Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 62430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Mom was buried in a nondenominational cemetery about a thirty-minute drive away. I tried to visit at least twice a year, to make sure her plot was cared for. Today I was filling my hours with dreaded chores to avoid thinking about the relationship that I could not have. I resolved not even to think his name outside the confines of the treatment center. Not that it was working. Porter’s face still haunted me wherever I went.
I pulled my car out of storage and took a minute to adjust the mirrors. Since I drove so rarely, it always took me a little bit of time to get comfortable in the driver’s seat. I turned on the local country music station, maneuvering the city streets until I reached the highway. There was one love song after another, each singer pining for a partner they couldn’t have. I switched it off, but the silence was almost just as bad.
My thoughts kept returning to Porter, wondering what he was doing, who was looking in on him. Was he in the gym, down on the floor doing more of those crazy push-ups? The memory of his muscles bunching and relaxing, like ripples beneath the surface, plagued me. His smile came back to me, warm and inviting and just a little bit shy. He didn’t suffer from the same malady that most men I had met did. He wasn’t overconfident. Life had taught him some hard lessons about his own abilities, and he was struggling to recover.
If he could just see, as I did, how much progress he had made, how much further ahead he was in his treatment than others who had come in with him, then maybe he could develop some self-confidence. I had an overwhelming desire to help him see what I saw. Because, more than an addict who was making a new start or a broken man trying to repair himself, I saw strength and character. He told me how he had saved his friend from drug dealers, how he had gotten sober once before without any help. He went to work every day, not because he wanted to, but because he had made a commitment. Even in the stupor of daily highs, Porter’s word meant something.
In frustration, I turned the radio back on again. I flipped channels until I came to the news, learning more than I wanted to about the latest crisis abroad. When the graveyard came into view down a narrow lane, I breathed a sigh of relief.
I chose a parking spot and turned off the engine, climbing out into the sun. It was a beautiful day, not too hot, not too cold. I reached in to grab a bouquet of flowers and a trash bag off the seat. Mom’s grave was about twenty yards past the gate, twelfth stone on the left. The remnants of the last batch of flowers I had brought still lay untouched, shriveled and blackened. I scooped them into the trash bag and brushed the dust off Mother’s tombstone.
“Oh, Mom.” I knelt beside her marker, scanning the cemetery quickly to make sure we were alone. There were a few people visiting their own relatives, but no one within earshot. “I’m in trouble.” I paused, imagining her smiling, welcoming me into her arms as she had hardly ever done in real life. “There’s a patient that I’m starting to develop feelings for.” I exhaled, determined to tell the whole truth. “Starting is the wrong word. I have feelings for him. I don’t know what to do. I can’t tell anyone, especially not him. If anybody knew…” I put my head down into my palms, letting all the frustration and pent-up tension roll off my shoulders.
“He’s so beautiful, and he’s kind and funny, and I think he has feelings for me too. But he’s an addict and a patient. Mom, what do I do? I can’t stop thinking about him.” I felt a sob rising from my chest that had nothing to do with Porter. All my life, I’d wished I had a functioning mother I could come to with problems like this. Now, in death, she had almost become more of a confidant than she had been in life.
A breeze stirred the trees in the distance, picking up my hair and whispering across my back. It was like my mom had heard me and was using the wind to comfort me. I could picture her in Heaven, a beacon of light, having shed the chains of alcoholism, restored to her natural self. She was beautiful. I placed a kiss on my fingertips and touched them to the headstone before climbing to my feet.
Driving back to Nashville, I decided to pick up some Thai food at my favorite restaurant. It was too far away to use a delivery app and much too far to walk. Thai food was a treat I only allowed myself when I decided to use the car. And after the day I had, a reward was in order.