was surprisingly
strong for how hard she’d just been crying only seconds earlier. She leaned on
Jack for support. I could sense another round of emotions coming for her so I
hugged them both quickly, and turned away to join the long line at security.
I had to force myself
not to look back at them. As much as I hated to see the hurt in their faces, it
wasn’t the worst thing I had come to know in the eyes of my family members.
Just below the surface of their heartache was a resolve that made my stomach
churn: disappointment.
Not only had I failed
Anna, I had failed all of them, too.
I ran now, along the
track near the lake. I focused on the rooftops while keeping my breathing in
check and thinking about Phoenix.
Those first few months
in Phoenix were the loneliest months of my life. Sure, I had been asked out on
dates, or drinks after work, but I had turned them all down. Once the guys
figured out I wasn’t the good time they’d hoped I’d be, I stopped
getting asked.
I took Stacie’s calls
more often than not, due to the fact that I knew she’d show up on my doorstep
if I didn’t. I kept our conversations brief, only skimming the surface when we
did talk. She had tried several different tactics to get me to “open up”, but
as I told her, I just didn’t know what she expected me to say.
I didn’t even know what
to say to myself.
My folks only received
a call from me at times when I was almost certain I could leave them a
voicemail update. Mostly though, I relied on email as our main form of
communication. It was safer that way. The latest sights and sounds of Phoenix
were a common theme in our email correspondence. Discussing local real estate
was a topic I was well versed in and quite comfortable with.
I had truly become an
expert in the art of deflection.
The first time I went
out for the sole purpose of socialization was about four months after moving to
Phoenix. Early one morning, after working the entire evening prior, I headed
out the back doors of the hospital. The tram was located just a block away and
was only a ten minute ride back to my apartment. I was desperately longing for
sleep.
As I walked through the
parking garage I heard a frustrated scream rip through the large cement tomb.
Due to my lack of sleep, my nerves caused me to jump. I turned instinctively in
the direction of the cry I’d heard. I spotted her then, slumped over her trunk.
As I neared, I could see her tire was flat. I could also see how tired she was.
The feeling was mutual.
“I can try and help you
put on a spare. I saw my brother-in-law do it a couple of times,” I had
offered, trying to sound much more enthusiastic than I actually was.
“No, I’ll call my
insurance and have someone come out. It will just be an hour or so wait. Hey,
you hungry, Green?” Dr. Bradley asked. Her face seemed to perk-up at the
thought of breakfast.
I wasn’t hungry for
food, but in that moment, I was hungry for conversation— real conversation. It was as if the months of living in my hole of social silence
had finally reached maximum capacity.
“Sure, where to?” I
asked.
“I know just the place;
it’s only half a block away. Let me call my insurance hotline and get this tire
thing going. Then we can walk there.”
Twenty minutes later we
were sitting at a local diner with a large order of flapjacks and coffee. We
talked about what it was like to move from Dallas to Phoenix, and the
differences in people, climate, weather, houses, and even food. We laughed
about the culture and how it compared to the high society back home. It
had felt good—really good, almost normal.
That had started an
almost once a week tradition at the pancake house on 5th Street. It was strange
at first to think about eating with a doctor of her position and caliber, but
neither of us spoke about it outside of those mornings. It soon became
familiar, routine, and even downright homey. She had become a friend ,
the only one I had outside of those that
strong for how hard she’d just been crying only seconds earlier. She leaned on
Jack for support. I could sense another round of emotions coming for her so I
hugged them both quickly, and turned away to join the long line at security.
I had to force myself
not to look back at them. As much as I hated to see the hurt in their faces, it
wasn’t the worst thing I had come to know in the eyes of my family members.
Just below the surface of their heartache was a resolve that made my stomach
churn: disappointment.
Not only had I failed
Anna, I had failed all of them, too.
I ran now, along the
track near the lake. I focused on the rooftops while keeping my breathing in
check and thinking about Phoenix.
Those first few months
in Phoenix were the loneliest months of my life. Sure, I had been asked out on
dates, or drinks after work, but I had turned them all down. Once the guys
figured out I wasn’t the good time they’d hoped I’d be, I stopped
getting asked.
I took Stacie’s calls
more often than not, due to the fact that I knew she’d show up on my doorstep
if I didn’t. I kept our conversations brief, only skimming the surface when we
did talk. She had tried several different tactics to get me to “open up”, but
as I told her, I just didn’t know what she expected me to say.
I didn’t even know what
to say to myself.
My folks only received
a call from me at times when I was almost certain I could leave them a
voicemail update. Mostly though, I relied on email as our main form of
communication. It was safer that way. The latest sights and sounds of Phoenix
were a common theme in our email correspondence. Discussing local real estate
was a topic I was well versed in and quite comfortable with.
I had truly become an
expert in the art of deflection.
The first time I went
out for the sole purpose of socialization was about four months after moving to
Phoenix. Early one morning, after working the entire evening prior, I headed
out the back doors of the hospital. The tram was located just a block away and
was only a ten minute ride back to my apartment. I was desperately longing for
sleep.
As I walked through the
parking garage I heard a frustrated scream rip through the large cement tomb.
Due to my lack of sleep, my nerves caused me to jump. I turned instinctively in
the direction of the cry I’d heard. I spotted her then, slumped over her trunk.
As I neared, I could see her tire was flat. I could also see how tired she was.
The feeling was mutual.
“I can try and help you
put on a spare. I saw my brother-in-law do it a couple of times,” I had
offered, trying to sound much more enthusiastic than I actually was.
“No, I’ll call my
insurance and have someone come out. It will just be an hour or so wait. Hey,
you hungry, Green?” Dr. Bradley asked. Her face seemed to perk-up at the
thought of breakfast.
I wasn’t hungry for
food, but in that moment, I was hungry for conversation— real conversation. It was as if the months of living in my hole of social silence
had finally reached maximum capacity.
“Sure, where to?” I
asked.
“I know just the place;
it’s only half a block away. Let me call my insurance hotline and get this tire
thing going. Then we can walk there.”
Twenty minutes later we
were sitting at a local diner with a large order of flapjacks and coffee. We
talked about what it was like to move from Dallas to Phoenix, and the
differences in people, climate, weather, houses, and even food. We laughed
about the culture and how it compared to the high society back home. It
had felt good—really good, almost normal.
That had started an
almost once a week tradition at the pancake house on 5th Street. It was strange
at first to think about eating with a doctor of her position and caliber, but
neither of us spoke about it outside of those mornings. It soon became
familiar, routine, and even downright homey. She had become a friend ,
the only one I had outside of those that
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