Delaware

            In the waiting room, I fill out the forms painstakingly, the way I’ve gotten used to doing over the years.  I take them up to the desk, where the secretary asks me for my insurance card.  

            I pat my pockets, and pull out my wallet.  I flip through the cards, “Damn”, I finally say.  “I must have left it at home.  Can I pay out of pocket or something?”  

            “Oh, we can sort you out later.”  

            “Thanks”, I say, relieved, and return to my seat.  But, by the looks of the people in the waiting room, that probably happens a lot.  This isn’t the charming, well-funded medical practices of my youth.  This is a jam packed clinic for people who can’t afford to go anywhere else.  The kind of place no one will recognize me because no one would expect me to be here – hiding in plain sight.  A pregnant woman waits patiently alone, while a Latino boy around my age, struggles to fill out the paperwork.  

            I tap him on the shoulder, “Do you need help?”  I ask in my terrible Spanish.  

            He nods, and I sit beside him, and try to help him fill some of it out.  I assume a place like this probably has translators, but based on the crumbling wallpaper and bad paint job on the outside of this building, it’s hard to know what they have money for.  

            “Adam”, someone calls, and I wonder if it’s obvious how unnatural hearing that name still is for me.  The boy nods to me and thanks me as I leave.  

            I stand up and follow the nurse back.   

            “Has anyone told you?”  She asks almost immediately, “That you look a lot like that runner, you know, the one who’s girlfriend just died, but he still won the Olympics.”  

“You mean, Tyler Hewitt?”  I confirm. 

“Yes, he’s the one.”  She nods, “Such a sad story you know.  His girlfriend so young, and he couldn’t be there to say goodbye when she died of a brain tumor.  That’s gotta be such a hard choice.  Your race or your girlfriend.”    

I wince and shrug, “I get that sometimes.  But you know, I’m surprised.  I’d think, you, being a nurse, would be careful about gossiping about things like that.  What would you do on the off chance that I really was him or related to him?”  

She visibly pales, and stutters, “Well, he’s not local!  He’d certainly never walk in here.”   

I crack a smile to let her know I’m joking, even though on the inside, I’m seething.  

“Anyway, Adam.  Can you come out here and step on the scale?”  I weigh in at 130.  

“Looks good.”  She smiles, “I’ll do your blood pressure now.”  

When she’s done, she frowns, “Is it normally pretty low for you?” 

“Yeah, I play soccer at Maryland.  I work out a lot.”  

“And you’re in here today for what?”

“Just a well visit.  I just need a doctor to sign off that I’m clear to play this year.”  

“And this is the clinic you chose?”  

“It’s close to my parents’ place.”  

She smiles, “Alright.  Sounds like you’ll be easy today.”  

We walk back into the room and she hands me a gown that I have no intention of putting on, “Change into this and the PA will be in here shortly to have a look at you.”  

“The PA?”  I question.  “I want to see a doctor.”  I raise my voice a little, and her jaw clenches a little.  I’m not usually this much of a brat.  On a normal day, I’ll take what I can get.  I’ve been around the block enough to know that most PAs are just as qualified as doctors, if not better, because they get more personal.  

But today, my needs are different.  

“I can assure you that she’s just as qualified.”  

“You don’t understand.  I want a doctor, a male doctor.”  I snap. 

She purses her lips, “Well, you’re going to have to wait a while longer then.  As you can see, this place is bursting at the seams with people who actually need medical care that they can’t get anywhere else.” 

“That’s fine.”  I respond, resigned.  It feels a bit like a standoff between a toddler and his parent.  But, you know what?  I always have to be perfect.  Even when I’m not, I’m quiet, I’m moody, but I don’t act out.  And I deserve to have one afternoon where I’m not this perfect, polite guy.  Even if it leaves me feeling like a little shit.  

She stalks off, clearly not happy with me.  And I swear she turned the air conditioning off just to make me miserable about my decision.  Or maybe this place just can’t afford to keep it on.  

It feels like she makes me wait for hours.  But I’m kept busy because my phone keeps dinging with texts.  One from my brother.  “Your phone is pinging in Delaware.  Are you serious, dude?” 

And like clockwork, a text from my Coach.  “Hey, you’re welcome to sit out the first couple weeks of the season, but I was hoping you could call me so we can get a plan squared away.”  And one from my sister, “Teddy says your phone is pinging in Delaware.  Call me if you want backup, or to talk, or if you need anything at all.”  Five minutes later, her husband texts me, “So I’m not judging… but, I heard you got lost in Delaware?”  

I start a group text to deal with my family.  “It’s really not a big deal.  Stop stalking me with FindMyFriends.  I’ll call you guys later.  Love you.”  Then I mute the group chat, to get ahead of all the texts that are going to be like, “Get on with the drive.  Get back to campus”.  Or “We love you no matter what” or “You don’t want to do this.” 

I type out a message to Coach, “Look, I’m sorry.  I just need a few days.  I’m not blowing you off, I promise.”  

“I understand.”  He messages back almost immediately.  “Just checking to see if you’re okay.”  

I’m not okay.  I think everyone, except maybe the nurse I just interacted with, can see that.  But, I’ve been in plenty of situations in the past where I wasn’t okay.  

Someone knocks on the door.  “Adam, is it okay if I come in?”  

The voice doesn’t sound right to me.  Older.  Not the way I thought it would sound.  But I tell him to come in anyway.  

“How are you doing today, Adam?”  He grabs the chart off the desk, not looking at me.  He starts scanning my forms, and then he stops abruptly, and glances up.  We lock eyes, he sets the chart down, and I wonder, not for the first time today, what the hell I’m thinking.  

I wonder if he’s going to say anything, about the name on the chart, about the subtleties in the medical history.  A broken collarbone.  A bout of bronchitis.  Things no one would think anything of, except for him.  

Because who do you think gave Adam that broken collarbone?  

There’s a wheely chair by the desk, and he slumps into it.  

“You didn’t put on the gown, and ----.”  He breaks off.  “So, I’m guessing you’re not here for medical attention.  Or a sports physical.”  

            “No.  I guess not.”  I bite out.  

“Tyler---.”  He breathes my name out like it’s a treasure.  

I almost don’t recognize him.  My breathing quickens when I start to let the memories into the same room that we’re sitting in, so I push them back.  His hair’s grey, and he seems feeble somehow, not the strong man who used to scare the shit out of me.  To the untrained eye, he just seems like he’s getting up in his years, but to me, it seems a piece of him has been eaten away.  I just hope it’s the right piece.  

“So---.  Primary care?”  I ask hesitantly.  We haven’t spoken since his parole hearing, and I’m not even sure I’d call it speaking.  I begged the board not to let him out.  Needless to say, they didn’t listen to me.  

When he got out, I got a letter saying that his door was open if I ever wanted it to be, but otherwise he planned to leave us alone.  It’s like he knew that someday I’d need him, or want him or something.  After that, true to his word, he never showed up unexpectedly.  He never called, never bothered us.  He knew he wasn’t wanted.  I’d get a card about once a year, enough for me to know he’d been checking up on me.  A birthday card, a congratulations card, and so on.  Except this summer, it was a sympathy card.  

He nods but doesn’t say anything.  It’s like he knows he has no right to.  

“I was sorry to hear about your girlfriend.”  He says, and it pisses me off.  He didn’t know her.  He wasn’t in our lives.  But does he know how many times she begged me to consider that maybe he should be?  

“I know.  I got your card.”  I read them, but I don’t acknowledge that they come.  I can’t bring myself to thank him.  You know how some kids who were abused, have good memories?  Like one day Daddy read a book to me, and the next day he slapped me across the face?  Two sides to the same coin?  I can’t remember those.  

            My older sister remembers him as being an amazing dad, because he was sweet and doting towards her, and abusive towards the boys in the family.  The irony of our lives hit when Savannah turned out not to be his child.  

Teddy says there were one or two moments where he was a good dad to us – not a whole lot, but not nonexistent either – but my curse is I can’t remember a single thing besides the aftermath of the car that he slammed into a tree.  

I don’t remember our little sister.  I don’t remember anything.  He not only erased a member of our family, but managed to erase my memories of her as well, in one fell swoop.  

“So”, He prods, “What brings you to Delaware?”  He stares at me, daring me not to skirt the question.  

But I’m already preparing a bullshit response.  The thing is, when I was five, this man upended my life in so many ways I can’t even explain.  We’re strangers, and yet, he made me, he made me who I am, and as much as I hate him for it, I feel broken by all the things I don’t know about him, and myself, in consequence.  Yet, being honest?  I don’t know how to do that.  “It seemed like as good as any place to stop between Virginia Beach and New Hampshire.” 

I note his hesitation, as he asks, “What’s in Virginia Beach?”  There are graves there, and I’m sure he knows as much.  But I didn’t go to them on this trip.  I don’t need to, as I carry them with me every day.  “Adam’s family lives there now.  Andy’s in her residency there.  She’s in the Navy too.  She thought it was a good way to honor Adam.”  I take a deep breath.  “Erin’s eleven, and Jude – he’s turning six this fall.  They came to England to watch me run actually, but I wasn’t in a mental place then to spend too much time with them, so I stopped by on my way back from Wilmington for a few nights.  Those kids are a bright light in a dark place.”  

I think of Jude now, only a few months older than I was when my dad’s actions landed me in a coma.  I grew up without a father, because mine was a raging alcoholic with a penchant for violence.  Jude’s growing up without a father, because his was a hero – a Navy SEAL who died in service to this country.  Adam was far from perfect, but nor were our circumstances.  He was a better father to me than the man in front of me ever was.  I can only hope that my niece and nephew grow up to be as kind and brave as my brother was.  

“Adam was a better father to you than I could ever have been.”  My dad says.  “And that wasn’t fair to you or him.”

A knock on the door interrupts us.  The nurse from before pokes her head in, “Blake, there’s another patient waiting for you.  Are you almost done here?”  

A look passes between us.  We’re not done here, but this is also his place of work.  He can’t help me, but this clinic is full of people he can actually help.  I find my words, “We’re almost done I believe.”  

The nurse has a sour look on her face, noting that I never changed into my gown, probably, but closes the door behind her as she leaves.  

“I’m pre-med.”  I blurt. 

“I know.”  He says.  “Nothing about your life is private anymore.”  

“Yeah.”  I say, drawing the word out.  He’s right.  Except for one thing.  I didn’t let the media get ahold of the story where my father drove drunk into a tree, with three kids in the car, and survived.  The story, as the world came to know - when they watched a kid too young to even drink legally in the United States, cross the finish line at the Olympics to earn a gold medal, just days after his girlfriend died of cancer back in the states - is that my father drove drunk into a tree and didn’t come out of it alive.  

            “And thank you.  By the way, for keeping things quiet.  I don’t deserve that.”  

            I shrug, “You can thank Allie for that.”  

            He nods solemnly. 

“She said it wouldn’t be fair.  Making you notorious when all you’ve done since you got out of jail is try to help people with the only skills you have.  She’s the one who found this address for me.  She wanted to be here with me when I saw you again, but I was too stubborn.”  I say.  “That’s the only reason I’m here.”  I sigh heavily.  “She thought maybe I should hear your side of the story.  Or maybe, I should see if you’d really changed.  I told her I liked it better when I thought you were dead.  But she said, everyone deserves redemption.  That I needed to try to forgive you or I’d just wear it like a yoke for the rest of my life.”  

He shakes his head ruefully.  “I don’t know that I deserve redemption.  But, she was right to tell you that.  In the end, forgiving me is for you, not for me.  I’m not going to forgive myself.  But, I had to move on, Tyler.  I had to do something better than I did it before.  I don’t drink anymore.  That’s all I can tell you.  I go to AA meetings every day.

“You know, I watched the track and field events on the TV this summer.  And every time, I wanted to shout on the streets, ‘That’s my son’, but I couldn’t, Tyler.  You know that?  I couldn’t take credit, I couldn’t cheer for you as my son, because I lost the right to do that a long time ago.  The only thing I could truthfully say in my AA meetings without outing our relationship is that my son is successful not because of me, but in spite of me.  That my son survived me, and the fact that he became a master in his field had absolutely nothing to do with me.  Now that I’m sober enough and have had enough time behind bars to reflect on everything, I know that I loved you all but didn’t know how to show it.  I know that I’m proud of all you kids today even though I don’t deserve to be.  And I know that my extent of being in your life is going to be a card every now and then.  I accept that.”       

I nod.  “At least you get that.  At least you’re trying.  Even if you know that you and I – we’re broken irreparably.  And, I mean, I promised Allie I’d see you.  But, I already know I can’t forgive you.”  

He puts his head in his hands for a moment, and then lifts his head back to face me.  “So you’ve seen me.  Is that enough?  Did it help you?  I can’t bring her back, Tyler.  I wish I could.  I’m sorry.”

“I know.  I’ve just been thinking about how you’re the only person I’ve ever known to come back from the dead.”  

“Maybe I should have stayed in the grave.”  He says quietly.  I wonder if that’s what he  truly thinks or if he knows that that’s what I think sometimes.  My mom told us he died, when he was really in prison.  Sometimes I wonder if we’d be better off still thinking that way.  

I shake my head.  “At least you can help the people here.”  

“At least I can help the people here.”  He nods, getting to his feet.  

“So you need a doctor’s note to clear you for soccer?”  He says loudly, opening the door.  “I’ll get that done for you right away.”  

Something doesn’t feel right.  It all feels so unfinished.  “Wait a second”.  I grab his arm,  “If you want to keep sending cards for special occasions, that’s okay.”  

He pauses, not reacting in any way except for a nod.  

“I should go.  Thanks for the doctor’s note.”  I say, pulling away.  

I step into the lobby, and wait only a moment until they’ve printed a note for me.  When I get to the car, I think I’ll rip it into shreds, but instead I open my glove box and tuck the note into it.  As a reminder.  Of Delaware.