The Week it Didn't Stop Raining

LaVieEnRose

A lot happened in a short period of time.

I had what was, Brian promised me two days after when I still couldn't move without crying, the worst seizure I'd ever had. At least this time I was home for it, and Martha apparently barked like crazy and got Brian there immediately, but yeah, he said it was bad, really bad, and he was so careful with me afterwards that I knew it must have scared the shit out of him. And I can't remember the last time I felt that horrible after one, and for that length of time. So that of course meant there was an emergency neurologist appointment where they fucked with my meds for the millionth time, and just like every time I got sick and so fucked up in the head that I kept telling Brian that someone was poisoning me, which I'm sure was a great time for him.

And my show closed, and I didn't sell much, and I could tell the gallery wasn't happy with me, and it's not like the show was full of great memories for me either and God, it was supposed to be so big, and my allergies were a mess and Brian was blaming Martha even though it was fucking May, so that was stressful and I kept being convinced he was going to take her away from me, and I was too sick to go to Molly's graduation and that was awful and then. And then there was Evan.

And I couldn't move without crying. First because of the seizure. Then because of everything.

**

This isn't something the three of us shared with anyone outside of the house, but Martha is supposed to help for depression, too. I thought service dogs were just for one thing, like you had to pick one if you were like me and had seventy-eight things wrong with you, but it turns out the dog is tailored to the person, not the condition. So Martha knows Deaf tricks, and seizure tricks, and asthma tricks. And mental health tricks.

For example, she tries to get me out of bed.

I'm not getting up today, I told her.

She cocked her head and watched me.

There's nothing good out there. I don't feel good. I'm going to sleep today.

She nuzzled my hand.

Brian will walk you. I pulled the blanket up over my head. Leave me alone.

It was just bad today.

It had been raining for almost a week.

It was Evan.

Martha kept licking my hand.

I'll let you out in the backyard so you can run around, I said. Just give me a minute.

But I don't know how much time passed between when I said that and when Brian came in and spooned me in the bed, me under the covers, him on top. I rolled over and faced him, and he gave me that calm smile he always does when my head isn't on straight.

Are you getting up today? he asked me.

I shook my head.

You need to eat something. And take a shower.

Just go away if I'm so gross.

He sighed and stroked my hair off my forehead.

Sorry, I said.

That's okay.

How is he?

He's sleeping. I'm bringing him to the doctor in a few hours.

Is he mad at me?

Brian sighed. I don't even know how many times he'd had to answer that at this point. No one is mad at you.

I'm being awful. I'm making this about me.

You're sick as hell. This isn't not about you.

“I'm not sick, I'm just...pathetic.”

Brian looked at me for a long time, and I was so sure, and so terrified, that he was about to agree with me.

I guess that's proof of how fucked up I was, that I thought that.

Instead he said, Sunshine. Set it all aside for a second, okay? Do I need to be worried?

His eyes were so beautiful.

He wasn't asking about the seizures or my allergies or the med adjustment.

I usually only get like this in the winter.

Maybe if it would just stop raining.

“Yeah,” I said softly, and he nodded and kept playing with my hair.

**

It's okay if you hate me for being self-centered and useless and horrible. Really, it is.

I don't know how to explain what it feels like.

I'm sorry. This isn't a good story. And you probably just want to hear about what was going on with Evan, not about what clinical depression is. That's what I wanted to think about, anyway.

It's okay if you hate me. I promise, it's fine.

**

Presenting Martha, Evan said, letting her back into my room. She had a lovely time chasing squirrels.

She probably hates me for not taking her out.

Not the vibe I get. He crawled up on the bed next to me and put his arms around me. I tucked my forehead against his chin and just stayed there for a little while, breathing him in.

How are you, are you okay? I said.

Just tired. So so so tired.

Martha hopped up on the bed and settled down between us with a sigh.

Brian’s going to fix it, I said.

I know. He ran his hands down my sides. Who’s gonna fix you?

Martha.

Ah, okay.

I took as deep a breath as I could. I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm like this. I don't know why I have to be like this.

It's just bad sometimes, Evan says. But it doesn't always feel like this, okay?

Please don't comfort me.

That's not very convincing when you're crying...

I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes. “You can't comfort me about you. You can't. I won't look at it.”

Evan peeled my hands off my face.

I'm comforting you about you, he said. Ohhh, Justin, he fingerspelled, and he pulled me onto his chest and held me there.

**

Brian stood at the foot of the bed. Okay. I've got to go. Evan's doctor's appointment.

“Okay.”

He put a granola bar and a bottle of water on the bedside table. And there's a painkiller here if you need it.

“Okay. Thanks.”

He ran his hand down his face and said, I hid the razors in the bathroom.

“Okay.”

I don't have to do the knives, right? You're not going to go to the kitchen?

“No. It's okay.”

I'll be back in an hour. Maybe two.

“I'll be fine, I promise.”

He came to the bed and I sat up, and he guided me into a hug, his fingers working some of the knots in my back. I felt him say something in my ear and kiss my cheek.

“Please don't worry about me,” I said. “I don't want anyone to worry.”

He pulled away enough to wipe my cheeks off with his thumbs.

Is it still raining? I said, and he nodded and ran his palm across the back of my neck.

**

The house felt so, so empty without them, and I'm pretty sure if I didn't have Martha napping on my knee I would have lost my goddamn mind and become convinced I was the only thing left in the world.

I scratched her head and tried to find the energy to turn on a TV show or open up a book. Something. Everything just seemed so incredibly impossibly hard. All I wanted to do was call Evan and find out how the appointment was going, but I was so scared of what he might tell me that I didn't even reach for the phone.

I pulled the comforter up over my head. My whole body was throbbing like a sprained ankle, and I kind of felt like I was going to have a seizure but Martha wasn't doing anything, so this must just have been...how I felt now. I'd probably fucked myself up forever with that last seizure. It was probably never going to get any better. I would never get out of bed, I'd never be there for Evan, this dog was a waste of Brian's money because I was going to be too sick forever to go anywhere and do anything and even if I wasn't I was going to be too depressed to go anywhere and do anything. I don't even need to be sick to be useless. I will take any excuse to twist a situation and make it about how helpless I am. I'm that desperate for attention or that incapable of taking care of myself because I'm lazy or stupid or selfish or something. There has got to be something that I am that's making me act like this.

God, I wanted Brian back.

I eventually dragged myself up and to the bathroom and God help me made a half-hearted attempt to look for the razors, and then I thought I should probably give myself a change of scenery before I lost my entire mind and I rode the momentum of being already standing over to the couch. I curled up with Evan's favorite blanket and thought about making some tea, but it seemed really hard and besides I'd told Brian I wouldn't go into the kitchen, and he'd worry if he got home and found out I did.

Martha nudged my pocket until my inhaler came out and oh, right, I couldn't breathe. Because God forbid I get over my fucking self and get up and move. Fucked if you do, fucked if you don't.

God. It really is okay if you hate me. I don't know how you couldn't.

I fell asleep there on the couch, and the next thing I knew Brian was rousing me gently, pulling my legs up into his lap. I rubbed my eyes and felt relief cover me up like a quilt. Brian was here. It would be okay now.

And then I woke up enough to remember why Brian was gone.

How are you? he asked me. You got out of bed, are you okay?

I can't tell if you're proud or concerned.

I am, literally always, both.

I smiled a little. Where is he?

Downstairs.

My stomach felt cold. It's bad, isn't it? Otherwise he would be telling me and not you.

Brian sighed and squeezed my foot. It's about what we expected. His kidney function's still going down. Dialysis isn't as effective as it used to be.

“He needs a kidney.”

They're moving him up on the list.

“We're running out of time.”

It's not that dire yet. He's okay.

I can't lose him.

You won't, Brian said firmly.

I nodded a little, but I didn't believe it. I didn't believe anything, I don't think, except for Brian's hands on me.

Come here, he said, and he pulled me closer and ran his thumbs over the soft skin on the insides of my forearms. How's Martha?

“Good. She thinks I'm pathetic.”

Well, if you were all nice and healed she'd be very bored.

My chin started shaking.

Oh, come on, he said gently.

I'm sorry.

You just need rest, Brian said. Like he was certain.

But it felt like it was never going to get better.

**

It did, of course. The next day I was feeling motivated enough to make cookies for Evan. I even got Brian to help me.

His favorite cookies are peanut butter, I said.

His favorite Justin is probably one not in anaphylactic shock.

So we made snickerdoodles, and Brian ate half the batter, and he swiped a stripe of flour on my cheek and I actually laughed, for the first time in a long time. Evan came up and rested on the couch while he watched us work, and he was so grateful and embarrassed and overwhelmed by cookies, of all things, this boy.

I was really worn out afterwards and lay in the bath tub for a long time. Brian hung out in the bathroom with me—Martha's too small to pull me out if I have a seizure in the bathtub, so someone still has to be around, though Martha doesn't seem to know that and parks herself by the tub like a statue—and entertained me with dumb shit he found on his phone, old pictures of us, stupid texts from Gus.

I was still a level of miserable that didn't feel liveable long-term, but it was okay for right now.

I am so not emotionally ready for Evan to have major surgery, Brian said.

Brian Kinney just said the word emotion.

I've grown.

I know.

But not enough to be okay with Evan having surgery. Last time one of us had something major it was you getting your head sewn back on.

I don't think that's exactly what it was.

You were asleep, what do you know.

I stretched one leg up. “Getting his arm fixed was pretty major.”

No, doesn't count.

“Getting your ball removed?”

Definitely doesn't count.

“I wonder what it feels like,” I said. “To have an organ—organs--that are just...failing.”

Brian raised an eyebrow at me.

What?

Your lungs, dear.

“They're not failing. They're just...not so good. They're not actively getting worse.”

Brian laughed. That's the benchmark? Whether it's getting worse, not how bad it is now?

“I make the rules.”

Yeah, maybe not this time. He leaned forwards, towards me. Justin. You have got to stop downplaying this shit going on with you. It's what's fucking with your head. You think you're not allowed to be sick because he is, and that's just not reality. We've been over this. Nobody is looking at this situation going, God, I can't believe Justin has the nerve to still be sick while Evan's kidneys are failing.

“That's not what's going on. We have been over this.”

Okay, Brian said. So tell me, why are you so upset?

Because I'm brain damaged and they messed with my anticonvulsants.

He watched me.

Okay. Fine. And because for all we know, I could have been a match for him.

Brian softened. Sunshine.

“If I had just been more careful. If I hadn't gotten sick when my immune system was trashed, I wouldn't have gotten pneumonia, my lungs wouldn't have gotten damaged, I'd be able to have that fucking major surgery and give him a kidney.

“You're probably not a match.”

But I could be. And we don't even know. I don't even get a chance to save him.

You realize there was absolutely nothing you could do to keep from getting sick when your immune system was trashed.

I sighed and coughed a little. I know. I just can't stand feeling useless like this. And I have to feel like this all the fucking time. And it's not going to stop. And sometimes that's just...overwhelming to sit here and make you do everything.

I only do everything because of you, he said, casually.

I watched him.

What? he said. I wouldn't have found Evan on my own. I wouldn't have my head out of my ass enough to take care of myself, let alone someone else. I wouldn't fucking...God, I wouldn't get out of bed, you know this. You know what you do to me.

I rubbed my chest and thought about this.

Everything, this house, this family, this fucking...peace that we have, tenuous though it may be, is because of you. You really don't see that?

“I don't think you understand how much I absolutely despise myself.”

The stories are named after the maidens stuck in the tower, you know. The princess trapped in the castle. The delicate flower who needs to be saved.

“But I want to be the knight.”

No one remembers the knight, Brian scoffed. He's a lackey. Brian lowered his face, so close to mine. But they'll remember you.

**

I realize that's not supposed to be what you want to hear.

Maybe you read that and you thought wow, that wasn't the right thing to say. Brian really fucked up this time. He should have told Justin how strong and capable he is, that he's going to be the one to save Evan in the end.

Maybe you're not sick and you should shut up.

I think I do care if you hate me, actually.

I don't blame you for it, not yet. But I do care.

**

Evan was sick that night, and I spent it awake with him in the basement, telling him stories and giving him cool washcloths and telling him to squeeze my hand as hard as it hurts, and he wouldn't. Brian came and got me in the morning and carried me up the stairs because I was so tired, and when I woke up he and Evan were both gone. Dialysis.

Martha looked at me from the foot of the bed.

“Come on, baby girl,” I said. “Let's go for a walk.”

I didn't want to stray too far from the house, so I took her a few blocks, back and forth. We live about halfway up a hill, and from two blocks away you can stand at the corner and see everything, the bodegas and the bicycles and our beautiful house and I watched the people move around us and I looked at my dog and I....

We wouldn't have come to New York if not for me. Brian never would have expanded his offices to here, to London, to Hong Kong next year. He still would have aged, or he might not have treated his cancer and he might not still be alive.

Evan would be in a shitty shared apartment with people who didn't care about him if not for me. And he would still be in kidney failure, or he might have gotten sick and not had the money to do anything and might not still be alive.

The knights leave their lives to rescue the princess in the tower. Suitors come from all over to deliver her love letters in her fortress. The world changes, but she stays the same, her castle overseeing everything, her presence the reason that everyone keeps coming back.

You think she's fragile but she is the most stable thing that there is.

I stood there with my steady legs and looked at my world.

The sun was out.