Harris found himself standing outside his apartment, feeling his resentment for the doctor. She had neglected his blood test on the assumption that they would turn fine like the several other tests he'd had over the years, but it still didn't give her any right to do so. As to what possessed her to play god and handpick who she wanted to treat or not was flabbergasting.
The apartment had one distinct aspect about it as he entered. It looked as if someone lived there. The sunlight beaming in reflected a house well-lived in, and displayed traces of a person that enjoyed his time there. Harris felt himself calm a little on the sight of his comfortable possessions. It had been some time since he'd been at home. The bedroom could not have looked more inviting. His eyes closed as soon as he laid his head down.
The room was encapsulated in darkness when he came to. For a moment he thought he'd seen a flash of light streak across his closed eyelids but it seemed as if that may have been a dream. Now that he'd woken up, sleep eluded him.
A sudden throb to the side of his stomach came to his attention. He readjusted himself to get more comfortable when he felt it again. Harris sat up, memories coming back to him. He shook his head to reorganize his thoughts. Perhaps he was thinking too much over the whole Dr. Roslin business.
Figuring he was up anyway, he decided to make the most of it. The fridge was stocked with supplies and he was thankful he'd been mindful enough to purchase all the items. Loading up with what he felt like having, he switched on the TV with plans of having a midnight snack with something good to watch.
Things seemed well on course for a good night as Harris enjoyed his meal and his favorite movie. The film was halfway through when the cable cut off. Exasperated, his attempts at making it work reaped no results and he searched for alternate modes of entertainment such as sifting through his CD collection. He picked out one with no title, curious to see which film it was.
"Look into the camera." A woman's voice called out, he jerked his head upwards so fast a crick manifested. But Harris didn't care, his attention firmly on the image on the screen.
The face of a laughing child – two to three years old at most – beamed back at him. The boy thrashed about playfully in the arms of someone who held up a squishy toy above him. The boy's attempts to grab it was foiled by the person holding him, but only because it seemed to amuse the child further.
Harris stared back into the enormous, innocent eyes of his younger self. Those eyes so ecstatic with the gleam of new life, the wide laugh that no doubt used up so much of the breath contained in those tiny lungs; he could almost remember it.
The voice he had heard belonged to his mother, who was not in the frame, but her voice ran through all these years straight into his heart even now. He could almost feel her near him as he heard her speak, the tenderness found only in a mother's voice.
"Mommy loves you." She spoke, as the child in the video wiggled in happiness. Harris found himself enamored by it, he had almost forgotten what life with family had been like. Now having caught him by surprise, letting go of that feeling was particularly difficult to do.
"Look at how fast he is." His mother remarked proudly as the child successfully grabbed the toy."
"He'll be the greatest athlete. We'll be parents to the next sensation in twenty years' time." The person holding his younger self finally spoke.
The camera moved upward as his face was revealed. A handsome man with dark curly hair, and a regal beard, features gruff akin to someone who was assertive in personality. His shoulders were broad and the hands that held the boy were clearly relaxed in their grip. Harris's father looked straight into the screen.
Their eyes met, making him realize his father had never changed the way he had looked at him. The affection had always been present, up until the end. The final memory of his vaguely stirred in Harris's mind before his mother spoke up again.
"I don't know what we'd do without our children. I don't think I could ever go back from being a parent." She spoke lovingly.
"Don't worry, you'll never have to." His father assured her as he caressed the younger Harris who fell asleep peacefully.
The footage ended, and he fell back on the couch, his mind nowhere near the happenings of earlier in the day. Harris stared into the television set, despite it being switched off by now. He had himself occupied with the memories of his childhood.
Thinking back, he couldn't recall why he'd had the CD out to view – it had usually dwelled way back in the store – but was unexpectedly glad he had. The video had stirred up lost nostalgia – he found himself wanting to watch more of some old tapes.
After over an hour of segregating home videos from movies, he was ready for his walk down memory lane.
In the ensuing hours, he watched tapes of his growing years. His first day of school, how he had bawled relentlessly to have his father take him back home which technically didn't make it his first day of school.
His first-ever performance in the first grade, his father had thrown such a ruckus cheering overly enthusiastically the school had given them a video of his cheering alone. The antics he'd pulled with his school friends; it was a wonder what a troublemaker he had been back then, from tying a boy's shoelaces with the chair to throwing water balloons at girls, the younger Harris had been a mischief.
The tapes shifted in narrative as he grew older. Long trips on the road with his siblings, extravagant parties with friends – those where he would spend too generously on their gifts and be scolded by his mother for running out of money. Odd jobs he'd worked as a teenager like working at the zoo; he'd forgotten how frantically he'd run away from the ostrich that had attempted to peck his head off.
One video was relatively recent, a birthday party of a friend. He was one of his closest ones. In fact, the same friend had been the one who had gotten Harris his job. He'd always been grateful for that.
After the cancer had spread, he had more or less cut off contact with everyone. Now with the reminiscence running deeply within his skin, he felt a longing to catch up with all of them. The funny thing was, he was looking forward to it.
He'd had so much fun going through the tapes that he decided to watch a few again. One of his favorite ones was where his father had taken him to the clinic; he found it amusing how frightened he had been of the flu. A doctor passing by had scared him that day.
"Take extra care of yourself, children are not immune to conditions such as cancer or tuberculosis. Even leaving a cold unchecked could have disastrous consequences." The doctor told him.
He had broken into tears because of this, and the doctor quickly fled while his father consoled him. He had barely appreciated his father's ability to cheer him up when his eye fell on something else.
Harris sat up straight and rewound the video, pausing at the proper moment. There was no mistaking it. It was Dr. Roslin. He had never given the doctor much thought; it had been about him and his father, but now that it came to his notice, it was impossible not to see it.
The hair was longer and thicker, her figure much sleeker, the glasses she wore would be classified as old fashioned now but were definitely the latest for that time, and her face was most distinctive from her current appearance. She was striking and could be a model for attractive, young doctors, and a would-be inspiration for others to consider the profession.
The furtive technique with which she had slipped in and away from Harris indicated she was used to those quick tips to strangers. And the upright, to-business stance with which she carried herself was a mark of a confident woman.
Harris barely kept track of all the details. All his resurfaced affection for the past had fallen back into hibernation as the vehemence of contempt rose up. She'd had it in for him all this time, even when he had been a child.
And now, years later, she had proven to be his undoing. His suffering could be traced all the way back to his childhood. And the catalyst for it was her. A doctor. A healer. The source for salvation from suffering. For Harris, she was anything but.
Now more determined than ever to return to her office and retrieve the file, Harris switched off the TV and sat silently in the darkness with thoughts only on seeking retribution from the doctor. His mother's laugh and his father's warmth a speck in the outreaches of his mind once more.