"somewhere other than inside the out there." -- part forty.

i wasn't able to sleep on the plane, despite my lack of rem from the night before. i had no desire to sleep, for fear i might miss some thought coming in, urgent style from a boy under the knife.

new orleans fell over me again. the smell of ocean filtered inland. the humidity rippling over my skin. the tall palms hunching, sickly, over broken streets. the bums and hobos crouched by the railroad tracks, waiting. i stepped out of the airport and got into a cab rather more hurriedly than the city suggested.

everything moves more slowly in new orleans, and for once, i disagreed. for once, i wanted the pace to match my heartbeat.

i told the cabbie the address of the hospital, and i watched the streetnames become more familiar to me as i remembered my estranged route home from work.

he pulled up in front of the hospital, and i started to cry as i saw boy's mom and dad and stepmom standing in front of the entrance. the cabbie gave me a good deal, and i don't remember how much money i gave him.

sucking it all up, i took a deep breath and carried my hastily packed bag over to them. his mom said nothing, but she took my bag and kept it near her as his dad took my arm and led me away.

you've really got to understand his dad. and it's almost impossible, as i've tried many times. he's a man of brilliance, and i mean that with the true sense of, holy shit, this man will change the way you think. not only that, but brilliance is of upmost importance to him. he not only knew that his son was brilliant, but he knew how important it was that his son made that brilliance into something dire, something of consequence. and so that was exactly what boy set out to do from day one. his dad chain smoked constantly. it is only on par with brilliance, and if you have known many geniuses, you will understand. i haven't met an absolute genius who lacked some selfdestructive mechanism, usually encompassed by smoking or drinking or drugs or unhealthy relationships or something of that sort. his father was no different, and you knew it the moment you met him. sure, at times, it made him intimidating as all hell, especially to those of us originally and desperately trying to impress him. most of the time, you just wanted to sit back and listen. he was offensive and robust and gregarious and captivating, but with some bit of irony, he was not a man you could take in small doses. you had to know that boy got it from somewhere.

so when he took my arm, and he led me away from the small gathering, i was confused.

he briefly asked me about my flight, and i just shrugged or nodded.

he stood there, a mere foot from me, and he told me that it was more serious than we all had though. it was ... it was about as serious as it got.

sure, i had been crying on and off all morning, mostly nerves, mostly being alone all up in the air, mostly not knowing how else to spend my energy.

that moment, when words like cancer and radiation and tumor ... when words like that are connected so truthfully with that person, that one fucking person that means everything, that one salvation of a fucking person. those simple letters and syllables destroy you.

you see, i didn't have anyone else.

he was it.

remember before, when we were talking about love? i told you about that fat bloke on your front lawn. i told you about how he never left? at that moment, i was in a tiny service elevator, fighting gravity, with that elephant man.

his dad just took me in his arms, and he took my uncontrollable sobbing, and he took my fear and my anger, and he took my pounding fists, and he took whatever else my panic was unleashing.

and looking back on it, his son would have been so proud and so relieved that his father was there when i fell.

things moved very quickly after that. at the same time, if you've ever spent more than a day in the hospital you know that time crawls, heaving its heavy weight over your brain, when you're waiting.

that evening, in recovery, boy came out of surgery, and there was a bag of his personal items. his get up kids shirt, his wallet chain, his boots, my ring on a chain that he always wore around his neck. he came out of surgery, and his parents went back to see him. two at a time, the nurse said. and they were all business, very terse. i went back to see him, but the nurse, she said that we could all stay, and i thanked her politely.

it's hard to know about these things before it all happens, all at once.

i stood there, and in two seconds, i nearly puked, i nearly fainted, and i nearly ran. he was done up like an iv christmas tree with wires and lights. in my life, i have never seen something so breaking.

in my life, i have never prayed, not like i did that night. i cried like a child. i cried and i cried, and when i thought that my body couldn't make it, i cried more.

it seems redundant to keep telling you how i cried, how much i cried, and when i cried and for what reasons. but each time was like the first time.

he was laying there on that high hospital bed with that pale blue gown and his skinny stick legs sticking out from the thin sheet over him. and i thought to myself, how? fuck the why, i want to know how? how does something like this happen? how does your body just rebel? how do we fight?

i sat on a stool to the side, feeling light headed and insecure.

i worked in hospitals for over two years. i've seen patients upon patients in my time as a radiology assistant. but this was my boy, this was my saving grace with monitors attached.

i stepped outside, and some of his family was sitting in the waiting room. i went downstairs, and i smoked a cigarette, and i made "my calls." it was the only thing i could do. it was the only thing i had control over.

that night, i went home with his dad and his stepmom, and i slept in their guest bed. as i crawled under the crisp sheets, all i could think of was the first time we went to new orleans, and how we talked about better times, and how we were going to live such a better life, and how he promised me that things would get better ... soon.