I dressed and looked out the window. The dark clouds had lingered long enough that I shouldn't have been surprised when they opened up. Eight blocks to the streetcar; I would still do it as long as the rain let up just a little.
I picked out music, arranged a play list as I laced my shoes, buttoned my shirt, slipped my keys and wallet into my pockets. I watched myself in the full length mirror as I put the ear buds into my ears, behind my long, dark hair.
The weekend before. the doctor had invited me out to dinner and I'd been hoping I'd get the biopsy results (he said he might give them personally if they came in sooner than expected). I've always enjoyed his company though, having known him personally, so either way, it'd be nice to spend time in a different atmosphere than the insular one that I keep to so frequently. When we were finished, he invited me to his house to show me the new line of skin products he had developed, which he was very proud of. As I told him it was time to say goodnight, he made his move. He tried to kiss me and when I backed away, he told me it was alright and then he tried again.
I thought about about what signs I might have given him that this was alright. Had I eluded to something that would lead him to believe that I was interested? I'd been to his house before with his boyfriend, with my ex wife and certainly under circumstances that were less complicated personally and medically.
As I was leaving the house, he made mention of my shirt. It was a white button down that I wear often. "Cute" he said at he tugged at the snaps over the breast pockets. He asked if this would mean that I'd be afraid of him after and I'd told him no. I didn't make any promises about being comfortable though.
The last week I've been considering all of this. The test results, the doctor that would be giving them to me, what both of it meant and what I needed to do about all of it. I tried to remain calm in the face of all of it and I think I was a success for the most part, at least outwardly. Inwardly I felt it affecting my patience. I tried to tell a few people but it came out as a joke with a dark undertone more than anything.
I walked down the stairs, grabbed my umbrella and walked out into the sprinkling rain. I walked the eight blocks to the streetcar and noticed my reflection in the window of the jewelry shop nearby; I was wearing the same shirt the doctor had complimented me on and I suddenly wished that I wasn't. I'd chosen it for it's accessibility for the tattoo I'd planned on getting later in the day. I lamented it's choice as I climbed the streetcar and Clint Mansell's "Together we will live forever" came to life in my headset.
I took my seat halfway down the line, the music calming me, bringing me peace. I sat and watched trees and houses pass by outside of my windows. I thought of the last few things that people had said to me and noticed the absence of a few things I'd hoped to hear. They weren't all related to where I was going or what I was doing, they were just the last distractions I let go of as I lost myself in the music, in the scenery of New Orleans, in the clicking of the rails as we stopped and started, the chime of the little bell and the sound of the streetcar steps made when folding up and down as new people got on and others got off.
I got lost in it all and was at Napoleon avenue before I knew it. I walked the few blocks to the tall office building where the doctor waited and I tucked my umbrella into a plastic sleeve when I got inside the lobby. I pressed the button, rode the few floors up by myself, looking into my own reflection in the brassy mirrored doors in front of me. When they parted, I went inside and wrote down my name, took the key for the bathroom but only made it to the fountain where I couldn't get seem to get enough of the cold water that arched it's way through the air to my lips.
I went back into the waiting room and I was called before I could be seated. I left the key at the counter as the woman behind the glass smiled at me in a way that seemed out of character. I was asked to take a seat on the exam table and I did, palms sweating a little;one ear bud still piping music into my ear as I looked out at the New Orleans skyline from a view over the tops of houses and trees on Napoleon ave. I sat, quietly for some time, eying the things in the room and then finally the doctor came in with the results and I stopped the music.
He smiled as though nothing had happened and so did I. He read out loud that the biopsy had come back negative of what he suspected and the other areas that he had been concerned about would be treated with some form of topical chemo which would give them a better idea if or how they needed to be further treated before he continued the invasive, scarring treatment they had started. I was out of the office in a matter of moments, a hug before parting and the woman at the desk told me that the visit was free of charge for the day.
I made my way out and called my tattoo artist, gave him an idea as to where to meet me and he did. I called my mother on the walk there and my father as well. I shot off a few text messages and was relieved that the most threatening of the list of concerns had been stricken from the list. I carried with me an envelope of variations and paraphrasing of a Kurt Vonnegut quote that I wanted tattooed on the inside of my arm and after the news, I knew which one it would be. I slide it from the envelope and an hour later the sentiment was etched into my skin:
"Everything is Beautiful"
