Vital Signs

Part 13

Unexpectedly, Megan enters. She yawns. 

"What are you doing?"

"Can't sleep."

I slather mayonnaise onto a slice of bread. The bottom portion of the sandwich resides in a clearing among the clutter of papers. 

"How much mayonnaise are you using?"

"Don't be mad at me."

I rise from the chair and pull her into my arms.

"Did you just put mayonnaise on my back?" she asks.

I peel the slice of bread from the back of her robe, the mayo leaving a gooey adhesive imprint.

"Sorry."

She slips out of her robe and goes to the sink to clean off the mess.

"I don't want Jillian to think of me as the idiot who screwed up her life."

"She doesn't think that."

"You do."

She sighs.

"I didn't mean to let you down, Megs, but I can't do it anymore. I'm sorry. I just can't."

"Phil, we've been through this before. Nothing this..." She searches for the right word. "Extreme, but you've had some bad episodes."

I return to my seat and my sandwich. 

"While I was gone and away from the office, I started thinking back on it. I couldn't remember how this happened. How did I turn into this other person?"

"We all become different people. Well, most of us do. We grow up. Get married. Become parents."

"That's not what I mean. I turned into some guy that I barely recognize. As long as I was getting my paycheck and making my mortgage and car payments and all the other crap that pulls people into this mindless... I don't know what to call it, I put it out of my mind and went along with everybody else. It's not bad enough that I didn't do anything to stop it, I realized that I was... I was helping them."

"No, you weren't."

I gesture toward my notes on the tablet.

"But I have a chance. To fix it. Or at least try."

"Phil," she says. "You need to give yourself a break. You've gotten through some pretty bad episodes before and we'll do it again."

She puts her arms around me. There's no better therapy than a reassuring hug.

When I plant both elbows firmly on the table my expression sours. I slowly raise my arm to find lunch meat glued to my elbow.

                                                                                   #######

It's 9:12. I rinse my coffee mug in the sink when the doorbell rings. Megs is at work and Jillian is at school. The door isn't going to answer itself.

I cross through the living room toward the front window. I peek through the mini-blinds and am startled to find my ex-boss, Carl Dunning standing on my front porch slurping a Starbucks Venti.

I turn my eyes toward the mess on the dining room table, brimming with Trollamex paperwork. On my way to the front door, I check myself in the mirror in the foyer. Yikes! I see an image of a guy who's operating on only two hours of sleep. I smooth my wrinkled shirt, push the hair off my forehead, and open the front door.  

"Phil," says Carl with a big grin. "Thought I'd check in on your solutioneering."

"My what?"

"Your thought process."