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<\/h3>\n<\/h3>\n\u201cI\u2019m done resting Ethan, how \u2018bout you?\u201d I whisper.<\/p>\n
We both feel soft after practicing yoga and our hour-long, turning-within meditation technique. We\u2019re still resting on the large\u00a0mat that covers half the floor of our studio apartment. Two years ago while learning this technique, we met and three months later we moved-in, meditating together ever since.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, Zach. I\u2019ll get dinner ready.\u201d<\/p>\n
Ethan is a six-foot, man-bear with black hair everywhere.\u00a0 His well-cushioned torso straddled high on strong hips and\u00a0hairy legs. His dark eyes twinkle with insights from the deep meditation. He rolls on his side, plants both hands on the mat and slowly props himself into a standing position, like molasses moving up the side of a jar.<\/p>\n
\u201cHungry?” his raspy voice asking, and also telling about his own state.<\/p>\n
Ethan prepares our regular meal of frozen wonton soup, a salad of lettuce and tomatoes and pasta with garlic oil. To make it healthier, we drink tall glasses of grapefruit juice. I prefer to do the dishes.<\/p>\n
When we\u2019re home together, high up in this St. Louis pre-war building, our cocoon seems remote from the rigors of our graduate schools. Staying out of the small kitchen as he prepares our meal, I hear the muted sounds of the freezer door opening and closing, water pouring, the pot plopping on the stove, the snapping of lettuce stalks, and two plates banging hello\u00a0as they hit the counter. With its vacuum broken, the fridge door reluctantly yields its contents, when suddenly, the sharp sound of shattering glass is followed with a loud \u201cyeow\u201d. I run into the kitchen to see Ethan grasping his bloody wrist. Shiny red shards of the large grapefruit jar are scattered in the sink.\u00a0 I\u2019m yanked into a strange universe, leaving the calm and orderly, for violence and chaos.<\/p>\n
I hurl a towel at him and shout: \u201cTightly around your wrist\u201d.<\/p>\n
Reaching up and grabbing his armpit, I say, \u201dLet\u2019s go, we\u2019re going to the emergency room, NOW.\u201d<\/p>\n
He doesn\u2019t say a word, we both lurch towards the door, twist our feet into our shoes and make our way to the car downstairs. I open the door for him and off we go. At the emergency room, only ten blocks away, I yell to Ethan, \u201cCheck in, I\u2019ll park the car. See you in the waiting area.\u201d<\/p>\n
He manages to open the car door and plunge out. At the waiting room, I see Ethan drooping over, mumbling. I run to the desk and tell the clerk that my friend is passing out from blood loss. Two large men appear, hoist him by his arms and walk him through the double doors.<\/p>\n
I\u2019m running behind until one of them looks back, \u201cOh, you can\u2019t come back here. Are you his guardian?\u201d<\/p>\n
I rapidly nod yes as they close the doors on me.<\/p>\n
After a long wait, Ethan saunters out, right arm in a sling, face in a grimace, and eyes with no sparkle.<\/p>\n
\u201cHi Zach. They stitched my wrist up for now. I\u2019ve got to return for surgery to connect the nerves. I don\u2019t know if I\u2019ll ever play the piano again. You\u2019ll be my right hand for a while,\u201d he says in one breath.<\/p>\n
I actually hear \u201cYou will be my personal slave for a while.\u201d<\/p>\n
I love this man but I don\u2019t have any inclination for serving him, or anyone. I can barely address my own needs. He can\u2019t use his right hand? He can\u2019t play piano? Ethan\u2019s music career highlighted in a solo with the Cleveland Philharmonic and then, pleasing his parents, he went to law school for a real career. But he still plays, um, played, for various events around town.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m here for you, Ethan,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n
I\u2019m proud that I sound caring. His chest fills with air and then deflates as his eyes rest in mine, as if to say\u2026 thank you.<\/p>\n
I can\u2019t believe our life changed so quickly. We had such a comforting routine: He gets back from law school, I from the engineering lab and then we meditate, eat, get some ice cream, and then study. Now I\u2019ve got an invalid, I\u2019ve got to do the cooking and I shudder to think of the other personal chores.<\/p>\n
We finally return to our cocoon-slash-crime scene.<\/p>\n
\u201cI have to pee,\u201d Ethan says sheepishly.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd\u2026,\u201d I reply.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou bastard, I can\u2019t unzip and zip. I assure you that you won\u2019t have to hold it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course,\u201d I reply as my eyeballs roll into my head, searching for a different reality.<\/p>\n
We both step to the toilet with its peaceful pool peering back at us. His eyes move to mine, to his crotch, and back to me. I grab his pant flap to reveal its zipper. I pinch the zipper\u2019s tab and pull the slider downward. Hearing every catch release, I slowly reveal his white underwear. I feel the tentativeness of an adolescent about to engage for the first time.<\/p>\n
\u201cCan you pull it out yourself?\u201d I whisper.<\/p>\n
\u201cUgh, unbuckle my pants,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n
I take a deep breath and perform the task, revealing black algae reaching for his naval.<\/p>\n
\u201cThank you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMy pleasure,\u201d I say curtly and walk away.<\/p>\n
After a long silence, his pee is unleashed, gleefully slicing the water. A few minutes later, Ethan emerges.<\/p>\n
\u201cWill you please pull up my pants and zip them?\u201d, Ethan says.<\/p>\n
Resisting would be more painful for us both.<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course,\u201d I reply<\/p>\n
I stand behind him, with my stomach against his butt, I reach around him with both hands, pull his pants, snatch it, and close the zipper. I then grab my wrist and hug this bear-man, resting my head against his back. He breaths in deeply, holds and sighs relaxation. We are both still for eternity, experiencing each other\u2019s warmth. I\u2019m his guardian angel with no corporal needs. Then I lurch my hands apart and walk away, quickly.<\/p>\n
\u201cI feel very tired. I think those pain pills are making me sleepy,\u201d Ethan says. He puts the child proof vial of pills in the center of the kitchen table.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy don\u2019t you just lie on your bed, with your clothes on for now? I\u2019ll finish making dinner for us. Are you hungry?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNot really,\u201d He utters as he makes his way to his bed.<\/p>\n
From the kitchen, I say, \u201cWell, I am very hungry so if you\u2019re awake when it\u2019s ready, I\u2019ll help you to the table. Otherwise, I\u2019ll save some pasta for breakfast. OK?\u201d<\/p>\n
After a moment of silence, I repeat louder, \u201cOK?\u201d.<\/p>\n
Glancing back to his bed, I see Ethan\u2019s eyes closed and twitching. Sweet.<\/p>\n
I go back to the kitchen and put on the purple dish-washing gloves. I clear the sink of glass shards painted the bright color of Ethan\u2019s insides. As I remove each, I\u2019m seeing pieces of nerve that once expressed the poetic grandeur of Beethoven\u2019s Emperor Piano Concerto. Eventually, I eat my meal alone and accept that I won\u2019t get any work done tonight.<\/p>\n
The next morning, still in yesterday\u2019s clothes, Ethan plunks himself at the kitchen table. I\u2019d rather serve him breakfast than help him undress and dress. I wince at the inevitability.<\/p>\n
\u201cZach, my hand\u2019s throbbing with pain. I can\u2019t open the vial with my pain pills. I need two pills, now.\u201d<\/p>\n
I half-fill a glass of water, push and twist open the vial, and hand him his dose.<\/p>\n
I warm up the pasta and watch him crudely eat with his left hand as I smoothly consume my cereal. Neither of us talk but we look into the other\u2019s eyes. His ask whether I can believe what happened. He must see the fear in mine.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, Ethan, I\u2019m going to the lab this morning and then onto Melody\u2019s house this afternoon for her birthday party. I won\u2019t stay for dinner, I\u2019ll be back here for that. OK?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ve got to change my clothes before you leave Zach.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stare at him, feeling my stomach tighten.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m late for meeting someone at the lab, how about I just remove your pants now and at lunch time, I\u2019ll be back to care for you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOK, remember, the nurse said my pain pills last only three hours during the day, so remember to be back at noon, Zach. Noon.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo problem, Ethan.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAlso\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
He mumbles something but I couldn\u2019t hear amongst the ruffling of my jacket, my opening the apartment door and leaving.<\/p>\n
At the lab, I finish the section I\u2019ve been working on for days. But the hours passed so quickly that I am astonished it\u2019s now 2 o\u2019clock. If I go back to Ethan, I\u2019ll miss the start of the party. I\u2019m sure Ethan can figure out what to do. Just as I enter Melody\u2019s house, she says, \u201cYou better call Ethan at home.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIs he ok?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n
\u201cJust call him. Use the upstairs hall phone.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHi Ethan, Are you ok?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cZach, I can\u2019t open my vial. Get over here NOW!\u201d<\/p>\n
I hang up the phone and tell Melody I\u2019ve got to go. Guilt has kicked in and I race home. Forgoing the wait for the elevator, I dash up the five flights and down the hall. Easing myself into the apartment, I am greeted by a roar.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou were s\u2019posed to be here at noon when my painkillers wore off! It\u2019s 2:30 now.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI lost track of time. Sorry,\u201d I say in a hushed voice.<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t see the pain killers on the table. \u201cWhere\u2019s the vial Ethan?\u201d<\/p>\n
Ethan lunges toward me with his left arm extended and its shaking fingers outstretched ready to choke me. I duck and immediately grab our wooden chair by the door, and, with both hands, lift it up and jab its four legs at him. But he keeps coming towards me. I thrust the chair at his torso, just like a lion-tamer. Then I back out of the apartment into the hall, the chair is my shield. He yanks the door wide open but just stands in the door frame.<\/p>\n
He says, \u201cOk. Ok Zach. I\u2019m not going to hurt you. Put the chair down. I need your help.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ll help you if you forgive me, Ethan. Do you?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFine.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s not<\/em> fine?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n \u201cI tried to open the vial myself but just couldn\u2019t. I just had to wait in pain for your help. Do you know how betrayed I felt?\u201d He\u2019s calming.<\/p>\n We both went inside, I put the chair back and he points to the vial on the floor. I open it, hand him two pills and gesture to follow me to the sink. Half-filling a glass of water and handing it to him, I see him swallow the pills and crack a smile.<\/p>\n \u201cHungry?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n \u201cYes\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll order pizza delivery for you and then I\u2019m back to Melody\u2019s.\u201d<\/p>\n After I make the order, I head to the door.<\/p>\n \u201cSee you,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n \u201cZach, be home by suh bwah bah\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n He mumbles something but I couldn\u2019t hear amongst the ruffling of my jacket, my opening the apartment door and leaving.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" \u201cI\u2019m done resting Ethan, how \u2018bout you?\u201d I whisper. We both feel soft after practicing yoga and our hour-long, turning-within meditation technique. We\u2019re still resting on the large\u00a0mat that covers half the floor of our studio apartment. Two years ago while learning this technique, we met and three months later we moved-in, meditating together ever … Continue reading The Caregiver<\/span>