Single Player: Humor, Love, Breast Cancer and a Gaming Girl... (21 page)

As soon as I get comfortable in my warm, brown, boxy space I try incredibly hard to calm my racing heartbeat and stop the many nightmare scenarios I’m creating in my overactive imagination. Nothing works though and I’m confident that a life ending disaster is upon me; a stroke, a heart attack, internal bleeding, a cancer flare up, an appendicitis rupture that will cause death, a bowel perforation, or a heinous gallbladder attack that will blow me open and undoubtedly lead me to an untimely yet certain death. 

“Ma’am. Ma’am? Can you hear me?” This question is repeated several times before I possess the muscular functions necessary to look around the safety of my enclosed box structure.

“Yes.” That’s all I have to offer without engaging my sensitive puke reflexes.

“I’d like to help you out of there and check to see if you’re okay? Can you climb out for me?” This gentleman, no… fireman, has lost his marbles. He’s going to have to go and fetch those handy Jaws of Life thing’s because sister aint’ goin’ nowhere! 

“Nope.” I feel the barf looming, just waiting for me to make the disastrous decision to move or perhaps say more than a single syllable word. The barf is heckling me. 

“Is there someone I can call for you that could get you out of there?” He’s a genius. YES!

“Ashton.”

“I’m going to need more than that ma’am. Can you give me a number?” I rattle it off before cocooning back into the safety of my box pavilion where I will wait for the help and comfort that only Ashton can give in times like these. I start counting softly, “one one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand…” 

Coming too, I feel something wet tickle my nose and immediately swat at it only to find nothing there. Disorientated I sit up and see I’m still surrounded by boxes, only now I have company. Ashton and Master Chief are both here to rescue me. 

“Are the fireman still out there?” Please say no, please say no. Was I asleep?

“Nope, all I had to do was explain to them that you were just released from Crazy-Town and that you’re having a difficult time re-assimilating back into normal society. Obviously they bought it and we agreed I’d bring you right back where you came from.” I use all my might and feebly smack him in his solid, trustworthy chest. 

“Hey! Not cool! I’ve come running to your rescue and you try and beat me up for it. Nah-ah.” Oh no, now he’s the one with crazy eyes.

“Ashton, wait. Whatever you’re about to do, don’t do it. I’m not well.” I’m only moments away from a straight jacket and that’s for real.

“You’re fine.” He picks up my hand, kisses it, and looks me in the eye. Instantly I’m struck with a fluttering in my belly that I’m unaccustomed to coming by way of Ashton’s touch. We sit and stare at each other for what feels like hours but can only be measured by seconds before he makes a calculated decision to do me dirty. From behind his back he pulls out a water gun. I say water gun but what I mean to say is some kind of diabolical Super Soaker that looks to be capable of taking down at least a dozen toddlers in less than twenty seconds.

“Ashton. Let’s be reasonable here. We’re at a store. You cannot shoot that in here. Put it away.” He’s not going to and we both know it. Maybe if I do what he wants he’ll be reasonable.

“Look, I’m getting up. See?” Without turning my back on him like some kind of idiot, I slide butt first out from the other side of the shelving unit and land unceremoniously onto the dusty concrete floor. He still has the shotgun trained on me.  Damnit.

“Please.” We hold eye contact for another couple seconds before he slowly lowers the gun, without ever once dropping his loving eyes from mine.

“Let’s get you home now. Come on, I’ll drive. Connor and I will come back later to get your car. That okay?” 

“Yes, to all of those things I say, yes.” Master and Ash stand on either side of me like a couple centurions and walk me out through the side doors, hoping to hide me from all my earlier gawkers. 

“Thanks for this Ashton, you too big guy.” Master lights up from the recognition he receives and huffs his approval of my compliment.

“We need to get you some help, Cee. I know you don’t want to talk about this right now but you have to see that things are getting worse.” I do. 

“Later, okay? I just want to go home and sleep. I’ll be able to think after I’ve had a nap, I promise.” Also, for some reason his hand on my lower back has me feeling really tingly in my nether regions and in turn I’m having a tremendous problem thinking straight.

As we walk out into the sunshine I see his 1967 Shelby Mustang parked diagonally in the side lot so that no one else has the opportunity to park within scratching distance of his brand new ebony paint job. He opens the passenger door for me and before I make the move to get in Master crawls across the front and through to the back to get comfortable in his usual spot.  Ashton takes the opportunity to turn me around to face him. He places his hands on either side of the open door frame trapping me where I can’t escape his worried eyes. 

“Please Cee. Get help. If not for you then for me?” Before I have the chance to deny him his reasonable request he does something he’s never done before, he kisses me. It’s gentle and full of pleading. A moment later  it’s as if he only ever blew a breath across my lips as his retreating kiss leave me feeling breathless and dazed.

Well hell.

The drive home is spent in silence. Not an awkward silence but a heavy one. It’s as if he’s declared some hidden secret to me and I’m terrified to ask where we go from here. I know that I’m incapable of giving him what he may want so I need to do the right thing by him and shut this down before his possible wants and my definite crazy come in between our friendship. I can live without the kissing but I cannot live without him.

We pull up to my place and I turn to, “You coming in?”

“No, you look like you need a nap and I’ve got a gig to go set up for.” He then looks down at his lap and adds with sincerity and gentleness, “Think about what I said okay? Just try. For me.  Just try…” I nod my head and give him a half, closed-lip smile before stepping out of the car with Master dutifully following behind. 

“Thanks for today. Talk soon okay.”

As he pulls away I wave a weak goodbye to my best friend and knight in rocking armor. As much as I love him I already know I won’t be thinking about going to therapy. I’ve already decided that nothing can help me, that this is my new norm and from here on out I have a feeling things will only get worse… little did I know how much worse.

***

Yesterday was pretty ridiculous. The good doc made me practice for today’s big outing by sitting in his car until I was completely at ease and bored to tears. To be fair, it was a great plan. The first few times I got in the car I had to throw my head between my knees to keep from passing out or barfing but, just like Chris predicted, by round five I started to possess the ability to sit up straight. By about the seventh try I could speak, and by the tenth and eleventh I was humming along to the radio’s top forty hits as they pumped out through his awesome system. Magic…

Now, here we are driving toward The Depot and, other than the cold-sweats and the hyperventilating thing I’ve got going on, I’d venture to say I’m doing… medium to medium well. Let’s hope that the store will be as easy, because unfortunately I didn’t have the luxury of practicing there yesterday. Hopefully Burt doesn’t work there anymore. He’d for sure remember the girl who hid in the boxes after looking at beautiful door finishing’s for half an hour. 

It’s not until the car slows to a stop ten minutes later that I realize I haven’t spoken a single word aloud the entire ride here. I look over at Chris and he’s smiling like a little boy on Christmas morning. He clearly lives for this shit! Fixing people is his
thang
! 

“Alright, I know you can do this. Just remember to keep breathing (I know this should be self explanatory, but honestly, with me it just isn’t) and don’t over analyze your feelings. If the tingling sensation starts, just stop, take some deep breaths - in through your nose and out through your mouth - and then remember, I’ll be right here beside you, patiently waiting, holding no judgment. Now… let’s do this.”

He comes around to my side of his immaculate Audi and helps me out, holding tightly onto my outstretched hand for support. His other hand comes to rest on my lower back, giving me the silent encouragement we both know I need in order to move forward. Neither of us speaks a word as we walk in unison towards the big black sliding doors that are now only seven or eight paces ahead. I see my reflection staring back at me in the tinted doors. If reflections could speak mine would be saying, “Sweet baby Jesus what are
you
doing here?”

“I can’t. Stop! Chris, I can’t.” I try to stop mid step but Chris never breaks from his strong and focused stride and continues walking while gently pulling my defiant body along beside him.

“We don’t say I can’t anymore, remember? You can and you will. You’re ready for this and I’m about to prove it to you. After today, when you’ve proven to yourself what you’re capable of, your life is going to change in a very big and very real way.” We’re still walking. “I know this, I can feel it. Now keep moving, St. May. We’ve got work to do.”  Oh, now he wants to go all tough guy drill sergeant on me, I see. Actually, if I’m being honest, it’s kind of sexy and my female bits have taken notice and follow along like the traitors they’re turning into. 

“Bully.” 

I don’t really mean that. I’m actually happy he’s pushing me as hard as he is because what I need right now is some good ol’ fashion tough love. My dad never let me hide from life. He used to say ‘when life gets tough, the tough get tougher’. He always told me that St. May’s were made of strong stuff and that even though I was sensitive, I always did what had to be done and furthermore, I never complained. That, he said, is what strong people do and I should always remember that about myself, when things get hard, I should always fight back harder. If he could see what I’d become he’d be beyond disappointed for sure.  Today, however, that all changes.

The giant reflective doors slide open and the cold air from inside whooshes through my long, dark locks as I take my first, tentative steps back through into the playground of my worst nightmare. In my mind, this moment is comparable to Neil Armstrong’s first steps on that big crater-blown planet in the sky, and the relevance is not lost on either Chris or I. This will be the day in my own personal history story that I’ll learn to conquer my fears and take one big step for all Cecilia’s kind.

Chris’s plan is a simple one. We start by walking along the outside aisles so I won’t feel trapped before moving to the taller, more enclosed, interior aisles. We’ve only been here for about twenty minutes and we’re both surprised and excited by my quick adjustment to store life so Chris decides to turn things up a notch and says it’s time we “go all in”. 

At this point, knowing my full back story he declares in his very doctorial, opiniony, way that the best place for us to go is… cue Freddy Krueger song (three, four better lock your door)… door finishing’s! If you guessed that I do not like his plan than you are the winner (of nothing). My breathing begins to accelerate as soon as he mentions it.

Moments later as we approach the dreadful row marked with the number eight high above (seven, eight better stay up late… OH MY GOD!), the skin on my chest begins to heat and sends the sensation charging up my neck, causing all sorts of splotchy patches to pop up in a clear outburst of my true inner feelings, which could only be described as… HORROR! As we turn onto the aisle I catch my reflection in a door kick-plate that’s hanging at eye level and I scream when it appears Freddy Krueger himself is staring back at me.

“HOLY HELL!” I shout at my reflection.

Chris spins around, shouts back an “AGH!” in response and then looks at me as concern steals across his eyes before he’s had the chance to conceal it. Clearly the hives that are marring all of my exposed skin are as wicked in their size and stature as I think they are. The rate at which my body has turned on me is pretty impressive. All it took was the walk from aisle one to aisle eight and suddenly I’m a freak of nature (five, six get your crucifix)! 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout at you and scare you like that. Those hives just weren’t there a second ago and now they are. Just… wow!” That’s helping so much, really.  Best… doctor… ever!

“What, you’ve never seen a case of leprosy before?”  Not a funny joke… got it. “Never mind the hives. ‘Hives happen’ is what my pops used to say back in the day.”  Pops? Back in the day? What the hell?  Has this trip turned me into an eighty-year-old? Now he’s looking at me like maybe we
should
rethink aisle eight.

“Do you want to do some more loops and see if those,” he says flipping his hand around in the direction of my face, “will go away? Or would you rather stay here?  Lady’s choice.” What a nice guy. I need to meet his girl and tell her to hold on tight to this one or to watch out, I may give her a run for her money (I’m funny.  I insinuated that I could run. Not unless Freddy himself is chasing after me). 

“I want to get better. Hives or not, I choose to stay. Come on man, let’s go look at some hardware (giggle).”

I did it, people! I shopped, I browsed, I touched hard finishing’s (sorry, I had to) and - get ready for this piece of crazy news - I SAW BURT! He was leery at first (clever man) - I’m sure all my exposed, hivey, leprosy had something to do with it - but soon enough he came around and was a great help just like before. It was as if nothing had ever happened.