Page 80 of Beautiful Small Things

“Hey!” Colby yells from her spot on the couch. “Not all of us are highly trained medical professionals.”

“Obviously,” I joke. “Can you get a better compression bandage so I can wrap this in a way that doesn’t give off ‘mummy just escaped from the tomb’ vibes?”

Colby gets up to go to the bathroom but not before saying loudly, “You’re such a dick, Marcus,” causing both of us to laugh.

She returns a minute later, tosses me the supplies, grumbles something about “more ice,” and then goes into the kitchen.

I take my time wrapping her knee, feeling her tremble slightly under my hand. I touch her a little too long and take too much time, but it feels nice to care for her. She hasn’t allowed me to do that in so long.

“OK, you’re all done, BJ. You should get another X-ray when this swelling goes down.”

“Got it,” she nods.

“Ice off and on all day today. Elevate as possible. Pain medication as needed,” I instruct.

“Got that, too,” she smiles. “Thank you.”

I stand up and start to turn to leave, but turn back around and look down at her, so adorably wrapped up on the couch like a beautiful burrito.

She looks up at me, her face etched in curiosity. That’s when I bend down and kiss her forehead. Just a small gesture to let her know that I am still here in her life, as much as she will allow.

When I return to standing, tears are welling in her eyes and threatening to spill out over her cheeks. “Anything for you,” I say before I turn and walk away.

James - Age 24

Two days later, I pull up to the gym I know Marcus uses. It’s a private gym, and it’s nearly seven in the evening, so it’s deserted when I step into the lobby area. No one is at the desk, so I continue to the open gym, where the weights are. Scanning the area, I look for him, but he’s nowhere in sight.

I continue moving past the racquetball courts, and then I hear it. The sound of something slicing through the air and snapping on the ground. Woosh, Snap. Woosh, Snap. Woosh Snap.

I move toward the sound until I find the source.

In the center of the large mirrored room is Marcus, jumping rope. He’s looking down as he jumps at a steady, even pace. He’s wearing his baseball cap backward and looks like the man I fell in love with so many years ago.

He’s not wearing a shirt, and his body is shiny with sweat. His chest glistens with beads reflecting off the fluorescent lights. It’s unfair to be this coordinated and this attractive. It only manages to piss me off even more.

He looks up into the mirror and finds me in the reflection. He stops and turns.

“James, are you alright?” he asks.

“Why did you tell me to leave?” I ask.

He looks confused as he sets the jump rope down and walks to me.

“What are we talking about?”

“Why did you tell me to leave?” I repeat. “You made me leave you. Why?”

His face is marred with confusion.

“I think I finally understand it,” I say. “But I want to hear you say it.”

“Why don’t you tell me what you understand?” he says, wiping his brow with a towel.

“Tell me why you pushed me to go to New York,” I tell him, barely holding it together.

“I thought you deserved to experience life,” he says.

Shifting my weight, I reply. “I don’t think that was the only reason.”