Page 19 of Hot Life

My friend chuckled, but his shoulders eased. That was Ced. Even in thinking of his own death he thought of others first. “Your friends are assholes, by the way.”

“They mean well.” It was then I saw neon lights flashing across the street and had an idea. “Do you want to do something stupid?”

“What’d you have in mind?”

I jerked my chin to the shop across the way.

“I’m not some skater punk like you, Desmond. I’m a surgeon. Tattoos aren’t my thing…but I am drunk.”

“That’s the spirit,” I replied, motioning him to follow me to the shop. “Skater punk? I’m a motorcycle bad boy, damn.”

* * *

DADCHELOR PARTY

Cedric

I’d been eating lunch in the breakroom, working on a crossword puzzle in the newspaper, when I was frantically paged years ago. I wasn’t working emergency surgery that day. I was only there because a colleague had called out when he had a thyroidectomy scheduled on a cancer patient. It was a two-hour surgery, and an easy one. Then suddenly, I was hurried into the intensive care unit to assess whether a young man’s life could be saved. It was my call. I was the only senior surgeon around. The only one experienced in not only amputation but in neurodegenerative evaluations. We had only minutes to decide. If I had said he was too far gone, it’s not worth it, make him comfortable until he goes, no one would have questioned me. His leg was beyond repair; it would be a miracle to keep anything above the knee. His brain waves were faint. There was tremendous blood loss.

At that stage of my career, I’d made tough calls like that before. Part of my job was knowing when to call it and when to try harder. I hadn’t even met Dot yet, and a vision flashed before my eyes. I’d never been a religious man. I’d always considered myself a man of science. But it was so clear. An angel with red curly hair and freckles. I wondered if I was dehydrated and seeing things, but the feeling it left in my soul was like none other. Whoever this being was, she wanted me to help this young man.

And so I did.

A nurse went through his wallet. The worn United States Marine Corps identification card stated his name, age, and rank. My throat bobbed at the knowledge that this man’s military career was likely over now, unless he wanted to work at a desk. And I took it from his rock-climbing accident that he was too active of a person for that to be appealing. I worked on Desmond Gregory for thirteen hours. The chief of surgery himself came in to offer me a break and I denied him. With five other doctors, we were able to save his leg above the knee. He’d walk again. And with some of the most complicated procedures I’d ever done on his brain, he would still be fully himself. The woman with red hair would be happy with me. The vision, the angel, the mirage.

From that moment on, I thought I’d help in churches and free clinics more, offering my services for free as a thank you to the angel who visited and helped me save that young man. Desmond, who would go on to be my greatest friend. Imagine my shock when I saw her, the woman from my hallucination, standing in a tiny kitchen in Georgia.

Dot and Des would never believe that story if I told them. But sometimes I’d remember while watching them together. I may be a man of science, but there was still something more, something greater at work that I couldn’t explain. And that was why this all made sense to me. The three of us. And now a baby…our baby. It would be our baby. Dolly’s, Desmond’s, and mine. A piece of us all. Because now I had an understanding that science only went so far before something grander took over. And that was what we all had. Something grand.

I would never tell a soul what I thought of while preforming surgeries. I’d never mentioned it in any class I’d taught, no residents or attendings knew. Sometimes I’d have an eager, bright-eyed med student ask about mental images and brain focus during an operation. But I’d always spout off some academic, textbook response. Clear your mind, focus on your breathing, remember your training. And I did exactly that for many years.

Until Dot.

Everything changed after her. Sure, I’d been with women before. Some long term, some I’d considered marrying even. But when I saw Dot, it was like seeing an angel. A real-life angel with bare feet in her in gravel driveway.

From that moment on, every car crash victim was her. Every biking accident. From every artery repair to complicated neurosurgery, the person under my knife was Dot. Because then, and only then in my career, did I truly realize that each life under my knife was a Dot to someone else. And the enormity of that realization changed my entire life. That was why when I lost that young woman on my table several years ago, it gutted me. It was like losing Dolly. Ironically, it was that death that almost did lose me my wife. I was still working it out in therapy, but I’d come a long way. Dot and I had come a long way.

Des was a good man. There were times a stab of something hit my gut, something like jealousy, but not quite. More so the feeling he may be better for her than I was. It was apparent her father felt the same. But then again, I was old, and I’d die and leave them to each other soon enough. I, maybe, had a good twenty-five years left. It was pure selfishness that kept me from ever considering letting her go, even when I put her through those years of my inner turmoil and trauma. The times I denied her love, and touch. I wasn’t even man enough then to fully let her go. I wasn’t sure what I could offer a child. But I’d be there. I would at least be another body in the room to help. To be there for all of them.

I was slightly tipsy and high off tattoo endorphins when Des and I wandered back into the nightclub. The spot of skin above my heart tingled and burned.

“What took you guys so long?” the snarky guy from Arizona asked. Bob?

“Dude, Cedric…” the California surfer boy spoke, and I rolled my eyes. The VIP lounge was too small. These two men were former Marines? I found that hard to believe. The military men I’d met in my time were respectable. These guys were oafs. Jonah and Scott had already taken off, and we were set to do the same. I wanted to get home to our wife. Only I realized I’d left my phone and keys on the table in the lounge. “Is this red-headed smoke show your girl? Her tits are amazing.”

“Excuse me?” I asked, walking over to the punk currently holding my phone. “Is that mine?”

He didn’t pull his eyes away, thumb scrolling. “Yeah, dude, it buzzed so I checked it. Got curious and wanted to see what kinda woman could pull two men. And goddamn, she’s fine as hell. Dolly, right?” He stood, wobbling, intoxicated, and I saw red above her exposed breasts on the blue screen of my smartphone. “Is she looking for a third husband?”

Whack.

I pulled my fist back again, punching him a second time. I heard my mentor’s voice in my head, chastising me for risking my hands. Your hands are your greatest commodity, your most valuable possession as a surgeon. Yes, well, fuck that.

Whack.

My knuckles ached and I shook them off. Blood rushed from his nose as he fell back onto the black leather sofa. I wasn’t done. But as I was descending to keep beating the shit out of him, Desmond pulled me back. “Ced, what the fuck?”

“He was scrolling through pictures of Dot on my phone. All of the pictures.”

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