I've dealt with disappointment my whole life and then some, this was a shade darker. My work; having previously fulfilled the majority of my needs, appeared to be without point or value. Sensing something in me had shifted since my trip to the basement, Brahm continued to rely on me less and less, an act of detachment which decreased my self-worth even further. Even David's progress failed to capture my interest; I imagine it showed on the next occasion we met.
'How did the procedure go?'
'Ok. Not as terrifying as the first time round, shame you couldn't hold my hand again, it'd have been more fun with a friend.'
The F word ricocheted about my mind, a blur of high speed emotional pinball. Having never experienced anyone refer to me as a friend during my adult life, I had no point of reference. Did he expect a reaction? Ill equipped, I steered the conversation back to business.
'Is that so? Well; I apologise, I had an initial screening with a new client and then a delivery to attend to for Lars.'
'I can see you're keen as mustard to hear how it went, so in spite of your grumpy tone, I'll oblige. Whipped out the first chip and reinstalled a new one. Noticed a weird mottling on the coating of the chip he removed, like an old brass that needed rubbing up.'
'And you're happy with everything?'
'Tickety boo. What's up Doc?'
I felt as relaxed with David as I could ever hope to be with another human being. In the early days of our acquaintance, I'd been driven to the health club, using the mirrors to validate my worthiness; seeking reassurance that he would have no reason to be disappointed with the flawed package that makes up this mess of me. I try to picture his reaction, the emotions that would cross his face if I showed him the secret pathways beneath my clothes, the tapestry of self harm I've created.
During a rare, much calmer moment, I'd sought reassurance through research; specifically the history of humans carving openings into their bodies. Bloodletting had been commonplace; a method of casting out infection, information which led to my sigh of relief. I interpreted it as an approval of sorts, a nod to a behaviour I had embraced but hidden, for many years.
I wound my way back to ancient times, to a procedure carried out on those displaying a behaviour that was considered by their superiors, to be abnormal. Healers of the day rejoiced in this method which promised to release the evil spirits lurking inside those possessed. I shudder; realise that only the hands of time have saved me, the proximity of this near miss is terrifying. Had I being readily available centuries ago, they would have surely made merry with both my foibles and my cranium.
The discovery of trepanning was a revelation. Much more invasive than any methods I'd employed; barbaric, yet totally logical. The recipient one must assume, had complained of headaches or pain in the skull. Doctors of the day knew enough to diagnose such pains as tension related; the remedy offered seemed an obvious choice, intervention via inter cranial release. Their prescribed approach was simple; using a surgical tool known as a trephine, they cut a circular hole in the patient's skull in order to relieve pressure.
As recently as 1965 a prominent advocate of trepanning drilled a hole in his own head to increase his 'brain blood volume'. He used a dentist drill; a true mad scientist horror story, details I found rather sickening, a little too close for comfort.
I wondered if his method had been exploratory; due diligence all in the name of science or if like me, his demons were so fearsome, they drove him to destruction. Most would shrink at the thought of implementing such horror in order to bring about relief. I've stood on the other side of that glass looking in and I believe it to be entirely comprehensible. I can barely cope with my stallion; a herd would undoubtedly put an end to my life, a prospect which on some days brings me immense relief.
When I read about the evidence of bone regrowth, I'm blown away. Not terribly exciting in the modern day, but in Neolithic times, proof of life; evidence the patient survived the procedure. Registering the growth of this new bony tissue cemented their success. Trepanation morphed into lobotomy, a far more primitive procedure; a method employing spikes, using the eye socket rather than the skull as a point of entry. My research concludes with Craniotomy; the most modern term with a noted difference, the surgeon now replaces the removed part of the skull.
This pleases me; tidying up after one's self if you will.
Whilst the average bear may feel unease about what I am forced to do to myself in order to survive a few more ticks off the clock, I find my justification; that creating openings in my body to relieve pressure holds a legitimate place in history.
Expulsion from my body is the only effective method I have found thus far; believe me when I say I've tried a thousand different ways. Some days it's all about coping, just putting one foot in front of the other to get through the next sixty seconds. I live through extremes where a calm middle channel is a rarity. I'm buffeted between two emotional shore lines; one tosses me high, whilst the other drags me under.
When I'm high, I'm so lifted by the recognition that my feelings matter to another human. The next day or even hour can be so different. I hit the shore where the tide is too strong; it drags me under. I'm unable to gain any leverage on getting up to the surface. I tire and it crosses my mind it would be far easier to surrender to the black watery depths. I hear myself begging the stallion to consume me; to put an end to it all.
Fractured pieces come together; the sum of parts that make us whole. The accumulation of scraps from my past make me a jigsaw of multiple pieces that don't slot into place accurately. There must be others like me with missing parts, those who'll never be able to complete their picture. The broken puzzle I am, responds so positively to David's visits; exchanges so insignificant to observers, have become the highlight of my day. I'm comfortable around his easy manner, the way nothing ground breaking happens during our time together. Just allowing myself to be is a challenge, letting go of expectations that there must be a point to everything I do, a goal to achieve, a task to complete. I know from our conversations that he has a wide circle of acquaintances, so I also know that unlike me, he is never short of human interaction. Yet he chooses to spend some of his time with me and that turns my insides into marshmallows, toasted and gooey from the heat of his kindness.
Except today. Things have changed and I'm unable to see the sun no matter how hard I look. I may have spent my entire existence searching for something in the wrong place.
'Have you ever drunk coffee?'
'No.'
'Health conscious, not a bad thing. Requires too much self-discipline for my liking. You'll be thrilled to know my headaches have been rectified.'
'Eliminated?'
'Hope so; they were brutal. Only so long you can walk around with a vice squeezing around your skull. So, I have more news.'
'I've never met anyone with as much to report. It's quite exhausting.'
'So, ask the question.'
'The question?'
'Yes, the question. Come on, play the game grumpy. Every time I tell you I have news you say...'
'Oh, that question. I'm really not in the mood for this today David.'
'Tunnel not lighting up?'
'I beg your pardon?'
'Your tunnel; if there's no light at the end of it, stride down there and light the bloody thing yourself.'
'Why has it not occured to me how draining you can be before now?'
'Come on Evangeline, ask the question.'
'For goodness sake; have you told your wife about us?'
'Finally, and yes, yes I have!'
'Really?'
'Yep, should have done it ages ago so I guess you can say you were right.'
'Small victory, I'll take that. What did she say?'
'Thoughts were varied, and intense. Not the reaction I was looking for.'
'How so?'
'Not in a bad way. More a weird way; she seemed to be in awe of what I'm doing, of this place.'
'That sounds really positive David. I'm glad she can support you through your programme, it's an amazing thing you're undertaking. The changes will affect her too in the long run.'
'That's kinda what I'm worried about. The level of detail she wanted was insane. Asked me everything about what you guys do here and the cost. Went on to tell me some pretty hard core stuff about how she views herself, what she would change.'
'You know what they say; be the change you want to see. She's probably relieved to understand why she feels like she's been living with a new man.'
'It's more than that. Told me a bunch of things I wasn't exactly comfortable with.'
'Such as?'
'She's not happy with so much of her body. The same body she beasts day in and day out; she's like a fighting machine. Couldn't put my finger on one thing I'd improve about her.'
'What is it she hopes to change?'
'More like if she'd want anything to stay the same. Bigger boobs, detests what the training has done to parts of her. Empty piping bags she called them, which let me tell you, has done nothing for our relationship.'
'They'll change with the pregnancy, in a positive way.'
'That's half the problem. She's getting comfortable with this fuller figure, already stressing about what's gonna happen when they go back to normal. A friend told her breastfeeding steamrollered her boobs; looks like that's off the menu now for the poor kid. Honestly, it's like she's possessed, the things she trotted out.'
'Perhaps for the same reasons you hid the binging?'
'That's different. I'm a guy. Women are expected to stress over how they look. Oh come on, don't look at me like that. It's not very PC but there you have it, it's natural for women to want to look hot. A guy stuffing his face then hating on himself; nah, it's not right. Besides she's perfect. Not just because she's my wife, she's like a magnet, draws attention for her looks. Women and men linger so they can drink her in. I'd go as far as to say other women want to look just like her. And she wants to mess with it all, change everything.'
'What bothers you most about her interest? Is it the changes she wants to effect, or that this has been your thing?'
'Shoot straight from the hip why don't you.'
'As you said, we're friends.'
'I don't know exactly, it just bothers me.'
'Ok, as a friend, let me help you out with clarifying your wife's expectations against what we do here. I don't think you've got anything to worry about; on the strength of what you're reporting, it's not the right match to begin with. The points you've raised centre around aesthetic issues, essentially cosmetic enhancement. Would you agree that's a fair reflection of your wife's comments?'
'There, or there abouts.'
'That's why we would be the wrong fit, we don't do bog standard cosmetic surgery. Our programmes centre on cell refreshment and regeneration. Our concept is an internal one; we look at changing people's lives on a cellular level, from the inside. We are unable to spot enhance or reduce. Any physical improvements come from the cells themselves and the work we have applied directly to them. Clients, just like you, will experience age associated improvements rather than clinical enhancements. Is this making sense?'
'Totally. Hard to figure out how serious she was; I'm not dismissing what was said, I wonder how much is related to the morning sickness and the hormones. I get the feeling she's starting to resent what the baby is doing to this temple she's honed for so long. She's finding the reduction in her training schedule hard to swallow. Ironic, given that she only took to torching calories to escape our inability to conceive.'
'The creation of human life, whilst utterly remarkable does odd things to a women's mind and body. One day you're up, the next down. You have no idea what your body is going to throw at you, relinquishing all your control to this higher power. You can read all the books and listen to all the podcasts you like; nothing prepares you for the journey.'
'Did you feel like this when you had your baby? A little girl wasn't it?'
I roll a few sentences around in my head, crash test dummies. I could tell you stories that would make your hair fall out David, follicles you can ill afford to lose. Given the information you've just shared regarding the state of your wife's mental health in her first trimester, you should steer your happy little family bus around this sink hole. Or rather than cautionary, I could opt for anecdotal. Something like Hey David; so, I must tell you this hilarious story about how I tried to throw myself down a flight of stairs when I was seven months pregnant. If your supermodel wife thinks she has problems with her size now, holy moly you should have seen me. I was elephantic; straining, lumbering, loathsome.
I do beg your pardon, what was that? Is that the reason I tried to kill myself and terminate? Oh gosh no, that was a minor irritant compared to the terrors. They came at night you see, brought on by my fear that I would be an abomination of a mother. Paralysis without warning. There was this one occasion, as I was about to launch myself down the multi storey from flight eight. It was the oddest thing; my mind had already accelerated to the bottom, hurtled past streaks of graffiti, I remember being surprised by the amount of detail I registered as I tumbled. The acrid smell of ammonia replaced by something stronger, a metallic scent I recognised as my own blood. Ear drums filled with the dry snap of my bones smacking the concrete, the sensation of being in a tumble drier on repeat.
Then the silence, filling my ears after the fall. Such a powerful scene, yet in reality my mass had totally let me down; I'd frozen, limbs on strike. I was so sure I'd let go of that sticky metal hand rail and plummeted. Shortly after the dreams began; dead foetus's suspended in transparent sacs of amniotic fluid, umbilical cords still attached, little space men outside their craft.
Always boys.
Images so vivid, I'd snap awake to find them still before me. I reached out to them on several occasions, genuinely bewildered by the feel of the air against my fingertips.
My ragged breathing never seemed to affect Martin's ability to sleep, in a way I was glad. What purpose would be served by him clambering on board my rattler full of ghosts every night? The thought that they'd stop after birth was my singular reason to rise each morning, in reality they became worse. Their frequency increased; the foetuses had taken off, replaced with people I knew, or had known in a past life. Always misshapen; grotesque body parts, dangling, dancing. Circus curiosities, medical mistakes.
That most impatient of mistresses time, has stolen parts of me, much I gave willing away. David and the glamour puss still have time, he's a good person and I wish all to be well for him.
'Every pregnancy is different, David, circumstances will change, so often they're not as they appear to be.'
His sideways glance suggested he wasn't entirely fulfilled by my response. At least I'd fired up his thinking.
'Took my wife's nephew to football one Saturday. Not something we'd usually get involved in; her sister wasn't well. Anyhow, I turn up with all the other dads, bunch of regular run of the mill guys, you know. There's this one guy, big unit, heard him before I saw him. Pushing through everyone carrying this folding chair giving it 'excuse me' loud as you like. Makes this huge song and dance about clearing a space for this chair, moving kitbags and everything.'
'Brits abroad.'
'More a dog marking his territory. Half expected him to cock his leg once he'd set out his little area. The rest of us are stood by the side of this pitch; I'll level with you, I thought he was a total knob. Even shared a few raised eyebrows with the other dad's; we were all thinking the same thing, everyone else is good enough to lean against the chain link but this guy, oh, he needs his own chair. So the coach gets all the kids on, we get pretty engrossed in the football. I notice movement to my right, rustling and people parting. I see they're making space for this old guy to come through. Bowed to his stick he was, legs formed a perfect smoke ring. The guy looked like a breeze would take him down. The waves continued to part, all the dads acknowledging him with a smile; we're all thinking Christ, is that what's waiting for me one day. As the path cleared, I saw what he was heading for. Took him another ten minutes but he finally made it to that chair. The guy had been putting a chair out for his old man. I tell you; I was more ashamed of myself in that second and for some time after, than I've ever been.'
Oh David, if that's the worst act of shame you've committed, then I am truly envious.