Read Wishing on a Blue Star Online
Authors: Kris Jacen
Jason’s good humor quickly evaporated. “Brian?” he questioned, as his body stiffened. He heard the stilted tone of his voice but couldn’t help it. The two of them had met Brian on the second night of their stay while strolling a portion of the three-mile Historical Pathway laid out around the city. Mark insisted on stopping and reading every display marker they passed, and when Jason had taken advantage of Mark’s distraction to use the restroom, Brian had walked up and introduced himself.
Brian had acknowledged Jason’s reappearance with a rueful smile, but continued to direct his attention and historical tidbits toward Mark. Turned out the two of them were both history teachers, and they eagerly compared classroom notes and teaching techniques while Jason, a transactional lawyer by trade, trailed along behind, his unhappiness increasing with every step.
“Didn’t I tell you?” Mark said, apparently oblivious to Jason’s change in mood. “He’s staying in our hotel. I ran across him when you were in the shower and I went to get us some bagels. He told me about the lighthouse and gave me directions.”
“Great.” Jason bit his lip to keep from saying any more and walked through the doorway. Worn wooden floors, stained with age, creaked under his step. The first room doubled as a gift shop. Shelves prominently displayed books and DVDs full of history of the Straits area and coffee mugs bearing images of the Mackinac Bridge were available in a variety of colors. To the left was a small counter, manned by a woman currently deep in discussion with an elderly man in plaid shorts and black dress socks who had to be the owner of the RV.
Happy to avoid any conversation, Jason quickly took the stairs to the next level. He peeked into the open rooms, frozen tableaus of how the lighthouse keepers and families lived their lives. Photographs were displayed on the walls of the corridor, detailing the construction of the lighthouse and scenic views. Mark poked along behind him, humming happily at each new discovery, and Jason’s shoulders tensed even as he told himself not to be such an ass.
At the back of the building, they paused outside the entrance to the round tower housing the powerful lamp. Grated steps of black metal wound to the top in an upward spiral. Jason grew dizzy just looking at the narrowing brickwork, and he rested his hand against the cool stone of the outer wall. The difference in temperature between the two parts of the building was immediately noticeable.
“We going up?” Mark leaned across Jason’s shoulder, looking past him.
“You go first.” Jason shifted to the side and let Mark pass. He stared at the sign posted on the wall beside the door, warning persons with heart conditions or fear of enclosed spaces not to enter. Reluctantly, he walked through the doorway. Mark had already disappeared from sight, the sound of his footsteps echoing overhead. Jason swallowed as he placed his foot on the lower step, his pulse hammering by the time he slowly made his way to the third. If only the steps were solid instead of being open and letting him see how far back down to Mother Earth he could fall.
Jason crept his way up to the fifth riser, gritting his teeth and fighting against his instinctive desire to squat low and hover close to the ground. He hated his vertigo. Despite his knowledge the stairway wasn’t moving, each step seemed to sway beneath his feet, and while Jason thought he might force himself to the top of the narrow tower, he didn’t know how he’d manage the return journey.
“You coming?” Mark’s voice floated down toward him.
“Maybe I’ll pass.” It took two tries for Jason to get his dry mouth to croak out the words, and he pressed himself close against the stone wall as he sat on the step. His fingers tightly gripped the metal in an effort to regain control. “You go ahead.”
“You sure?”
Jason squeezed his eyes shut and kept one hand on the wall as he bumped his butt down to the next step without answering. Thank God there was no one watching. Mark knew he had a fear of heights, but had never seen Jason in full, irrational action.
“I can’t believe how narrow this tower gets.”
Accompanied by Mark’s excited commentary, Jason slowly inched his way back to the bottom of the staircase and stood up. He tugged at the collar of his tight-fitting shirt. A side exit led to the outside, and Jason opened the door, grateful for the rush of fresh air.
“I’m going to look around,” Jason yelled up to Mark, and without waiting for a reply, he stepped out. The sun warmed his face, and Jason let the combination of light and air dissipate the unease he had felt in the tower.
A small, dirt path next to an abandoned doghouse led away from the grounds and down a wooded hill; without thinking, Jason started following it. The trail quickly grew steeper and more difficult, forcing him to grab at branches and brush to stay on his feet. He glanced behind himself. He could see the metal walkway around the top of the tower, the shape of the lantern in the middle visible through the glass, and just maybe that small figure was Mark, looking out toward him. Jason stumbled over a rock and reached out to catch himself.
“Wow,” he breathed. The path ended abruptly, brush giving way to an enormous expanse of water as land stopped and the Great Lake began. Jason picked his way across the coastline covered in layers of rock, surprised at the lack of sand. There were huge boulders closer to the edge and a few farther out in the lake. He listened to the rhythmic pulse of the surf, a steady heartbeat against the shore, and bent down to pick up a small chunk of limestone before taking a seat on one of the larger blocks, his heels dangling along the side.
Jason rubbed the stone between his fingers, fascinated by the smooth texture. He traced the spiral outline of some ancient creature, compressed and fossilized by the passage of time, before he coiled his arm back and threw the rock into the water with a loud splash. His seat gave him an uninterrupted view of the Mackinac Bridge, the suspension wires giving the steel structure a deceptively airy appearance.
At this distance, the top of the bridge’s twin towers were covered by a cloudy mist despite the unseasonable warmth of the day, and Jason remembered the movie chronicling the bridge’s construction he and Mark had viewed their first night in town. To their surprise, the entire upper level of the local pizza parlor had been converted into a museum commemorating the achievements of the ironworkers. Mementos of the era shared space alongside a gift shop and small theater. Jason sat fascinated in the dark, Mark’s hand in his, and watched as men battled the elements to conquer the Straits and build the bridge before him.
Given his fear of heights, Jason couldn’t imagine the courage the endeavor had taken. He wondered what those men would think of him, sitting here pouting like a child, jealous because he had to share his favorite toy. But Mark was more than a toy, and they weren’t children. Brian should have known better than to continue his pursuit, Mark shouldn’t have let his natural friendliness be misconstrued, and Jason was at fault for not speaking up once again. So, now what?
He understood the intricacies needed for titles of ownership and corporate battles. Relationships baffled him. Jason sat on his rock, the elemental force of the lake calming his jagged nerves. The water seemed alive, inhaling and exhaling in a constant, unceasing pattern, and the longer he watched, the more at peace Jason became. His silly fears and insecurities meant nothing to the great entity. It had existed for ages before him, and would go on long after.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?” Jason didn’t even start at the unexpected sound of Mark’s voice behind him.
“I’m not sure, but I know I should apologize for something.” Mark shrugged and took a seat beside Jason. “I saw you from the tower,” he said, when Jason continued to sit in silence. “Are we going to talk?”
Jason inched closer to Mark. He hadn’t realized how cool the breeze blowing in off the lake to shore really was. “I’m sorry too,” he said. He was happy Mark had made an effort to find him, but it was still easier staring out at the bridge than at Mark.
“For what?” Mark asked. He rested his palm on Jason’s thigh, warm even through the material of Jason’s shorts and squeezed the muscle gently.
“For not speaking up.” Jason reached for Mark’s hand and twined their fingers together. “For being so afraid of losing you that I stopped being honest about things when they matter.”
“We all do that.” Mark tightened his grasp and leaned closer into Jason’s side. “Somewhere along the line, it just gets easier not to.”
“Like how?” Jason asked, interested in Mark’s take on their situation.
“I should ask you to work less overtime instead of convincing myself you don’t want to come home. I shouldn’t have used Brian what’s-his-name in an attempt to make you jealous.”
Jason laughed. “It worked.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Jason finally let himself look at Mark, visually tracing the familiar smile and faint crinkles by the corners of his eyes. “I wanted to rip his spindly little head right off.”
“The view here is amazing,” Mark murmured. “We wouldn’t have found this without his suggestion. But he was never a threat to my feelings for you.”
“Remind me to thank him next time we don’t see him.” Jason poked Mark in the side. “You were right. We needed to get away.”
Mark smiled and relaxed against Jason’s shoulder, his arm wrapped tightly around Jason’s waist. “I’m glad you think so.”
“But for the record, this bicycling thing?” Jason shook his head. “I’m not so sure it’s me.”
“I keep telling you, just give it time.” Mark trailed his fingers down the inside of Jason’s elbow, gently stroking the soft skin.
“And my butt is numb from this rock.” Jason pointed out, determinedly ignoring Mark’s tender seduction.
“Our rock.”
“You think?” Jason shifted, distracted by the tingling from Mark’s light caress.
“Sure,” Mark mumbled, the words muffled against the soft skin of Jason’s neck. “When we forget what’s important again, we’ll come sit on this rock until our butts go numb.”
“I’m all for a return trip,” Jason said. “But I’d rather we didn’t let things get to this point again.”
Sun broke through the mists shrouding the top of the towers, highlighting the bridge against the clear blue sky. They sat cuddled together in unspoken agreement, and watched a catamaran with its rooster tail plume of water skim across the lake.
“That will be us, tomorrow.” Mark pointed to the tourists on the boat. “You know what makes Mackinac Island so unique?”
“No idea.” Jason said.
“Bicycles, horses, and carriages are the only transportation allowed.”
Jason groaned. “I knew there was a reason I wanted a hotel with a Jacuzzi.”
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
The first order of business after I’ve been out of touch for a while is to come here and give y’all an update on what went wrong. Yet, something the weekend doctor said sort of put it all in perspective for me.
Doc wasn’t on duty last weekend when I was admitted, and I got his “weekend warrior” replacement instead. By all accounts he’s good, and people like him a lot, but I admit my first impression of him the last time we met wasn’t all that great.
This time however, after a brief Q and A session to get him up to speed, he made that one cardinal mistake that makes me like these guys; he was honest.
“Well, it’s like this,” he says. “You’re broken, and we don’t know why which means we don’t know how to fix you, so we might as well make you feel better.”
For once, no translation is necessary. For the first time, someone other than Doc told me something straight out. And for the rest of the week, we worked on exactly that; making me not *feel* what-all was wrong by burying me in drugs. :)
By the end of the week, I had a cocktail, and a regimen to disburse it, that worked well enough to (gasp) eat.
Given that, it was time to bail, with assurances that insurance could be cajoled to approve the cocktail ingredients. (A list of drugs that’d let me start my own pharmacy.)
I got discharged just in time for Reality to assert itself.
Merinol: Denied.
Zofram: Denied.
MS Contin @ 100mg: Denied.
MS Contin @ 30mg: Approved.
Dilaudid @ 4mg: Approved.
WTF? Apparently those assurances weren’t such a sure thing after all. Laugh.
I sort of felt sorry for the lady that gave them to me. Apparently she was the only one surprised, the poor dear.
So, since I got out, I’ve spent the time rocking and reeling, and working with what I did get, trying to find a semblance of efficacy. (Which is why it took me so long to update this blog. I’ve not been 100% successful as yet.)
In the long run, it’s just as well because by all reports, I will lose the insurance sooner or later. (Refer back to that bizarre Disability thing a few weeks back) and when I do, all my medications will be out of pocket, unless we find some other program. There are some, at least. The trick will be to find one that applied to a drug that works, AND be accepted. Not exactly an impossibility, given I have a small army of folks looking into the situation from their various standpoints.
I may not have faith in the medical industry, but I have all kinds of faith in those few people who struggle against it from the inside. Between them, and me, and whatever sort of cosmic intervention that might apply, I may yet finally be able to see if the experimental drug works. I can’t take that until the stomach thing stabilizes, and between you, me, and the fencepost, there seems to be improvement on that score.
Fingers crossed!
Patric
Thursday, May 20, 2010
You may recall that Papa, aka chauffeur, aka caregiver, aka awesome guy was diagnosed with esophageal cancer last week. The day before yesterday he went in to have his esophagus scraped.