Heart Surgery

by Jason Colpitts

©Jason Colpitts

***Winner of the 2015 Writer’s Village Winter Awards

     The retired doctor sprang into action.

     Grabbing the boy from behind, he pulled hard.  The boy's frail body was pale and growing limp.  Spit ran down his face, and his eyes rolled up.  Again, even harder, the doctor yanked his coupled fists into the boy's stomach and up toward his lungs.  This time a large piece of steak came hurling out.  The shocked and pleased crowd started to clap as the revived boy coughed, spat, and desperately gulped down sweet air.

     Then the doctor looked around, studying the short rib dinner plates and the strange dry lightning.  Seizing the barely recovered boy, he whispered angrily in his ears, and to the horror of the crowd, slapped him squarely across the face.

***

     "I don't want to talk about it!" Mitchey yelled through his closed bedroom door.

     "Honey, you've been in there for days.  What did the elderly man say?"

     Mitchey could hear his mom, a nice woman, gentle and quiet.  Her soft voice pleaded with him, like the way a cooing turtledove can calm the most frayed of nerves.

     "Let him be!  If he wants to stay in there, let him stay," the kid's father shouted from the living room.

     If she was a dove, he was a warthog.  His ignorant words mixed partly with the sound of a loud belch and that of a beer can bouncing across the worn floor.

     Her voice turned away, toward the living room.  Her husband's hairy back was toward her and the bedroom.  The man seldom took his eyes off the television - choosing to stare at the weekly football game rather than his own wife.

     "That old guy said something terrible," she tried to reason.

     "What difference does it make?" her husband barked. "Whatever it was, he deserves it.  The kid's a loser.  You hear me, boy?  You're a loser!  That's all you'll ever be!"

     Mitchey smashed his bedroom door open.  Red faced, he tried shooting past his mother.  Grabbing his arm, she tried to slow him down, but he desperately shrugged her off, too furious to answer.  He tore through the unpainted door - leaving behind squeaking hinges and clusters of swaying weeds.

     His father's gruff voice followed him down the dirt road, "Run, you idiot.  That's what you always do!  Run!"

***

     "I never went back," the young man explained. "I mean, I slept there.  I said ‘Hello’ to my mom from day to day, but I never went back." Mitchell fought back tears.  He felt foolish and exposed.  He added, "It wasn't home anymore."

     The girl next to him was stunning.  They sat together at a trendy cafe.  In front of him was a cup of coffee and a double chocolate brownie.  She had camomile tea and a delicate slice of lemon cake.  Mitchell and Jessica had been dating for three months.  She had luscious red lips and gorgeous locks of natural blonde hair.  He couldn't take his eyes off her.   He loved Jessica's gentle spirit and refined manner, and she vocalized on occasion that she loved his quiet strength and noble character.

     And he had never opened up like this before.  Neither did much eating.

     "Where did you go?" Jessica asked.

     "Anywhere away from that dump.  My dad never lifted a finger.  He was selfish, and I was angry, just so angry.  I didn't want to go to school.  My friends were slobs and losers too.  We smoked drugs by Jacobson's barn and then drove Jimmy's old pickup half-off the edge of Dram's Canyon.  I hated the drinking and the daredevil stunts.  I hated it, but with them I could hide."  He sat back and thought for a minute and then added, "In the end I didn't leave out of anger.  I left because I was afraid."

     She looked stunned. "Afraid of what?"

     "One time we got invited to a banquet.  My father heard the word ‘tie’ and refused to go.  It was the first time I ever had steak.  I gobbled it down like a fool and learned that you can't eat steak like a Sloppy Joe!"

     She giggled and appeared to relax.  He knew at first, his tone was serious and frightening.  She was clearly struggling to listen without crying.  As he moved on with the story, the fierce glint in his eye started to fade.

     "Anyway," Mitchell continued, his face twisting in slow pain, like a tree working itself around a boulder. "I started to choke.  There I was turning blue and frantically trying to breathe.  The more I gasped, the further down the thing slid, until I couldn't gasp at all.  I felt like I was about to lose consciousness when this elderly guy sprang over like a grasshopper and saved my life."

     "Wow," she whispered, her voice full of awe.

     "After that, I started taking school seriously.  I spent most of my time at the library.  My mom was speechless when the next set of report cards came through.  My father called the school.  He thought I found a way to forge the grades, but the card was right.  I got straight A's from then on.  I wanted nothing more than to be a doctor, to save kids’ lives the way that man saved mine."

     "Now you're not far from graduating." She sat back, digesting the information, and for the first time took a bite of the lemon cake.

     A gentle wind blew across their table.  Where the nearby patrons chased their napkins and grumbled, she grabbed her fleeing sun hat and broke into laughter.  He was enchanted.

     The sun was shining, and they were sitting across from a quaint walking park.  Near the edge was a piece of wood which would make a perfect walking stick.  Hurriedly, she took a couple bites and asked if he would like to take a walk.  Mitchell eagerly joined her.

***

     Time passed.  They often walked hand-in-hand through the park – until the day she proudly walked toward him down the wedding aisle.  As the autumn leaves changed from year to year his hair took on a fleck or two of grey, and his face grew strong.  His name evolved too, going from Mitchey to Mitchell, to Mitch, and finally to Mr. Graham. 

     One morning, almost ten years later, she brought it up again.  Mitch appreciated how careful she was, knowing that every word he dredged up was like a shard of glass dragged from his throat. 

     "Do you remember telling me about the elderly man?" Jessica asked in a relaxed tone. "I was thinking about one of our first dates, and how our conversation trailed off.  I realized that you never told me what you were afraid of."

     "It's hard to explain," Mitch said as he winced. "We were having strange weather that day.  Clouds hovered only thirty feet off the ground.  They were dark and ominous.  Dry lightning was everywhere – without a drop of rain.  The buildings appeared black until a flash suddenly lit them up.  For a split second they were there.  Then they disappeared into the shadows again.

     "Then waiters came around and dropped small dishes of mint ice cream to start the meal.  Imagine that!  Ice cream before dinner!  I almost choked then!  After that, several other courses arrived.  By the time the short ribs slid in front of me, I didn't think I could take another bite.  I sliced off a huge piece of the most tender meat I had ever tasted and greedily shoved it into my mouth.  After a couple chews, I lost control and started to choke.

     "The doctor's skill was astounding.  He was so comforting, even when he performed the Heimlich, but abruptly, the doctor started to get angry.  His wrinkled face soured, and his lips pursed so tight they almost vanished.  He grew fierce.  Then, he said something, leaned back, and slapped me in the face!  But it wasn't the slap that hurt.  His words cut in a way I can't explain.  He told me...that I already was my father!"

     Not wanting her to see the pain, he turned away.  But she stopped him and smiled supportively.  Her warmth pushed the winter chill away.  Mitch felt like the flowers bursting around them were responding solely to her sunshine.

     "It’s okay," she said. "Talk about it when you can.  I’ll wait for you."

***

     As the next couple decades passed, the park changed; walkways aged and were repaired, and the black lamp posts were replaced by silver ones.  Mitch too changed.  He went from assisting at the local hospital, to overseeing Boston Memorial in the city, the Head of Invasive Cardiology.  Most of his time was spent giving lectures and rushing into emergency surgery.  So she planned little dates, opportunities to walk and talk.

     The subject of the strange dinner came up once and a while.  Each time it did, a new little snippet was revealed.  Coming to terms with his past, he dug deep to find the courage.

     Frost covered the grass and bricks.  Winter was coming.  The middle-aged couple was dressed warmly as they strolled arm in arm.  Mitch, ever so sentimental, still carried the same walking stick. 

     "For years, I haven't been able to get that old man's look out of my head, the rage, the disappointment, the shame," Mitch said. "He tore himself away from the crowd and told me sternly that I was nothing but a waste!"

     Her eyes started to shake, awash with one hurt emotion after another.

     Rather than tearing up herself, Jessica grew angry. "How could anyone say that to a boy?  What a terrible thing to do!"

     "I understand," Mitch reassured her. "I didn't know what to do about it at first.  My father spent half his life thinking up hurtful comments and the other half drinking.  None of them cut as deep.  To be compared to my father was the worst of insults.  So yes, I was afraid.  I feared the elderly man was right.  I was driving madly down a self-destructive path which would land me right in the same easy chair, escaping into alcohol, while my wife sobbed on the bed.  Yes, I was very afraid.  I had to do something about it, desperately.  I had to be better.  Tell me, am I a good man?"

     "I'm starting to think there was a greater purpose in all of this," Jessica answered, while looking at him with endearing eyes.  No one was more beautiful.  She added simply, "Of course you are."

***

     Over the years their lives weaved together like a beautiful tapestry.

     They sat in their living room now.  A large picture window overlooked the park they knew so well.  Doctor Graham was old.

     "You have such bitter sweet memories of that day," she said, full of wisdom. "I think I finally understand.  I used to hate that elderly man.  How could anyone treat my husband like that?  Then I realized, no one else could have touched your heart like he did.  Now that's a surgeon!  Maybe you're more like him than you know.  How many hospital wards have they named in your honor?  How many award ceremonies have you ducked out of?  How many lives have you touched?"

     She got up and crossed the living room. Taking his weathered face in her sweetest little wrinkled hands, she added, "You're a good man.  I know you don't like these award ceremonies, and you're retired now, but I think you should go to this one.  You’re being honored at the Boston Memorial Hospital, your home away from home all these years.  Go tonight, for me, just this once."

***

      A glossy black limo surged through the crowded streets.  Doctor Graham stared out the window.  He wore a perfectly fitted tuxedo with a matching bow tie.  Mrs. Graham wore a proud smile.  Earlier, she made sure he didn't forget his antique cane.  Now, it had been covered in black lacquer and with a dapper silver top, but underneath it was the same simple walking stick they found on their first trip to the park.  The well-worn handle gave him much needed comfort.

     Tonight a thousand people – colleagues, patients, friends, and family – would arrive to say thank you to a man who would rather shrug away the accolades than accept them.

    As they exited the limo, Doctor Graham nodded comfortingly at the many guests who lined up to shake his hand.  One after another offered thanks and appreciation for the life they were given back.

     Hundreds of guests shared their stories from the stage while hundreds of others listened.

     But Doctor Graham was distracted.

     Dark clouds loomed outside.  He wandered toward the veranda.  Mysterious lightning formed a canopy over the houses, and an odd chill filled the room.

     Suddenly, mouths dropped.  Food fell onto plates.  Waiters carrying short ribs stopped in their tracks as the bands stopped playing.

     Bands? he wondered.

     There was not one band playing, but two.  The thousand people had doubled to two thousand.  Chairs, which sat empty a moment ago, filled with people.  Aisles grew clustered, and vacant spots on the dance floor now had spinning couples.  Slowly, the busy room ground down to an astonished halt.

     Dry lightning encircled the building.  Doctor Graham turned in horror.

     Close by, a young boy sliced off a massive piece of steak and heedlessly shoved it into his mouth.  Immediately, he began to choke.  Pushing past the stunned crowd, Doctor Graham grabbed the child and with every ounce of strength he had pulled and pulled.  Abruptly, a chunk of half-chewed meat landed on the table.

     His mind was swimming.  Somehow, he found himself standing in his own past.

     Perhaps, in only a second or two, this perfect opportunity would fade.  He needed something, anything to reach the boy's heart that would sting the most, hurt the worst, and force his younger foolish self to wake up and change his entire life.

     Do I have the courage? Doctor Graham panicked.

     In morbid fear, he spat sternly into the boy’s ear, "I can't believe I saved you!  What a horrendous waste you are!  Don't worry about becoming your father.  You're already him!"  Then, Doctor Graham grabbed the kid gruffly and slapped him, needing the boy to give him his entire focus.

     As soon as the words were uttered, the crowd rushed in on them both.  Forcefully separated, the elderly doctor wished he had more time.  But the boy and his mother were gone.

     As surreal as the two groups joined, they subtly faded apart.  Now, only one band stood in silence, awestruck on the podium.

     Outside, the wind subsided.  The dry lightning ceased.

     Doctor Graham frantically searched the room.  He relaxed, as his eyes settled on his wife, her rosy smile more proud than ever before.

     "Did I do the right thing?" the elderly doctor asked as he wiped the tears away.

     "Of course you did!" she answered.  Jessica gathered her thoughts, took his hands in hers, and added, "You touched the heart without a scalpel.  Now you’re truly a surgeon!"

     They turned.  Together, the elderly couple looked outside in wonder.  Neither could figure out how it happened, or why.  As he hugged his wife tightly, Doctor Graham watched in silence as the dark clouds blew toward the horizon.  

     Perhaps this chance was a complete accident.  Perhaps not.  Perhaps someone out there wanted to oblige an old man, to give him the opportunity to slap some sense into his younger self.  And perhaps, just perhaps, the storm winked at them both and traveled on, ready to help another.