Seize the Day (25 page)

“I'm fine. I ended up calling my friend from home, Jerry, and meeting him at a day party.”

“You went to a day party?”

“I did. And I met a woman, too, thank you very much.”

“Well, that's good to hear. I hope you're not doing too much, though.”

“I can't do enough, Maya.”

“I figured you say something like that. And I agree with you.”

I knew there would be a “but” coming. “You do?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said, “but there is such a thing as too much—for all of us.”

“You'd rather I sit in my room with a sweater and socks on and watch old movies?”

“Once in a while, that's OK. All the stuff that has happened—Mr. Walter dying, the bus thing, finding a dog, driving to Atlanta—”

I jumped in.

“You don't even know about the battered woman I tried to protect whose boyfriend pulled a gun on us.”

“What? When? And who's us? I know you're not including the dog.”

“Last night—or, actually early this morning. I walked Moses and out of the blue this woman looks beaten and pops up out of nowhere—kinda like Moses did, actually—and pleaded for us to protect her. So I took her to my room and—”

“You what? You took a stranger to your room?”

“I know I taught you a long time ago to never talk to strangers, but this was different.”

“That's not funny, Dad.”

“You would not be proud of me if I told you I just abandoned the woman. I thought of you, actually. That, God forbid, you were in that situation and no one helped you.”

“So what happened?”

“We get to the room and Kathy—”

“Wait, Kathy?”

“Yes, my old friend Kathy.”

“How did she get there?”

“She lives in Charlotte and we connected after the bus thing.”

“And she was in your room early this morning.”

“Not that I have to explain anything to you, but yes, she spent the night. Now can I finish the story?”

Maya did not respond, so I went on.

“So her boyfriend comes banging on the door—some blonde dude who was obviously drunk.”

“I'm sorry—this was a white woman?”

“Yes, Maya. Now don't interrupt me again, please… Kathy says she's calling the police and to not open the door. But I did anyway. So he storms in and has his gun in his hand. We go back and forth and he points the gun at my head.”

“Daddy!”

“I wasn't even scared. I was calm. He pulled out his badge—he was a cop. Can you believe that? I dared him to shoot me. He finally just left. And Kathy screamed at the woman on their way out. It was crazy.”

“Oh, my God. And then you drove to Atlanta with your dog and then went out to a day party and met another woman? And you don't think that's doing too much.”

“Well, I'm in the bed now, so all is good and I'm going to rest tonight and tomorrow. Well, maybe tomorrow.”

“Dad, I fly in tomorrow night. I land around seven.”

“OK, I'll pick you up from the airport. Just text me the flight details. But I've got to go. I'm tired.”

I was tired, and my stomach had begun to hurt and I didn't want Maya to know.

“I was going to tell you something.”

“Tell me in person tomorrow. That's better,” I said.

“OK, I guess it can wait. But Daddy, please get some rest. I love you. I love you so much.”

“Yes and I love you even more, baby. Good night.”

I made sure to end the call before I dropped the phone on the bed and grabbed my stomach. The pain was increasing by the second, and I had no idea how to stop it. I grabbed a pain pill from the bottle on the nightstand and in my rush to take it, fumbled it onto the floor. I grabbed another and took it—no water. Just swallowed the damned thing. Then I fell to my knees to pick up the one on the floor—I didn't want Moses to get it.

How I could think of him as the pain tore through my stomach, I had no idea. But I did not want anything to happen to him.

Meanwhile, I dropped the pill into the trashcan and tried to get back into the bed. I couldn't. My stomach was so knotted up and the pain so intense that I was powerless. I just rolled onto the floor and curled up, praying that the pain would go away.

It was so intense that my vision was blurry. It was torture. I opened my eyes to see Moses standing over me. He looked panicked. He walked away from me and then toward me, as if he were pacing. He barked at me.

The pain continued and I finally felt myself losing consciousness and that scared me. I didn't want to slip into a coma. I knew I was dying but I wasn't ready to die. I had reasons to live.

But the pain was winning, and I couldn't do anything about it. I apparently passed out, like before, only this time I woke up to Moses licking my face and bouncing his little body on me, as if he were trying to shove me to wake up. And he barked nonstop. He was trying to save me.

I still could not move much, from the pain, but I was awake.

“It's OK, buddy,” I managed to get out, trying to calm him. “It's OK.”

But for another few minutes, I was in too much pain to say anything beyond a moan or grunt. Moses' barking distracted me a little. And when the pain finally began to ease, Moses stopped. He could see my body uncoil and the agony on my face diminish. All that expressed relief. But I was too spent to get up.

“Moses,” I said in a low, exhausted voice, “I'm good. It's OK. It's OK.” He wagged his tail.

I relaxed there for another five minutes looking into the eyes of my dog. He stared back. Was he studying me? Was he gauging how bad I was feeling? Did he know how scared I was, how close to death I felt?

The other episodes scared me, but this one terrified me because I began thinking I was somehow getting better. Well, maybe not getting better, but that I would make it to my first session with the holistic lady and her enemas would get out all the bad stuff that was causing so much pain.

It also scared me because if an attack happened while I was in public, it would not be pretty. I knew then I was not leaving the room on Sunday until I went to pick up Maya from the airport. The attacks lasted several minutes, but the mental damage lasted a few days. I was suffocating in fear that it would happen again. That's why I ate so little. It wasn't because I didn't have an appetite—well, I
did
lose my appetite in the beginning, when I first learned of cancer. But after I pulled myself up and began dealing with it, I was afraid to eat more than enough to prevent drastic weight loss.

As I pulled myself off the floor and onto the bed, still holding my stomach, I wished I could see the holistic woman at that moment. The aftermath of the pain was bad, too, and I held my stomach for probably an hour. Moses looked at me with sorrowful eyes, as if he wanted to help but was helpless.

“Thank you, buddy. I know you care. I'm glad you're here. It's going to be OK.”

I wanted to wash my face from him licking me, but I decided to just stay still until my stomach stopped constricting and the pain had totally gone.

I was exhausted and was easy for me to drift off into a deep sleep.

When I woke up, it was almost three in the morning. If I dreamed, I didn't remember. I was in a coma-like sleep, and it felt so good, the kind of sleep that makes you wish you didn't wake up when you did. I was stunned to see Moses staring at me.

“Have you been just sitting here all this time, man? Were you watching over me? You're such a good dog. Let's go out for a walk.”

I felt significantly better. But I was still paranoid about another attack. Moses and I took a walk so he could relieve himself and then we took a trek along Piedmont Avenue. It was the end of a party night for many; people were leaving the Havana Club when we passed it. Several cute women gave Moses lots of attention.

“Oh, he's so cute. He's adorable. What's his name?”

“Moses. He's going to be a leader.”

I had no idea women loved dogs so much. Had I been thinking, I would have gotten one long ago if it was going to attract attention like that. I was not above using Moses if I had to. Just saying…

At that point, there was no need to attract women, although it felt great to talk to Venus and feel at least the early part of a connection to her. She was lovely—in spirit and appearance. That's what always worked for me.

Over the years teaching, I had fellow teachers from Ballou and other schools show interest and a lot of parents. And even a student once. But I would never do the unethical thing and date a parent of a student I taught, but also would never date someone just because people considered her physically attractive. That would be shallow. And maybe I was shallow about some things—where I lived, what clothes I wore, what car I drove—I was not shallow when it came to women. I needed depth. Maybe that was a reason I didn't have one that meant so much to me.

That's part of the reason Kathy stayed with me over all the years. We had a connection that was unique for me. She kept telling me, “Live your life. You're still here, aren't you? Well, that's reason to live. You have more reasons than most people to live your life without regret.”

I thought about Kathy and Venus on our walk back down Piedmont to the hotel. And a smile creased my face, something I was doing more and more as I began to accept my circumstances.

My thoughts of women were interrupted when we came across a homeless man, who was walking aimlessly. Moses caught his attention, too.

“That's a Labrador Retriever,” he said.

“How do you know that?”

“I had one once,” he said.

“What happened to it?”

“Lost it. He was there one minute. I turned my head and he was gone. Never saw him again.”

“Ah, man. That's rough. Where you going?”

“Not sure. Just walking. When I walk, I can think. Ever try it?”

“Yes, right now, in fact. But I usually don't walk this late at night. I just needed to stretch my legs as I walked Moses. Why do you walk so late?”

“Why not? I have no place to be. So I walk. When I get tired or sleepy, I find someplace to sleep.”

“How do you do that? I don't mean any harm. I don't. But since we're talking, I just had to ask.”

“You don't have enough time for me to tell you my story.”

“I don't have anywhere to be.” I had
always
wanted to get into the head of a homeless person, to find out what happened that would force him to the streets.

“I can't tell you the whole story. How old do you think I am?”

“I'm not good at that.” I looked him over. He was a little taller than me, but his ragged clothes and deep wrinkles around his eyes, which seemed to be set back into his head, told of a troubled life. His shoulders were hunched and his head angled down. “You're young. Maybe fifty-five.”

“You're right—you're not good at guessing. I'm forty-five.”

“Oh, wow. We're the same age.”

“You look a little younger than me. It's the bald head.”

“So, tell me your story.”

“I can't tell you the whole story. You haven't earned the whole story.”

“Trust me, I'm going to help you out as much as I can.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Whatever you want to tell me.”

“I've been out here for four years and three months. Tried to get off the streets a year ago, but it didn't feel right. I didn't deserve it.”

“Why? What happened?”

“I killed someone. A little boy.”

I took a step back. I thought:
Did he just say he murdered a child?

“You what?”

“I was driving. I wasn't drinking that time. The one time I wasn't drinking. It was raining. I was tired. And I didn't take my meds. The boy just appeared in front of me. I thought I was dreaming. I heard the noise. But when I didn't take my meds, I sometimes would see things, hear things, you know?”

“What kind of meds?”

“Aripiarazole. Paliperidone. Reisperidone. Duloxetine.”

I shook my head. After Walter killed himself, I was so curious that I felt compelled to learn as much as I could about being bipolar, including treatment and medication. I read about all those meds. They were antipsychotic drugs.

“What happened?”

“About five minutes later, the cops pulled me over. I had no idea what they were talking about. I saw a boy, I think, but couldn't tell. I saw birds, too. Saw my mother, who was dead.

“They took me back to the scene. The boy was dead. Blood was everywhere. And I haven't been the same since then. I haven't felt right.”

“Man, I'm sorry.”

His voice was lower and sad.

“I don't feel like I deserve to live but I don't want to die. So I just live like I'm dead on the streets.”

“Won't the medication make you feel better?”

“Maybe. But I don't want to take it. I don't want to feel better. If I feel better, I remember what happened too much. If I don't remember or focus on it, I'm OK…right here on the streets.”

“I hear you. Have you ever gotten therapy?”

“I had to get some—they found me not guilty because of insanity and the boy was not at a crosswalk. They gave me meds. And I had to speak to a therapist for two years.”

“It didn't help?”

“For a while. I didn't like the way the meds made me feel. And then I lost my dog. Padre was the only thing that seemed right for me. I had him for two years and then he was gone. That set me back, you know?”

Because he was bipolar, I didn't know what to believe. He talked like he had sense, but he looked like a homeless person.

“To be honest with you, I'm walking tonight just to find a place to die—like every day.”

Before learning I had cancer, I probably would never have a conversation with a homeless person. I probably would have continued to act like they don't exist. But I felt we were meant to connect.