009: Rafe

One little statement.

My heart felt static, slumping.

"I could have got here earlier." She'd said. The reason she hadn't been here earlier was me. I'd kept her occupied, goofing around in the garage. I'd demanded her attention when I knew she had things to attend to. I hadn't distinctly remembered any surgeries, but that didn't matter, someone's life may have possibly been started if not for me. 

I think I killed that baby.

My selfishness.

And to see her down there---- in action. She'd cut a woman open, she held three slippery infants, cut cords, and stitched and performed repairs, and known what to do. She'd been perfectly focused, and professional.

The Aubrey I knew was not this person. I didn't know this girl.

She wasn't my Aubrey.

I waited behind the closed doors I'd been directed to, holding my hand to cover my eyes.

My life was laid back--- my job was creative--- people waited on me--- people tried to please me, tried to inspire me, they wrote to me, and talked to me and introduced projects to me. But nothing I did even remotely resembled what went on in that room.

I leaned against the wall, one foot up, my head bent. She resented me. If not now, then she would when she realized I was the one who had made her late.

I ground my fingers into my eyes.

My life seemed frivolous compared to hers.

Music--- I made music, I played music. I entertained people. Freaking entertained them.

Compared to Aubrey who saved their lives. That woman was alive because of my wife.

Sure--- I was in awe of her. I was in shock at her skill, and her knowledge and the way she had directed others in saving people and trying to save those babies. I'd heard her voice ordering them all.

Someone was coming. I put my foot down and looked up. A nurse. I prayed she would just go on by.

It wasn't to be.

"Rafe Stryker?" She stopped beside me. "Aubrey is downstairs. She has a consult for about fifteen minutes and then she'll meet you in the cafeteria."

"Tell her to take her time." I said.

She pushed red hair off her neck and popped her lips, her keen blue eyes intent on mine. "Are you all right?"

I nodded quickly. I didn't want this competent person analyzing me. Not here, not now. I needed time to process what I'd just seen. And how I'd seen it.

"I'll show you where the cafeteria is." She indicated I should follow her. What I wanted was a few minutes to myself to get it together.

She looked back through red eyelashes with a sweet compassionate smile--- a smile I'd seen on my wife--- as her other life collided with mine.

*****

After lunch, Aubrey could have gone back to work. They wanted her to. There were people she could tend to. The guy named Rod, the dark-skinned, dark-eyed, big white smiley guy---he really wanted her to come back and work with him. 

I thought he might need a broken jaw.

I was introduced to so many people--- compassionate smiley people--- joking, laughing, competent, confident people who--- yeah--- saved lives and delivered healthy happy babies to their parents.

Nobody was old. Everybody was my age or younger. They all knew me. They all wanted autographs. I could barely sign, thinking that their autographs saved lives. Their hands--- their minds--- their creativity--- their skills----

Aubrey had changed into her street clothes and asked if I wanted to walk on the beach. I did. Very much. I needed to walk on the beach.

We left the weird non-hospital that was ABCSC. Comfortable, comforting, simple--- ample—elegant--- like a home or apartment building with a huge lobby and a huge actual doctor's office and hospital setting right behind those deceptive doors. This wasn't what I thought....

Aubrey had my hand and she smoothed the veins over the knuckles.

She was talking in her professional voice. Explaining things.

I couldn't hear her over the crashing litany going on inside my head. She's my wife. She's not my wife. She's my wife. She's not my wife.

How could I have ordered her around on stage? How could I have demanded she sing with me in front of people? How could I have--- with all my arrogance and audacity--- how could I have thought for one second I knew what was good for her? She knew far better than me what was good for her--- and me--- and everyone else.

She'd stopped speaking and was just walking along beside me as we left the grounds, headed out to the highway, side-stepping others coming from the beach just ahead. People on bikes and skateboards, segways and roller blades. My eyes behind my lenses squinted anyway.

"Rafe. You okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah."

"You seem preoccupied."

"A little."

"Should I be worried?"

"Worried about what?"

"Why you're preoccupied?"

"No."

She squeezed my hand. "Was it the video?"

"No--- I told you we'd just sit around throwing out ideas, trying to be funny, and talking with the producers--- I have TV this afternoon, and tomorrow."

She nodded. "Is it something I can come to?"

"Yes. Yes. I want you to come." I squeezed her hand back and turned to peck her on the cheek.

She'd turned to receive a deeper attachment. I pretended I hadn't seen her.

We walked onto the pier. The smell of fish assailed my nostrils. I saw the clouds out over the island of Catalina clearly. Girls on the pier were dressed in bikini tops and short shorts--- riding skateboards--- or showing off tans--- and boobs.

There were more boobs on the pier than I'd seen in a while.

And seagulls. I forced myself to look at the seagulls.

Aubrey was talking again, about the little baby who had been born dead. She explained about the condition--- he was eight weeks early--- they would be in the hospital for quite some time in incubators. She was sad.

I could barely choke out my sympathy. He might be alive if it wasn't for me. That mom might have----.

My wife---- Aubrey Mann--- was still talking. She was being her pragmatic, interested, luscious self. Yes--- luscious. Because she was all I could see in this insane glare. The ocean, the seagulls, the boobs----

Aubrey stopped at a snack bar, dug in her jeans pocket and bought water--- she opened it, still talking about--- something else now--- inviting Hannah and Abby to a campfire on the beach—with Lance and Darnel and the kids---- when? She handed me the water bottle after taking a long drink. Half the bottle in one gulp. I handed it back to her after just a sip. What I wanted right then--- sad to say--- was vodka--- on ice---

*******