“Sorry,” he says.
“She didn’t have to leave, man,” I reply. I walk to our worn couch and he settles in the recliner next to me.
“Nah. She had somewhere to be early in the morning.” He pulls his hair out of its low ponytail, letting it fan out around him.
“I don’t know how you have time for that, anyway.”
I met Adam—an internal medicine resident, a third year like me—through a roommate matching service. Even as aresident, he manages to make time for hookups. Between my arduous schedule, precious gym time, and hurried meals, my sexual satisfaction comes mostly in the form of perfunctory sessions in the shower. I had a steady girlfriend back in med school, but now the effort involved in meeting someone seems nearly insurmountable.
“For sex?” He scratches his scruffy jaw. “I find it really sad that you see that as something you’d have to set aside time for. Like it’s a dentist appointment or something.”
“I don’t have time for those, either.”
“Sounds like a healthy setup.” He props one ankle over his opposite knee. “How’s it going in the joint replacement world? You get to use any big saws this week?”
“Yes, yes. I know. Bone broke, me fix.” Besides the carpentry comparisons, the stereotype assigned to orthopedic doctors evokes dude-bro types, former jocks, and gym rats. Neanderthals, basically, before science figured out that Neanderthals were actually smart. “It’s good, though. It’s something I can see myself doing long term.” I take a big gulp of my beer. “There’s something super weird, though. About a nurse I work with.”
“Weird like the one I worked with who ate her lunch with gloves on?”
“No, like she absolutely despises me. Either I’ve fucked up really badly without knowing it, or she’s just nuts. I don’t know which.”
Adam sits forward in his chair. His smile widens, like my misfortune might be the best gossip he’s heard all year. “She one of those nurses who hates residents on principle? You know, wants to put us in our place?”
I shake my head. “She’s super nice to the others.”
“Hmm.” Adam taps his chin. “You must have met her before, then. And you’ve forgotten. College, maybe?”
“Nah. At first I thought she was familiar, but I would have remembered this woman.” I know I’m missing something,though—the thought burrows into my brain and won’t leave. Am I just an idiot? How could I have forgotten something that big?
“In a good way?”
“She’s gorgeous.”
“Aha. So you like her, and it’s bothering you that she doesn’t feel the same way.”
“I’m just being objective about her looks. I can’t like her when she won’t give me the time of day.” I toss my bottle cap into the air and catch it. “And she’s not shy or anything. She’s loud. Boisterous. Jokes around with everyone but me.” She’s completely uninhibited, actually—she would make me laugh if she wasn’t busy staring daggers at me all the time. “She’s also from the same part of the state as me. If one of the docs hadn’t told me, I could have heard it in her accent.”
“She has to know you from somewhere, then. Did you dick around with one of her friends?” He sits up, snapping his fingers. “You played football in high school, right? Could she have heard of you then? You were the star of her rival school’s team.” He scrunches his nose like a rabbit. “That’s dumb though. She wouldn’t care about that ten years later.”
I shudder. “I hope to fuck it’s not from high school.”
I was a holy terror in high school. It horrifies me in ways I’ve yet to come to terms with despite several years of therapy. Memories come flooding back sometimes—how I tormented those I deemed inferior and stepped on anyone in the way of my quest to be the best at everything—and I lie awake at night, shame crawling like ants all over me, fantasizing about the wrath I would bring down on my former self.
I wonder sometimes if medicine is a subconscious way for me to redeem myself. It doesn’t really work that way, but I can try.
“Yikes.” Adam’s voice brings me back to the present. “High school was that bad?”
I squeeze the bottle cap in my fist. The rough edges dig into my palm. “Yeah.” I don’t elaborate. I’m not getting into that with him right now.
“You can’t just ask her?”
I shrug. “I’m working up to that. It’s starting to piss me off, though.” I rub the back of my head. “Maybe I shouldn’t even care.”
Adam doesn’t say much other than a grumbled “I don’t know, man,” so I get up to make myself a sandwich, figuring I should at least nourish myself before I go to sleep. My phone chimes with a text as I slice a tomato.
Mom
I saw Rachel getting coffee with her mama today. She just got out of law school. Did you know that?
