#piss. and wine. you know. the health terminals

[funnywizard3000]

[jemej3m]

Aaron takes the mental health course part of pre med (is that a thing?) and starts recognizing Andrew grounding himself, having an episode, etc

bruhhhhh 

bruuhhh

*

Aaron winced as his son sprinted for the door, yelling the whole way. The twins knew that their uncle was coming to visit and were absolutely ecstatic about it. A well-known fact amongst the old Foxes and their children was that Andrew was very, very good with kids. 

Well, Aaron conceded. Andrew wasn’t good with them. He just didn’t even have to try: they loved him right off the bat. And barring the slight furrow in his brows whenever one of Aaron’s twins or Kevin’s spawn whined ‘please!’, he didn’t seem to mind being around them, either. 

His son was jumping for the doorhandle excitedly, so Aaron put his hand atop of his head and stilled him before swinging the door open. 

Andrew was much the same. They were aging the same way, albeit the slight muscular composition difference. Andrew’s teeth were a little more yellow, though he’d given up smoking a few years ago, and Aaron had reading glasses tucked into the collar of his shirt. Other than that, they were just as similar as they always had been. 

“Hey,” Aaron said, but his son was already yelling and jumping and tugging on Andrew’s hand. Andrew’s lips nearly twitched into a smile. Nearly. 

Once his bags were deposited and shoes tucked into a corner, Katelyn handed him a mug of cocoa and they all sat on the couch as the kids regaled their uncle with stories of preschool and their neighbour’s new dog and how Dad had found them in the bathroom with craft scissors, which was why Aaron’s son had such a short haircut now. 

Katelyn got them settled for bed soon after: Andrew had arrived relatively late in the evening, just in time for ‘adult dinner’. 

“How was the flight?” Aaron asked, taking a dish of potatoes out of the oven. 

Andrew hummed into his glass of wine. “Miserable.” 

Aaron had known for quite a while Andrew’s deliberating fear of heights, ever since the Foxes had taken a reunion trip to Hawaii a few years ago. When his wife hustled back into the kitchen, Andrew nodded at her and she smiled back. Aaron felt something odd in his chest. Andrew had been very tolerant of Katelyn lately. He assumed it was the kids’ doing. 

They ate dinner quietly. Katelyn chattered about the kids, and their medical placements. Andrew asked about their specialties. 

Aaron stared at the plate. Katelyn nudged his shoulder. 

“Right.” He glanced up. “I’m not sure. What I want to choose, that is. It’s between surgery or psychiatry.” 

Andrew hummed. “Psychiatry.” 

Aaron shrugged. He’d done a lot of mental health work throughout his postgraduate degree. It just seemed to make sense that he’d go into that field. It takes one to know one, and all that. “What do you think?”

Andrew just arched an eyebrow. “Does it matter?”

“Well, yes,” Aaron said, tone a little frigid. Drake’s trial had been a public debacle, but it was Dr Richmond Proust that Aaron couldn’t get out of his head. It was during their fourth year when the news had come on about a psychiatrist at Easthaven being exposed for forceful sexual conduct with patients. Andrew hadn’t spoken to anyone but Neil for a week, and then disappeared for another two when Waterhouse asked him to stand witness to Proust’s trial. 

“Psychiatry is glorified drug dealing,” Andrew decided, stabbing a piece of broccoli with his fork. He paused, then shrugged. “Could probably do with a bit of Minyard fuckery, though.”

Aaron was finally able to read Andrew’s subtext though: that was the biggest compliment he’d ever get. Unable to bite down a smile, he said “I thought so, too.” 

His brother simply hummed. 

The rest of dinner passed quietly. Andrew had three of Katelyn’s triple fudge brownies and sent a photo of them to Kevin, just to piss him off. The evening slowed down with a nightcap in front of the news, Katelyn heading to bed early. She’d agreed to take the kids to their daycare in Aaron’s stead so that he could have breakfast with his brother alone.

Aaron was just about to turn in for the night when Andrew’s phone rang. Andrew squinted at the unknown number, mouth turned down: he could remember everyone’s phone numbers, and this was clearly one he didn’t recognise.  

He rose the phone to his ear. The slight frown disappeared and transformed into a blank stare, something far deadlier. Aaron hadn’t seen him wear it since college. 

“When,” Andrew snapped, gripping the phone so hard Aaron thought it would break. The voice continued. “And you only thought to call me now? I’m his next-of-kin.” Aaron froze. 

Eventually, Andrew hung up, holding the phone midair as his eyes glossed over. 

“Andrew?” 

“Neil got in a head-on collision,” he mumbled. 

“Dead?”

“Unstable.” 

“I’ll book you a flight.”

Andrew wasn’t moving. When Aaron saw a flush rise in his cheeks, he realised Andrew wasn’t breathing, either. Shit. Shit. His brother was having a fucking meltdown. Goddammit, next time Aaron saw Neil he was going to strangle him. 

He got off the couch and crouched down in front of Andrew, careful not to touch him. “Andrew.”

Andrew didn’t move. 

“Hey, Andrew.” Aaron stood up a little more so that they were eye level. “Andrew, you need to breathe. Okay? If you’re going to go make sure Neil’s okay, I need you to breathe.” 

Andrew finally looked at him. He was angry. Terrified. Aaron couldn’t really tell: his gaze was like looking into a void, pupils blown wide. 

Calming someone down was a lot simpler when Aaron didn’t know them. This was like walking a tightrope of barbed wire over an alligator-infested pit. 

“Can I have your phone? I’m going to book you a flight. Okay? Nod if you can hear me.”

Andrew nodded but didn’t relinquish the phone. Aaron grit his teeth. 

“Andrew. It’s going to be okay. He’s unstable, but he’ll make it. He’s always made it. He’s impossible to kill, right?” 

“I hate him,” Andrew mumbled. 

“I know. Can I use your phone?” 

Andrew dropped the phone into Aaron’s hand and dropped his head into his hands, utterly still. His breathing went all ragged and choppy. 

There was a springy voice on the other end of the line. “Hello, this is the service desk for Terminal 1 domestic, how can I -?”

“I need a flight for Denver as soon as you can,” Aaron snapped. “It’s an emergency. When’s the next available one? I’m willing to pay whatever’s necessary.” 

“Oh,” the woman sputtered. “Um, there’s a red-eye leaving in an hour, but there’s only first-class left - ”

“That’s fine. Please book it for Andrew Minyard. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” 

“Sir, I really can’t - wait, Andrew Minyard? Seriously?”

“Dead serious.” 

“Alright,” she allowed. “Okay. If you can make it to this desk in 25 minutes, I’ll have a seat for you, Mr Minyard.”

Aaron hung up. “Andrew, we need to go.” 

Andrew’s breathing sped up, fingers digging into his hair and pulling hard enough to rip it out. Aaron’s chest began to ache, watching as the sleeves of his shirt fell down to reveal the black armbands, still everpresent after all these years. 

“Hey,” he said, keeping his voice gentle. “Are you with me, Andrew?”

Andrew glanced up slightly, glaring at Aaron’s collarbone. 

“All you need to do is breathe. Neil is okay. He’s going to be okay. You’ll see him soon, alright?” 

Aaron tapped his hand gently on his knee, palm down for four counts, then holding his fist closed for eight counts, then palm up for four counts. Andrew slowly began to breathe in time with his hand, chest heaving as he inhaled through his teeth. 

It took a while, but Aaron watched him slowly come back to his senses. His hands slipped over his eyes once his breathing was steady, kneading at his temples. 

“I’ll drive you to the airport,” Aaron said. 

“Okay,” Andrew rasped. 

*

“Babe,” Katelyn whispered. “Your phone is going off.”  

Aaron blinked his eyes open, glaring at the ceiling. Why’d he been up so late? 

Oh. Right. 

He blindly reached out for his phone. 

Most of it was the Foxes going mad, but there in the midst of chaos, was Andrew’s number. 

he’s going to be ok. thank you.

Aaron sighed, oddly relieved. He didn’t like Neil Josten one bit, but it would’ve been a slight hiccup if he’d died. 

good, he said, texting blindly without his glasses. don’t mention it.

trust me, his brother texted back. I won’t.

*

nawww twinyards!

[whatareyoulikeincapslock]

Portland, LA

“You look like you’ve shit your pants” says Michelle, a middle aged woman from Glen Roy, who I’ve met over breakfast bagels. She’s on a whirlwind tour with her friend, and scoffs at my hiking stories. My back is seizing worse than ever today and I find that stretching out my hip flexors seem to give me less relief than previous days. I’m starting to think I may have strained a ligament in my back now. I haven’t had a proper bed in three weeks, a spring loaded mattress or a lower plastic bunk bed has been the best case scenario, amongst hammocks and dirt and sleeping bags and couches.

I make my way on the metro to the airport after giving the reception the wine I don’t want anymore. I haven’t wanted to drink since waking up in the Fart Princesses bed. I can’t sit still on the metro as my hips keep tightening and my legs are vibrating pain, so I stand and make all sorts of weird stretches until I get to the terminal, where a man sees me stretching my hips out on the floor in the boarding lounge. He asks me if I have a running injury, and I tell him I’ve hiked 100k in two weeks. He says he’s run 200k: he’s an ultra marathon runner. I’ve read a few books on ultra marathons and I think it’s incredibly hardcore and super impressive. He is well over 60 and looking after his grandkids, and the guy is fitter than anything. He’s done two 100k runs in two weeks, and the last one took him ten hours, which is so impressive I nearly fall off my chair, except that I’m already on the floor stretching into pigeon pose.

By the time I get on the plane my back is radiating pain down my legs and I’m starting to worry.

I meet a 75 year old woman in the seat next to me who comments on my one Portland souvenir: a sweater that says “body by pastrami” that I am planning on wearing til its rags. Especially since ironically, I’ve probably lost some weight out here, though I haven’t properly checked. I also haven’t eaten any pastrami, but that’s beside the point.

I’ve been thinking deeply about sobriety again after yesterday’s discussion with chris. I started to talk about the book “this naked mind” by Annie grace, and how society is governed so much by alcoholcentricity that it is saturated to the point of external validation being completely biased.

We spoke about his friend who has a drinking problem and how the neural pathways can suffer a degeneration so severe that you can’t come back from it. And it occurred to me whilst I was preaching this that I had been black out twice in two days and it was the first time I had a bender like that in while. I didn’t feel guilty about it, but it made me worry about the injuries I’d sustained and whether that would have been different if I hadn’t drank. I would surmise that yes, considering that alcohol in vast amounts or even small ones can affect muscle recovery. I wonder what my capacity to hike would be if I was not sinking well above my average units of alcohol. The man who does ultra marathons had inspired me to start running again, but I know I can’t do it if I’m drinking, not in the capacity that I’m allowing myself to. Maybe not at all, whilst I train and build my body to overcome large distances.

Renee said that Muay Thai had helped her discover something she didn’t want to drink for, and I could see that, and feel that, when I was hiking. I would purposely not drink or only drink a bit before a hike the next day. But as soon as I had recovery time I would go Wild with it.

I think about Nathalie often on this trip because I’m still so pissed off at her reaction to me, but I realise lately that I have to let it go because otherwise it will prove to be cancerous for me and my propensity to be defiant and then just drink because someone tells me I can’t, which makes me understand why they try to break down your ego and humble you in AA. Because some people really don’t like being told what to do, to the point where they will do things they don’t even want to, to prove a point. And I’m one of them, which makes me want to shatter my ego to slivers and throw it out to the universe.

So much of this trip has me confronting the ridiculousness of my pride and ego. Somewhere recently I managed to pick up some large amount of insecurity, that has completely blown out my ego. I have become more sensitive lately, to my distaste, and I don’t quite know how to fix it.

I wonder if it had something to do with my time at refresh, and whether James not believing I had filled my capacity at any point had me wearing myself so thin that I blew out on feeling unworthy. Also, my penchance for unavailable men, which has me clinging to the narrative that I am too much, and not able to be loved, and unsure of how to love in an adequate way.

So much of this year has made me realise how much of a child I still am, and I wonder if we ever really get it together, or if we cover it with husbands and children and study and distractions large enough to identify ourselves by so we don’t have to face our lack of growth.

It is a slow process, realising you don’t know anything and then attempting to wrangle the beast that is a life that is constantly in transit.

And hiking mountains makes you completely aware of how insignificant and tiny you are in the grand scheme of things. I wonder what I can do in my life to influence the people around me enough to ensure that my name is said in reference to joy or insight after I am dead.

I wonder how far reaching kindness is, and I wonder if I have been kind enough lately, and I wonder if that is why I have felt my ego rising up to meet me with such aggressive fervour.

I keep hitting the left side of my body, cuts on my knees, restubbing my toe a million times a day because I have no toenail and I’m sleeping on a top bunk so low that I keep sitting up and smacking my head on the ceiling and then smacking my toe following that. My body is covered in bruises from hiking, clumsiness and drunkenness. The hike has left me with small scratches all over my feet that are stinging constantly. I still want to hike the Hollywood sign though. It will be the last hike of the trip and I think, a great place to end.

I listen to Halsey and G-Eazy on the plane and think about publicly being obsessed with someone to the point of making music talking about dying with them and then breaking up in the public eye.

I wonder if they then just refuse to play that song in their tours again, probably.

It makes me think about infatuation and love and how flawed we all are. Love seems uncomfortable, sacrificial. Infatuation is great, I wonder if it continues to come around in long term relationships if you try hard enough, and what those steps are. I guess that life is a series of storms you weather together, like they say. I wonder how often in love that you actually like each other, and how often you wish for something else, and whether it’s really worth it or just something we dreamed up because were animals that need to procreate and loneliness is debilitating. And whether fear of dying alone and unsupported plays a starring role in the perception of a relationship over the years. And then I think, tomorrow I could fall off a cliff and then I would never have to worry about shit like this, and maybe that’s the most comforting thing I have thought all morning.

The lady sitting next to me tells me about how her kids took her to Alaska for her 75th birthday, and whether it makes all the diarrhoea, sickness and relentless verbal slinging matches that occur when you spawn worth it. Whether it’s worth being told you are hated and being terrified of losing them to illness and accidents and hospital visits and mental health. Whether it’s worth the bills and the school and the bail outs and the disagreements. A trip through the wilderness that you could have afforded anyway, but maybe you would spend the time feeling so desperately lonely that your heart is the size of the moon, and the only thing that makes a life worth it is the notion, if not the reality, of love that is unconditional.

As I leave the plane, the lady next to me tells me her name is Pat.

She looks at me from the seat as I’m standing in the isle, fiddling with the strap of my bag.

“I’m envious”, she says.

I laugh, but the words curl themselves into my rib cage, and I wonder if they’re true.