This Is Home

Ch3: This Is Home

As luck would have it, he has little choice in today's outcome; going to work. He enters the hospital, distracted and sleep deprived, entering the realms of disorganization and crammed beds. He wonders if they'll ever have a day where they can get by comfortably. It is exhausting - though he can't say it isn't worth it.

Bring a person back from the brink... what could be more meaningful? He knows that science and math guided him to this path initially, but so did the wish to make people better, to fix what's wrong (or try to, as it isn't always as straightforward as popping a joint back into place) with them and himself. To become self-sufficient. Put people back together again. To know that if the worst happens to someone he loves, he'll be there to fix it. He'll always know how to make it better.

Unless he isn't there. Unless they're left alone, suffering, without a smudge of hope, none at all. Unless that happens. Unless a missed phone call is all it takes.

Suppress it.

He focuses entirely on maintaining a friendly, composed expression, noticing his colleagues juggling patients like acrobats, and marvelling. It is truly a talent to manage to stay kind and professional after negative hours of sleep, legs aching from too much walking, finger joints inflamed from constant handwritten notes. They offer good mornings wearing vomit stained scrubs. He repeats, points, they groan when they notice the stains. They work as a unit. He feels like he's in a family on a good day; maybe today is a good day.

"Dropped something, mate."

Noel is trailing behind him, a crumpled up piece of paper in his hand. Notes from his prior phone conversation, printed on his laptop because he needed to trust the writing would be decipherable even if he's slow at typing. He couldn't risk handwriting it. Not when his neat scrawl gets dangerously close to loopy and messy like every doctor does. He couldn't be unaware of a single word. Though it isn't inclusive of his own 'um's and 'ah's.

"What's this, then?" Noel peels it open without permission.

Ethan, without meaning to be too harsh, snatches it from Noel's grasp. Noel looks taken aback. "Private matters, Noel."

Noel - or anyone, really - would ever understand his insatiable urge to know the truth. He knows this for concrete certain.

__________

Ruth: Answers? What sort of answers?

Myself: I suppose I should give you some context first. You (pause) sent letters. Letters to my brother.

Ruth: I did. Did your brother receive them?

Myself: I'm afraid he passed away in April of 2017. So he didn't, no, unfortunately.

Ruth: Oh gosh, I had no idea. I'm so sorry.

Myself: It's okay (lies). I hope that you don't mind, but I did read them.

Ruth: That's okay. It would've been weird if you didn't.

(standard awkward pause)

Ruth: I understand now. You read them and you're confused about the subject matter. It must've felt like a lot if you're entirely in the dark. Did your brother never tell you about Tilly?

Myself: Tilly?

Ruth: Right. You know, I'm not so fantastic over the phone. I'd much prefer it if I could see you.

Myself: Sorry, yes, understandable. You don't know me. I get that. What time can you do?

(plans a time, she gives address)