick seemed genuinely concerned.

Now’s the time when we all chat about last night’s television shows. It’s not planned or anything, I’ve just noticed that every time we meet, at nearly the exact same point in the evening, someone feels the need to try to re-enact the hilarity of Alec Baldwin’s monologue on 30 Rock or the latest Madmen scandal. Don’t get me wrong. I have no problem with chatting. But it’s times like this that a teeny little part of me wonders why we are fighting so hard to stay alive when the best small talk we can come up with is everyone’s opinion on Danny Bonaduce’s testicles showing through his spandex Dancing with the Star's costume. Sometimes I think the only reason some people fight illness or poverty or get a Master’s degree, is to feel like they are part of a group and aren’t completely alone in their choices.

But then I remember I am one of those stragglers seeking out company and anything lighter than the darkness in my soul. A year ago, I wanted to die. My thoughts, as I had stood by the bathtub, a piece of shattered picture frame in hand, had been of the peace death must bring. Like a stone buried deep underground, neither heavy nor light, not hot, not cold or concerned or lied to. Just...there.

Unfortunately, when I woke up to bad news in that hospital, I realized that mortality looks a lot less comfortable when its imposed on non-negotiable terms. It was me against the world now, against Carter, against fate and most importantly against this very real disease pulsing through me. And I wasn’t alone. I had a vegan and a tea-drinker and this mystery woman in the brown turtleneck. They were like me. Stronger, perhaps, but not completely different. I wouldn’t show them the rotted wood frame of my soul because I was beginning to learn it was purely cosmetic. I’d forget about a cheating lover. My wrists would heal. My enemy now would not emerge victorious. My foundation was solid concrete.

As we said our good-byes that night, the woman, who’d introduced herself as Lila, gave me her business card in case I wanted to get together for dinner sometime. It sounded like a date. For a split second, the implications of having a relationship with a woman were irrelevant and I was purely excited. It was never too late to make a big life change and frankly, picking a new flavor of partner might be an excellent one in my case. I opened the door for her, leaving my coffee mug on the table to develop a new brown line, like a ring on the stump of a sequoia, showing its age.

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THE END

(*Note: Sorry about the length guys. It appears I didn't take into account the double spacing on Word would translate into half as many pages here on Blogger. Hope you enjoyed the story regardless. We will return to our regular programming after this week.)