To Hate Bernard Hastings

For the life of her, Eleanor could not think of a single thing she hated more than Bernard Hastings. 

There had to be something. 

Slow walkers, people who chew with their mouth open, or the person who always stands a bit too close to you at the grocery store.

A close runner up may be the movie “The Bridge to Terabithia” which she blames for the reason she is such a pessimist and is still single in her late twenties. It was deeply rooted in her heart, at the young age of ten, that there is no such thing as happy endings. 

 While each of those were obnoxious in their own right, not one of them held a candle to Bernard Hastings. 

“Did you know Bernie rescued his neighbor from a fire?”

“Haven’t you heard, Bernie was top of his class at Yale.”

“He spends all of his spare time not at the hospital teaching sign language to the deaf and braille to the blind.” 

If Eleanor never heard that name again in her life it would be too soon. He’s probably already got his name engraved on heaven’s pearly gates. 

Eleanor realizes that this hatred is unfounded. How could anyone hate someone who is perfect in all regards? Yet, the hate persists nonetheless. She stares deeply into her wine glass, willing it to change into something that will dilute her senses for the night. 

Her blood runs cold as her mother lets out a high pitched squeal the same note as the screech of her chair as she shoves back from the dining table. 

“Oh, there you are! I’ve been wondering when you were going to show up, mister.” Eleanor begins to feel queasy. There he is, the man himself. 

Standing in dark pink scrubs with a cap with honest to god angels on it, Bernard Hastings finally arrived at his own birthday party. You may be thinking, why Elanor, are you at your mortal enemies birthday party. Well, his mother and her mother have been best friends who moved to the same small town to raise kids in hopes of creating another batch of best friends. Since his birthday falls on December 26th, her mother drags her to his birthday party every year that she is home for the holidays. 

“Sorry everyone,” he scratches the back of his neck sheepishly, “some babies decided they really wanted to arrive to celebrate the new year.” A chorus of oohs and ahhs echo around the room. Her mother shoots her a look before scurrying away to gather her gifts. Eleanor downs the rest of her wine and makes her escape to the back patio. 

The cold bites at her fingertips as she places her phone to her ear.

“Eleanor? I thought you were at the golden boy’s party.” Lily says, loud music thrumming from the other end of the phone.

“I am, I’m hiding in the backyard. God! It's infuriating being constantly reminded of how my mother will never look at me the way she looks at him. You should have seen the glare she sent me as he talked about all the babies that he delivered tonight. Like, sorry that you wound up with the cynical lawyer and not the altruistic life saver.”

“At least you work at a non-profit!”

“At least there’s that. I’ll let you go, I should probably go back inside before I get frostbite.” As she says goodbye she hears the door open behind her. She turns full expecting to get an earful from her mother, but instead there’s Bernard. Looking like a deer caught in the headlights. His knuckles are white from how tight he’s gripping his glass of whiskey. He has a long, thick coat over his scrubs. Lightning McQueen crocs sit starkly against the snow falling onto the patio.

“Sorry, I didn't realize you were out here.” He steps to the left, obscuring himself from the view of the partygoers. 

“I didn’t realize you would tire of your adoring fans so quickly. My mother is going to moan tonight about how she saw so little of her favorite person. Really quite rude of you to put me through that Hastings.”

He looks down at his glass, his ears are glaringly red. His eyebrows furrow as he twirls the ice in his glass. 

“Are you alright?” Elanor asks.

“Just been a long day. Nobody in there wants to hear that though. Only about how it must be so rewarding to bring in new life to the world…My mother doesn’t exactly like to hear about my darker days. Only the things she can brag about to your mother..”

Her draw drops. “What!” She gasps, placing her hand over her chest. “You’re telling me that you don't shit rainbows or curse under your breath when someone cuts you off on the freeway?” He chuckles and shakes his head but doesn’t look up at her. A pang of guilt flashes through her. 

Who is there for Mr. Perfect when he isn’t so shiny and grand?

 “If you ever need someone to listen to your shittier moments, please feel free to talk to me. It may make me feel a little bitter about my own life.” She snorts. He glanced at her skeptically. He let out a long sigh and the tension in his body seemed to ease slightly as he began to talk.

For nearly an hour he confided in her about the patients he couldn't save and the emotional toll his job took on him everyday. Then, he began backlogging all of his mishaps of high school and college that were swept under the rug by his mother. 

Elenaor took in the man before her in a new light. In his eyes he was not the golden child or perfect man. He was a man being crushed under the weight of the title. A deeply compassionate man who had no one around him to show him true compassion. Before she could stop herself she found herself wrapping her arms around him, hugging him tightly. He set his drink on the table next to him and wrapped himself tightly around her. 

“Thank you for listening.” He whispered against her hair.

“Yeah, that’ll be $100. My therapy services don't come free.” He laughs, a deep belly-laugh that she had never heard from him before. She patted his back and drew a few steps back. “I should head out, I’ve got a trial to prepare for early in the morning.” 

“Let me walk you. Give me a reason to escape the party.” He looks down at her, his eyes shining with kindness.

“Alright, I will be judging you for being such a sap though.”

“I would expect nothing less.”

~ 

Eleanor glared at the red hand glaring at her from the opposite side of the intersection. She jabbed at her phone, beginning to type out a rant to Chelsea about how the world must be ending because perhaps Bernard Hastings wasn’t as robotic and obnoxious as she thought. 

The man himself sways next to her with his hands in his pockets humming a tune. She flicks her eyes back towards the hand once more before resigning herself to the novel of a text she is writing. 

“That is the most beautiful dog I’ve ever seen!” He says enthusiastically. Eleanor hums offhandedly in agreement. She heard him begin to trail after the dog, asking the owner if he can pet it. She catches the flicker of the glowing, white walk signal and steps out into the street without a second glance. A glaring white light flashed before her eyes then the world faded to black. 

~

Her head is throbbing. Her mother was right, she did drink too much. Why is the room so bright? Her hand fumbles for her phone, desperate to put an end to the incessant alarm clock. She hears quiet, unfamiliar voices in the room. Why are her eyelids so heavy?

“Did you hear? Bernard Hastings sacrificed himself to shove her out of the way of a drunk driver.” 

For the life of her, Eleanor could not think of a single thing she hated more than herself.