Being the loving, agreeable person

Being the loving, agreeable person she was—she’d taken the keys and gotten in the driver’s side of the car, ready to drive even though it should have been me.
Those were some of the last moments I’d had with her while she was still conscious. Minutes after that glass had been raining down on us as the screech of metal permanently seared itself into my brain.
I’d looked over at her as the world spun and thought of all the things I wanted to say before we died and couldn’t. So many things I could have said in those last few minutes in that parking lot if I’d known.
We’d never lived together. After graduation, we’d boxed everything up, and focused on finally moving in together, but first, we had a bit of fun planned.
After she’d died, I had nothing left of her and nowhere to go where she would still be present. Her parents had taken her ashes and buried them in a family plot near their home in Chicago. I was done with school and I didn’t want to go home because she wasn’t there. So, I never left California. I never left the hospital. I’d just roamed the halls until Margaret offered me a job.
That was why days off were so difficult. I had no life in California outside the hospital. It wasn’t just a job for me. It was where I felt most alive—or as alive as I could be anymore.
When the person you were meant to spend your life with died before that life had a chance to even begin, how would you survive? For me, I’d just kept putting one foot in front of the other, coming back to the place where I could feel her presence the most.
I was like a living ghost.
When I had days that were worse than others, I would find myself returning to that hallway, back to the room where I had held her hand, looked down at her battered and bruised body, and tried to will her back to life. Walking down the hospital halls now, I knew she wasn’t there anymore, but she had been once. If I closed my eyes, I could almost see her there.
That was kind of like living, wasn’t it?
 

 
In a desperate attempt to flee my dark thoughts and my empty apartment, I tried venturing out into the world on my second day off. Early that morning, I threw on a pair of shorts and an old T-shirt, slipped on my running shoes, and took off for the beach. It was at least five miles away from my apartment, which was absolutely perfect. I didn’t want to come back home until I was so exhausted that I could barely stand.
By about mile four, I’d established a nice rhythm, and my legs were burning. My feet hit the pavement, one after the other, and my mind went blank as I listened to the white noise around me. It was a weekday, so the streets were mostly absent of laughing and playing children, but there was still plenty of life to listen to. A group of mothers walked by, chatting about whatever it was that moms talked about, lawnmowers buzzed, and cars zoomed by. I let my mind zone out, and in what felt like a matter of minutes, I found myself staring out at the crystal-blue water of the Pacific.
It was early June. Even though California kids were still in school, the rest of the U.S. was happily enjoying summer vacation. It hadn’t quite reached peak season yet for tourism, but it was starting to. The Santa Monica Pier was busy today. I decided to steer clear of my normal run down the pier. Instead, I headed left to cool down and walk through the sand.
I kicked off my shoes and headed down to the water. The sand was warm from the heat of the sun, and I felt the stark contrast when the chilly water from the ocean hit my feet. The turquoise waves were endless, stretching out in every direction as far as my eyes could see. The rays from the sun above flickered and sparkled on the water as it danced its way back and forth to the shoreline.
I’d made it probably a quarter of a mile down the beach when I heard my name being yelled from behind me. I knew maybe four people in the entire LA area—five, if I included my pizza delivery guy—so at first, I didn’t respond. But how many people in the world were named Jude? My mother hadn’t exactly stuck with the top ten baby names.
I turned around and saw Dr. Marcus approaching me. With sand still in his hair, he was clad in a sleek black wet suit.
“Hey, J-Man!” he greeted me, giving me a hard wet pat on the back. His wet suit was unzipped to his waist, baring his tanned chest and surfer physique.
I had to give the man props. For a middle-aged dude, Dr. Marcus was built.
“What are you doing out in the sun and in my neck of the woods? Did you finally decide to take me up on my offer for surfing lessons?” he joked, grinning, as he looked at me through his shades.
I took a quick glance out towards the waves and shook my head. “Definitely not. I’ve still got a little too much New Yorker in me to surf any waves,” I joked. Immediately, I regretted my words. I’d never told Dr. Marcus where I was from. Trying to avoid any follow-up questions regarding my city of origin, I added, “Just out for a run, and I thought I’d cool down for a bit.”
“Nice. Well, I’m headed up, he said as his eyes drifted up to the boardwalk. “Waves are shit today. Want to grab a bite with me? They make great fish tacos.” He pointed to a Mexican place just up the way.
I hesitated, worried my little slip-up might bring on an onslaught of personal questions, but Dr. Marcus appeared to be nothing but genuine in his offer. In the many years we’d known each other, he never pressed me for personal information. I didn’t know why, but I was suddenly paranoid he would do so now.
“Sure. Sounds good,” I answered.
We stopped at his truck, and he did that magical quick-change thing that surfers did. Less than two minutes later, he was out of his wet suit and sporting a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. I looked down at my trashy T-shirt and thought about the fact that I’d run five miles here, so I probably didn’t smell too great.
As we walked through the parking lot and entered the restaurant though, I felt the tension ease.
The place was small and had maybe four tables that were all mismatched green and white plastic with a few similar tables outside. The menu was written with a dry-erase marker on a white board, and no one spoke a single world of English. With the laid-back and casual atmosphere, I figured my less than stellar appearance wouldn’t be an issue.
We picked a green table outside. I swore the plastic chair legs bowed a little when I sat in it. An old tube television was mounted in the corner with CNN streaming. Dr. Marcus ordered for us—in Spanish, of course. Besides knowing the words dos and gracias, I had no idea what he had said.
My father had spent a fortune on private language tutors, so I’d have a leg up on several languages when I went to prep school. We’d quickly found out that language was not one of my strengths. I believed my tutor had told my father that based on my aptitude for language arts, I was lucky to have learned English.
“You into trading?” Dr. Marcus asked, pulling my head away from the tiny numbers scrolling across the bottom of the TV screen.
I’d left my old life behind, but I would still find myself checking in every now and then whenever I saw that ticker. Maybe I wanted to see them fail without me—or maybe I wanted to see them succeed.
I was a fucked-up mess.
“No, it’s just the dude complex. TV is on, so I’ve got to stare at it,” I said in a hopeless attempt at a joke.
He gave me a doubtful look, but we carried on. After that, we chatted a bit about stupid stuff—the weather, current events, and whether we thought the brand of coffee in the hospital cafeteria had been changed—until our food finally arrived.
He hadn’t been kidding. With fresh halibut and handmade tortillas, the fish tacos were amazing. We inhaled all of them in minutes. Letting everything settle, we sipped on beers and ate chips and salsa as we watched skaters and runners pass by. Dr. Marcus seemed to be in no hurry. It was either his day off as well, or he would be working the late shift.
Suddenly, my last shift lunch break with Lailah came rushing back, and here I was, having lunch with her doctor.
No better time to find some answers.
“Hey, Dr. Marcus, you’re Lailah Buchanan’s doctor, right?”
After taking a swig from his Corona, he slowly pulled the bottle away from his lips and set it down on the table. “Yeah, I am. Actually, I have been since she was an infant. Why?”
That surprised me. “Since she was an infant? But you don’t do pediatrics? Did you, at one time?”
He looked out past the sand to the water he so desperately loved. Without turning back toward me, he just continued to stare out at the crystal-blue water as he answered, “No, I’ve never done pediatrics. There’s some history between her mother and me. It’s…complicated. When I found out about Lailah, I immediately took her on as a patient. There was no question about it. She saw a pediatric cardiologist as well when she was growing up, but I oversaw everything medically related to her.” He paused as his eyes traveled back to the table and eventually to me. “Why the sudden interest in Lailah?” he asked with a bit of suspicion.
It reminded me of the first time I’d met Megan’s father. After Megan and I had been dating for about two months, her family had invited me over for Easter Weekend. Her father had followed me around that weekend like a hawk. I didn’t think I’d turned a single corner the entire time I was there without finding myself face-to-face with his baby-blue eyes.
“I’m just curious, I guess. I’ve been in her room and talked to her a few times. I’ve spoken to a lot of the patients on that floor,” I said, trying to take the focus away from Lailah. “It’s so different from the ER. Each room I visit, I meet the person and get to know them,” I lied.
The only two people I’d actually spoken to were Nash, the crazy writer, and Lailah.

Hasil (Bahasa Indonesia) 1:

Menjadi orang yang mencintai, menyenangkan dia-dia mengambil kunci dan mendapatkan di sisi pengemudi mobil, siap mengantarkan meskipun seharusnya saya.Mereka adalah beberapa saat-saat terakhir yang saya punya bersamanya ketika dia masih sadar. Menit setelah kaca yang sudah hujan pada kita sebagai memekik logam secara permanen menyengat dirinya ke dalam otak saya.Aku punya menoleh padanya sebagai dunia berputar dan memikirkan semua hal yang saya ingin mengatakan sebelum kita mati dan tidak bisa. Begitu banyak hal yang bisa saya katakan dalam beberapa menit terakhir mereka di parkir bahwa jika aku tahu.Kami tidak pernah tinggal bersama-sama. Setelah lulus, kita telah ditumbuk segala sesuatu, dan berfokus pada akhirnya bergerak dalam bersama-sama, tapi pertama-tama, kami memiliki sedikit menyenangkan yang direncanakan.Setelah dia meninggal, saya tak ada kiri nya dan tempat untuk pergi mana dia akan masih ada. Orangtuanya telah diambil abunya dan menguburkan mereka di sebidang keluarga di rumah mereka di Chicago. Aku sudah selesai dengan sekolah dan aku tidak ingin pulang karena dia tidak ada. Jadi, saya tidak pernah meninggalkan California. Aku tidak pernah meninggalkan rumah sakit. Aku hanya telah menjelajahi lorong-lorong sampai Margaret menawarkan saya pekerjaan.Itulah sebabnya kenapa hari libur yang begitu sulit. Aku tidak hidup di California di luar rumah sakit. Bukan hanya pekerjaan bagi saya. Itu adalah di mana aku merasa paling hidup — atau sebagai hidup sebagai aku bisa lagi.Ketika orang yang Anda maksud untuk menghabiskan hidup Anda dengan meninggal sebelum bahwa hidup memiliki kesempatan untuk bahkan mulai, bagaimana Anda bertahan? Bagi saya, saya telah hanya terus meletakkan satu kaki di depan yang lain, datang kembali ke tempat di mana aku bisa merasakan kehadirannya yang paling.Saya adalah seperti hantu hidup.Ketika saya punya hari-hari yang lebih buruk daripada yang lain, aku akan mendapati diriku kembali ke lorong itu, kembali ke ruangan di mana saya telah memegang tangannya, menatap tubuhnya babak belur dan memar, dan mencoba untuk akan kembali ke kehidupan. Berjalan menyusuri lorong-lorong rumah sakit sekarang, aku tahu dia tidak ada lagi, tapi ia telah sekali. Jika saya menutup mata saya, saya hampir bisa melihat dia ada.Itu seperti hidup, bukan?  Dalam upaya putus asa untuk melarikan diri pikiranku gelap dan apartemen saya kosong, aku mencoba menjelajah keluar ke dunia pada hari kedua saya. Pagi-pagi, aku melemparkan sepasang celana pendek dan T-shirt tua, menyelinap saya menjalankan Sepatu, dan lepas landas menuju pantai. Itu setidaknya lima mil dari apartemen saya, yang benar-benar sempurna. Aku tidak mau datang kembali ke rumah sampai aku begitu lelah bahwa aku nyaris tidak bisa berdiri.Oleh sekitar mil empat, saya telah mendirikan sebuah irama yang bagus, dan kaki saya terbakar. Kaki saya memukul trotoar, satu demi satu, dan pikiran saya pergi kosong saat aku mendengarkan suara putih di sekitar saya. Itu adalah hari kerja, jadi jalan yang sebagian besar absen tertawa dan bermain anak-anak, tetapi masih ada banyak kehidupan untuk mendengarkan. Ada sekelompok ibu berjalan oleh, mengobrol tentang apa pun itu bahwa ibu berbicara tentang, mesin pemotong rumput berdengung, dan mobil diperbesar oleh. Aku membiarkan zona pikiran saya keluar, dan dalam apa merasa seperti hitungan menit, saya menemukan diriku menatap air kristal biru Pasifik.Itu awal Juni. Meskipun anak-anak California masih masih di sekolah, sisa AS bahagia menikmati liburan musim panas. Itu tidak cukup mencapai puncak musim namun untuk pariwisata, tetapi mulai. Santa Monica Pier adalah sibuk. Saya memutuskan untuk menghindari lari normal ke dermaga. Sebaliknya, saya menuju kiri untuk mendinginkan dan berjalan melalui pasir.Aku menendang lepas Sepatu saya dan menuju ke air. Pasir hangat dari panas matahari, dan aku merasa sangat kontras ketika air dingin dari Samudera menghantam kakiku. Gelombang biru kehijauan yang tak berujung, peregangan di setiap arah sejauh mata dapat melihat. Sinar dari sinar matahari di atas berkedip-kedip dan berkilauan di atas air saat itu menari-nari dalam perjalanan bolak-balik ke garis pantai.Saya telah membuat itu mungkin seperempat mil di pantai ketika mendengar nama saya berteriak dari saya. Aku tahu mungkin empat orang di daerah LA seluruh — lima, jika saya menyertakan saya pizza pengiriman pria — jadi pada awalnya, aku tidak merespon. Tapi berapa banyak orang di dunia yang bernama Yudas? Ibuku tidak persis terjebak dengan nama-nama bayi sepuluh top.Aku berbalik dan melihat Dr Marcus mendekati saya. Dengan pasir masih di rambutnya, dia berpakaian dalam hitam ramping basah setelan."Hei, J-Man!" dia menyapa saya, memberi saya keras basah tepukan di punggung. Basah setelan adalah membuka ritsleting pinggangnya, memamerkan nya kecokelatan dada dan surfer fisik.Aku harus memberikan props orang. Untuk dude setengah baya, Dr Marcus dibangun.“What are you doing out in the sun and in my neck of the woods? Did you finally decide to take me up on my offer for surfing lessons?” he joked, grinning, as he looked at me through his shades.I took a quick glance out towards the waves and shook my head. “Definitely not. I’ve still got a little too much New Yorker in me to surf any waves,” I joked. Immediately, I regretted my words. I’d never told Dr. Marcus where I was from. Trying to avoid any follow-up questions regarding my city of origin, I added, “Just out for a run, and I thought I’d cool down for a bit.”“Nice. Well, I’m headed up, he said as his eyes drifted up to the boardwalk. “Waves are shit today. Want to grab a bite with me? They make great fish tacos.” He pointed to a Mexican place just up the way.I hesitated, worried my little slip-up might bring on an onslaught of personal questions, but Dr. Marcus appeared to be nothing but genuine in his offer. In the many years we’d known each other, he never pressed me for personal information. I didn’t know why, but I was suddenly paranoid he would do so now.“Sure. Sounds good,” I answered.We stopped at his truck, and he did that magical quick-change thing that surfers did. Less than two minutes later, he was out of his wet suit and sporting a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. I looked down at my trashy T-shirt and thought about the fact that I’d run five miles here, so I probably didn’t smell too great.As we walked through the parking lot and entered the restaurant though, I felt the tension ease.The place was small and had maybe four tables that were all mismatched green and white plastic with a few similar tables outside. The menu was written with a dry-erase marker on a white board, and no one spoke a single world of English. With the laid-back and casual atmosphere, I figured my less than stellar appearance wouldn’t be an issue.We picked a green table outside. I swore the plastic chair legs bowed a little when I sat in it. An old tube television was mounted in the corner with CNN streaming. Dr. Marcus ordered for us—in Spanish, of course. Besides knowing the words dos and gracias, I had no idea what he had said.My father had spent a fortune on private language tutors, so I’d have a leg up on several languages when I went to prep school. We’d quickly found out that language was not one of my strengths. I believed my tutor had told my father that based on my aptitude for language arts, I was lucky to have learned English.“You into trading?” Dr. Marcus asked, pulling my head away from the tiny numbers scrolling across the bottom of the TV screen.I’d left my old life behind, but I would still find myself checking in every now and then whenever I saw that ticker. Maybe I wanted to see them fail without me—or maybe I wanted to see them succeed.I was a fucked-up mess.“No, it’s just the dude complex. TV is on, so I’ve got to stare at it,” I said in a hopeless attempt at a joke.He gave me a doubtful look, but we carried on. After that, we chatted a bit about stupid stuff—the weather, current events, and whether we thought the brand of coffee in the hospital cafeteria had been changed—until our food finally arrived.He hadn’t been kidding. With fresh halibut and handmade tortillas, the fish tacos were amazing. We inhaled all of them in minutes. Letting everything settle, we sipped on beers and ate chips and salsa as we watched skaters and runners pass by. Dr. Marcus seemed to be in no hurry. It was either his day off as well, or he would be working the late shift.Suddenly, my last shift lunch break with Lailah came rushing back, and here I was, having lunch with her doctor.No better time to find some answers.“Hey, Dr. Marcus, you’re Lailah Buchanan’s doctor, right?”After taking a swig from his Corona, he slowly pulled the bottle away from his lips and set it down on the table. “Yeah, I am. Actually, I have been since she was an infant. Why?”That surprised me. “Since she was an infant? But you don’t do pediatrics? Did you, at one time?”He looked out past the sand to the water he so desperately loved. Without turning back toward me, he just continued to stare out at the crystal-blue water as he answered, “No, I’ve never done pediatrics. There’s some history between her mother and me. It’s…complicated. When I found out about Lailah, I immediately took her on as a patient. There was no question about it. She saw a pediatric cardiologist as well when she was growing up, but I oversaw everything medically related to her.” He paused as his eyes traveled back to the table and eventually to me. “Why the sudden interest in Lailah?” he asked with a bit of suspicion.It reminded me of the first time I’d met Megan’s father. After Megan and I had been dating for about two months, her family had invited me over for Easter Weekend. Her father had followed me around that weekend like a hawk. I didn’t think I’d turned a single corner the entire time I was there without finding myself face-to-face with his baby-blue eyes.“I’m just curious, I guess. I’ve been in her room and talked to her a few times. I’ve spoken to a lot of the patients on that floor,” I said, trying to take the focus away from Lailah. “It’s so different from the ER. Each room I visit, I meet the person and get to know them,” I lied.The only two people I’d actually spoken to were Nash, the crazy writer, and Lailah.