Page 80 of The Warmth of Our Closest Star

She laid her hand on my knee and patted it gently.

“So, why are you? In this church?” she asked.

I didn’t have an answer for that. I wrapped my arms around her and buried my face into her neck, inhaling deeply, hoping I would never forget her smell.

“I’ve tried talking to God, Mamie,” I said, a single tear sliding down my cheek. “He never answers.”

“Are you sure you’re listening?” she asked.

I didn’t want to answer that question.

“I’ve been good to the universe,” I said. “It doesn’t listen, either.”

We sat there, me holding her and trying to memorize her scent as her hand patted my knee. Finally, she spoke again.

“But are you being good to yourself?” she asked.

I had an answer for that, but the dream ended before I could share it with her.

Somehow, I was certain she already knew the answer.

When God Closes a Door,

Jump Out the Window

Source Language, Inc. had been my employer for almost three years before I had even considered taking a vacation. Mr. Barton’s policies made it so any vacation days simply compounded year after year until you hit the limit you were allowed to “bank.” Unless a person was getting close to their limit, no one bothered you about needing to use some of your available vacation days. Since it took nearly five years for a person to fill up their “bank,” no one had bothered me yet. They probably assumed I was saving up for a big vacation, anyway. Where would I have gone, though? Who would I travel with if I did go somewhere? Vacation was the furthest thing from my mind. My life was comprised of work, sleeping, eating, spending time with friends, and trying to figure out who Enzo was.

Like most things when you’re not thinking about them, an opportunity presents itself when you least expect it. In the case of my vacation time, an opportunity showed up out of the blue and laid out a destination I never would have expected. That’s how opportunity knocks—in a tune you’re not quite familiar with, yet compelling enough that you have to answer the door.

I’d finished work on a Monday afternoon and, per usual, I was about to place a video call to Alex. My daily informal therapy session with my best friend—whether he would admit to holding that position or not. However, before I could press the icon to place the call, his face appeared on the screen, a call from him incoming. Laughing at the coincidence—though, after-work calls were typical for us, so not that surprising, I supposed—I answered the call.

“I need you to come to Texas,” he said, not waiting for a greeting, nor giving one.

“Um, what?”

“I have someone I want you to meet,” he said. “So, we need for you to plan to come to Texas.”

Rolling my eyes, I said: “I’m not ready to date. Peter and I are still married—”

I’d brought up Peter, but didn’t realize it until I had said his name. Fortunately, Alex didn’t care. He interrupted me before I could continue.

“Well,” he said, “he’s a dude, but he doesn’t want to have sex with you. I don’t think. Honestly, I don’t know. You haven’t met him and I’m not certain if he likes other dudes. He’s married, but what does that mean anymore, you know?”

Ouch, I thought. I knew Alex meant nothing by the comment, but it struck me in the gut. What did marriage mean anymore?

“What?”

“I want you to meet a doctor friend of mine,” Alex said, his hand reaching off-screen, then returning full of popcorn, which he popped in his mouth before continuing. “He’s a neurologist.”

I simply stared at Alex.

“I was telling him about you,” Alex said. “He wants to talk to you. See your medical records.”

“Why?” I asked.

“The little evil unborn twin in your head,” Alex tapped his forehead. “He wants to know why all of your surgeries have been unsuccessful.”

Alex knowing my medical history from all of our talks over the last few years had been forgotten. Over time the things we share with friends become threads in a woven tapestry that is a friendship. You can’t possibly remember everything you’ve shared with each other, and no thread is more important than another. Each thread works to hold the entire tapestry together, so some are ignored or forgotten. With Alex mentioning my medical history and a neurologist, I realized how much I had actually shared with Alex about my life’s biggest mystery.