Ordinary, chapter 27
summary: Ian is diagnosed with cancer. In this chapter, Kris tells Ian a story that he shouldn't have.
warnings: sadness and foul language
rating: pg-13
Ordinary, chapter twenty seven
It was Friday, and Ian did as he usually did: woke up, vomited, showered, filmed, laughed with Anthony, and watched him and the crew leave after a long day of work, pretending he wasn't sick. The only difference now was that Ian had a thought, a permanent idea, burning in his mind- since the day previous, he was certain where he had been previously uncertain for weeks- he would not tell his friend he had cancer. At all. He would die as he lived, pretending everything was alright.
Ian spent his spare time that Friday, Saturday and Sunday cleaning, continuing on the work he started in the garage on Thursday. He found the work exhausting, but finished over the weekend, leaving the shelves organized, the large piles of mail neatly stacked, and the whole place spotless. He worked hard over the weekend, forcing himself not to think, for if he did, he knew the guilt would come. The guilt over not telling Anthony. He had been so certain, so determined not to tell, but by the end of filming on Friday, he could tell he was lying to himself.
The guilt hit him hard Sunday night, as a cramp in his stomach kept him awake. Lying in bed, he could only stare at the ceiling, wincing at his pain, and feel the guilt reverberate in his chest. He knew it would not rest, not until his death, but he also knew he had a friend there for him to ease it.
***
Ian let the guilt sink in fully as he waited for the clock to strike three in the waiting room on Monday. He needed to discuss what he was feeling with Kris, and hoped the elder man would bring peace to his troubled mind.
He shifted in his chair, uneasy, and looked over at Ruby, who was typing something into the computer, perfectly manicured nails clicking against the keyboard. Their relationship consisted of casual, polite, and respectful nods, an occasional good afternoon, and once or twice, a smile. But overall, they were indifferent to each other's presence; Ian not caring to discuss anything before he'd have to spill his soul with an hour's words, Ruby knowing he had cancer, and feeling too scared and humble to hold a conversation with him.
So they stayed silent, until three o'clock, and then she called him into the therapist's office, he with his look of respect, she averting her eyes.
"Hello, Ian!" Kris boomed as usual when he entered the room. The younger man smiled at him, again wearing a tacky Hawaiian shirt with his trousers.
"Hey, Kris." Ian returned the greeting as he sat next to the man.
"So, last week, I asked you to think about your decision regarding Anthony. You told me you were considering telling him that you have terminal cancer. Did you end up informing him?" Kris recalled quickly, while studying the young man sat before him. Ian looked into his eyes for a moment, and saw more warmth, care, and true concern than he'd ever seen in another person, even Anthony. He looked down quickly.
"I-I decided not to tell him." Ian admitted quietly. "I can't tell him."
Kris gave a small hum and looked down at his shoes. "I hope that you truly thought hard about your decision, Ian. Are you sure you won't tell him?"
Ian, still looking down, shook his head. "I-I just- I don't know. I thought I would never. When I made the decision, I thought it was permanent. But now, I just feel guilty. Like, really guilty. I just don't want to feel like this."
Kris stared at Ian, but moved his eyes away when Ian looked up. After a tense moment, he sighed. "Ian, let me tell you a story, I think it will help you feel better."
Ian nodded and adjusted in his seat, ready to cling on his words.
"When I was young, I left college for a short time to volunteer in the Vietnam War." Kris recalled, looking almost bitter at the memory. It was a side of him Ian, and few others, had ever seen. "I returned, of course, got my PhD, but I was in war, and war is not easy."
He sat still for a moment, silent, and Ian could see disturbance darken his face, the cheerful glimmer leaving his eyes. He almost wanted to ask him to stop, unsettled by the lack of warmth emitting from him. But the veteran continued.
"We were bombed. Our whole troop, a dozen men, myself and my best friend, Jack, included. I passed out, but when I woke up, I knew things were bad. I was in a makeshift hospital in the capital, Saigon, and ready to head back to the states, but I didn't see Jack."
He looked once into Ian's eyes, but this was the time Ian didn't want him to. In his face, his eyes, he saw all the pain of loss, and he saw the hurt felt when a man lost his friend. He knew, inevitably, Anthony would wear the same expression.
"I was flown home. I didn't see Jack, and couldn't find out anything before I'd left, so I only assumed the worst. It was nice being home, away from battle, but...I knew Jack's wife. They were high school sweethearts, married at eighteen. She didn't know he was in the bombing with me, and I-" Kris halted and shook his head. "We were good friends. I couldn't look her in the eyes and tell her. I couldn't see her hurt that way."
Ian stared at the man, who had sucked in a breath, and was looking down at the coffee table. He had kept a death a secret. In some basic way, his therapist knew how he felt. Not from books or caring or being clever enough to understand people, but from living, from experience, from the pain that all humans dealt with, daily. It was a small connection, a small reminder of the pain that effects all people, that gave Ian relief. Because for a moment, he felt so human, so human when he hadn't even known that he'd felt lesser. For that moment, the world's pain made Ian feel less alone. And then the guilt returned.
"So you didn't tell her." Ian clarified, shaking himself from his thoughts, and from the hard silence of the room.
"No, I didn't. I made her happy." Kris looked off, to a space behind Ian's shoulder. "At first, I was confined to my hospital bed, but I did everything in my power to give her joy. We played cards and I taught her magic tricks. We told dirty jokes and talked about everything we could, from books to plays to art. When I was released from the hospital, we went to the movies, the carnival, the museum. I worked until I was near collapse, trying to keep her in a joyful bubble that would protect her from the world."
Kris looked into Ian's eyes once more, with a look of cruel understanding, and Ian returned it, deferential. Kris did then what Ian was doing now- protecting a friend. Trying to fight the pain away, at least for a little while.
"Two weeks passed. She got the letter." Kris spoke softly, voice void of emotion. "He was dead. When I tried to console her, she figured out that I knew all along. She hated me, she screamed at me at the funeral. We never spoke again."
They sat silent for a moment, deep in thought. Kris was thinking back, while Ian was looking forward. He would not be alive to be yelled at when Anthony discovered the ruse, but he knew that the pain felt in Kris and his friend's relationship would be felt by his friend. It was already a pain that hurt him, weighed down on him every second of the day, a pain that had slammed him with guilt.
"I told you this story, Ian," Kris began, trying to remove foul thoughts for them both, "because I need you to know how I felt. I felt guilty. I felt like I ruined her, like I ruined our friendship. But I think it was for the best. I saved her two weeks of pain, and that to me was what mattered. The outcome was a disaster, but for a short time, she had bliss, and that's all I cared for."
Ian thought for a minute. "So you're saying you agree with my decision to not tell Anthony?"
Kris looked down. "I'm saying I understand the path you've chosen. And if you feel guilty, remember my actions. Remember the joy on your friend's face. Tell me you'd rather see tears."
"Thanks, Kris." Ian said at last, feeling his guilt dissipate. He looked at the clock on the wall, and realized his time was up. Kris realized the same, and the pair stood at the same time. "I'll see you next week."
"Ian." Kris stopped him. "It is not customary for a therapist to bond with his patient, but I've loved seeing someone open their heart as you did to me, Ian, especially when it's so near its last heartbeat. You've reminded me of so much, but forced me to look forward in ways I never have before."
Ian stared at him, mouth slightly open, before giving the man a small, weak smile. "Thank you, Kris."
The session ended unlike any other. The warmth was there, but in small amounts, and Kris was still like a father, but now one who was home from a long day's work, dreary and less caring, stress eating away at him. This time was different, but Kris had done as Ian hoped. He left tense and unsure, but felt his guilt subdued. It was not completely gone, of course, but subdued was all he needed.
***
Ian and Anthony had the time of their lives opening up the large amount of mail that night. It was June, far into a hot Summer, so the sun had just set by the time they finished, and they filmed after opening their mail in the cool night, surrounded by the shine of distant fireflies, and the hum of the insects that brought the season to life.
This was one of the times that made Ian love Summer. He loved the noises the bugs made, he loved how the heat faded at night, he loved spending Summer nights with Anthony. They used to barbeque, make bon fires, go to the beach, go in the pool, do anything, everything, together. The workload always seemed lighter in Summer, the filming more fun, the crew more friendly. Summer brought to him a joy that, during the other seasons, only Anthony could bring.
"Alright." Anthony said to the camera, looking slightly tired after almost two hours of tearing open envelopes and laughing at packages. "Now that we've completed our insane amount of mail opening, we're gonna chill out here, in this forest." He pointed the camera to the shrub behind them. "Oh, oh wait, is that, is that a bear?"
"Yeah, I think it's a suburban California bear." Ian noted from a few feet away, smiling at his friend.
"Those are the most dangerous of all! Ah!" Anthony screamed and shook the camera. After a moment, he pointed the camera to Ian.
"I'll be fine guys, I'm a bear whisperer." Ian said to the audience. "Okay, leave any comments or suggestions for Ian is Bored in the comment section below, see you next Thursday bitches!"
Anthony nodded, shut down the camera, and only stayed a few minutes before going home to Kalel, slightly stressed at being the one who had to fake his death. He thought he now had to because Ian had fainted, due to what he'd been told was low blood pressure, and figured Ian was merely uneasy with the fake death for that faint, not because of the tumors he knew nothing of. Ian stayed outside for awhile, in attempt to cherish his favorite and final season.
His week carried on as normal. He pretended he was healthy when he filmed. He cleaned his house thoroughly, removing anything he felt was no longer needed or valued. He did yoga, but less now, far less, because he was always weak, always tired, and he could feel the disease dragging him down. And he went outside every afternoon, when his editing was done, to sit and remember good times, and good Summers, and appreciate the time he still had.
warnings: sadness and foul language
rating: pg-13
Ordinary, chapter twenty seven
It was Friday, and Ian did as he usually did: woke up, vomited, showered, filmed, laughed with Anthony, and watched him and the crew leave after a long day of work, pretending he wasn't sick. The only difference now was that Ian had a thought, a permanent idea, burning in his mind- since the day previous, he was certain where he had been previously uncertain for weeks- he would not tell his friend he had cancer. At all. He would die as he lived, pretending everything was alright.
Ian spent his spare time that Friday, Saturday and Sunday cleaning, continuing on the work he started in the garage on Thursday. He found the work exhausting, but finished over the weekend, leaving the shelves organized, the large piles of mail neatly stacked, and the whole place spotless. He worked hard over the weekend, forcing himself not to think, for if he did, he knew the guilt would come. The guilt over not telling Anthony. He had been so certain, so determined not to tell, but by the end of filming on Friday, he could tell he was lying to himself.
The guilt hit him hard Sunday night, as a cramp in his stomach kept him awake. Lying in bed, he could only stare at the ceiling, wincing at his pain, and feel the guilt reverberate in his chest. He knew it would not rest, not until his death, but he also knew he had a friend there for him to ease it.
***
Ian let the guilt sink in fully as he waited for the clock to strike three in the waiting room on Monday. He needed to discuss what he was feeling with Kris, and hoped the elder man would bring peace to his troubled mind.
He shifted in his chair, uneasy, and looked over at Ruby, who was typing something into the computer, perfectly manicured nails clicking against the keyboard. Their relationship consisted of casual, polite, and respectful nods, an occasional good afternoon, and once or twice, a smile. But overall, they were indifferent to each other's presence; Ian not caring to discuss anything before he'd have to spill his soul with an hour's words, Ruby knowing he had cancer, and feeling too scared and humble to hold a conversation with him.
So they stayed silent, until three o'clock, and then she called him into the therapist's office, he with his look of respect, she averting her eyes.
"Hello, Ian!" Kris boomed as usual when he entered the room. The younger man smiled at him, again wearing a tacky Hawaiian shirt with his trousers.
"Hey, Kris." Ian returned the greeting as he sat next to the man.
"So, last week, I asked you to think about your decision regarding Anthony. You told me you were considering telling him that you have terminal cancer. Did you end up informing him?" Kris recalled quickly, while studying the young man sat before him. Ian looked into his eyes for a moment, and saw more warmth, care, and true concern than he'd ever seen in another person, even Anthony. He looked down quickly.
"I-I decided not to tell him." Ian admitted quietly. "I can't tell him."
Kris gave a small hum and looked down at his shoes. "I hope that you truly thought hard about your decision, Ian. Are you sure you won't tell him?"
Ian, still looking down, shook his head. "I-I just- I don't know. I thought I would never. When I made the decision, I thought it was permanent. But now, I just feel guilty. Like, really guilty. I just don't want to feel like this."
Kris stared at Ian, but moved his eyes away when Ian looked up. After a tense moment, he sighed. "Ian, let me tell you a story, I think it will help you feel better."
Ian nodded and adjusted in his seat, ready to cling on his words.
"When I was young, I left college for a short time to volunteer in the Vietnam War." Kris recalled, looking almost bitter at the memory. It was a side of him Ian, and few others, had ever seen. "I returned, of course, got my PhD, but I was in war, and war is not easy."
He sat still for a moment, silent, and Ian could see disturbance darken his face, the cheerful glimmer leaving his eyes. He almost wanted to ask him to stop, unsettled by the lack of warmth emitting from him. But the veteran continued.
"We were bombed. Our whole troop, a dozen men, myself and my best friend, Jack, included. I passed out, but when I woke up, I knew things were bad. I was in a makeshift hospital in the capital, Saigon, and ready to head back to the states, but I didn't see Jack."
He looked once into Ian's eyes, but this was the time Ian didn't want him to. In his face, his eyes, he saw all the pain of loss, and he saw the hurt felt when a man lost his friend. He knew, inevitably, Anthony would wear the same expression.
"I was flown home. I didn't see Jack, and couldn't find out anything before I'd left, so I only assumed the worst. It was nice being home, away from battle, but...I knew Jack's wife. They were high school sweethearts, married at eighteen. She didn't know he was in the bombing with me, and I-" Kris halted and shook his head. "We were good friends. I couldn't look her in the eyes and tell her. I couldn't see her hurt that way."
Ian stared at the man, who had sucked in a breath, and was looking down at the coffee table. He had kept a death a secret. In some basic way, his therapist knew how he felt. Not from books or caring or being clever enough to understand people, but from living, from experience, from the pain that all humans dealt with, daily. It was a small connection, a small reminder of the pain that effects all people, that gave Ian relief. Because for a moment, he felt so human, so human when he hadn't even known that he'd felt lesser. For that moment, the world's pain made Ian feel less alone. And then the guilt returned.
"So you didn't tell her." Ian clarified, shaking himself from his thoughts, and from the hard silence of the room.
"No, I didn't. I made her happy." Kris looked off, to a space behind Ian's shoulder. "At first, I was confined to my hospital bed, but I did everything in my power to give her joy. We played cards and I taught her magic tricks. We told dirty jokes and talked about everything we could, from books to plays to art. When I was released from the hospital, we went to the movies, the carnival, the museum. I worked until I was near collapse, trying to keep her in a joyful bubble that would protect her from the world."
Kris looked into Ian's eyes once more, with a look of cruel understanding, and Ian returned it, deferential. Kris did then what Ian was doing now- protecting a friend. Trying to fight the pain away, at least for a little while.
"Two weeks passed. She got the letter." Kris spoke softly, voice void of emotion. "He was dead. When I tried to console her, she figured out that I knew all along. She hated me, she screamed at me at the funeral. We never spoke again."
They sat silent for a moment, deep in thought. Kris was thinking back, while Ian was looking forward. He would not be alive to be yelled at when Anthony discovered the ruse, but he knew that the pain felt in Kris and his friend's relationship would be felt by his friend. It was already a pain that hurt him, weighed down on him every second of the day, a pain that had slammed him with guilt.
"I told you this story, Ian," Kris began, trying to remove foul thoughts for them both, "because I need you to know how I felt. I felt guilty. I felt like I ruined her, like I ruined our friendship. But I think it was for the best. I saved her two weeks of pain, and that to me was what mattered. The outcome was a disaster, but for a short time, she had bliss, and that's all I cared for."
Ian thought for a minute. "So you're saying you agree with my decision to not tell Anthony?"
Kris looked down. "I'm saying I understand the path you've chosen. And if you feel guilty, remember my actions. Remember the joy on your friend's face. Tell me you'd rather see tears."
"Thanks, Kris." Ian said at last, feeling his guilt dissipate. He looked at the clock on the wall, and realized his time was up. Kris realized the same, and the pair stood at the same time. "I'll see you next week."
"Ian." Kris stopped him. "It is not customary for a therapist to bond with his patient, but I've loved seeing someone open their heart as you did to me, Ian, especially when it's so near its last heartbeat. You've reminded me of so much, but forced me to look forward in ways I never have before."
Ian stared at him, mouth slightly open, before giving the man a small, weak smile. "Thank you, Kris."
The session ended unlike any other. The warmth was there, but in small amounts, and Kris was still like a father, but now one who was home from a long day's work, dreary and less caring, stress eating away at him. This time was different, but Kris had done as Ian hoped. He left tense and unsure, but felt his guilt subdued. It was not completely gone, of course, but subdued was all he needed.
***
Ian and Anthony had the time of their lives opening up the large amount of mail that night. It was June, far into a hot Summer, so the sun had just set by the time they finished, and they filmed after opening their mail in the cool night, surrounded by the shine of distant fireflies, and the hum of the insects that brought the season to life.
This was one of the times that made Ian love Summer. He loved the noises the bugs made, he loved how the heat faded at night, he loved spending Summer nights with Anthony. They used to barbeque, make bon fires, go to the beach, go in the pool, do anything, everything, together. The workload always seemed lighter in Summer, the filming more fun, the crew more friendly. Summer brought to him a joy that, during the other seasons, only Anthony could bring.
"Alright." Anthony said to the camera, looking slightly tired after almost two hours of tearing open envelopes and laughing at packages. "Now that we've completed our insane amount of mail opening, we're gonna chill out here, in this forest." He pointed the camera to the shrub behind them. "Oh, oh wait, is that, is that a bear?"
"Yeah, I think it's a suburban California bear." Ian noted from a few feet away, smiling at his friend.
"Those are the most dangerous of all! Ah!" Anthony screamed and shook the camera. After a moment, he pointed the camera to Ian.
"I'll be fine guys, I'm a bear whisperer." Ian said to the audience. "Okay, leave any comments or suggestions for Ian is Bored in the comment section below, see you next Thursday bitches!"
Anthony nodded, shut down the camera, and only stayed a few minutes before going home to Kalel, slightly stressed at being the one who had to fake his death. He thought he now had to because Ian had fainted, due to what he'd been told was low blood pressure, and figured Ian was merely uneasy with the fake death for that faint, not because of the tumors he knew nothing of. Ian stayed outside for awhile, in attempt to cherish his favorite and final season.
His week carried on as normal. He pretended he was healthy when he filmed. He cleaned his house thoroughly, removing anything he felt was no longer needed or valued. He did yoga, but less now, far less, because he was always weak, always tired, and he could feel the disease dragging him down. And he went outside every afternoon, when his editing was done, to sit and remember good times, and good Summers, and appreciate the time he still had.