A HEART'S ATTACK

by Byron Flitsch 

Rachel was about to throw her last dart at the board when she saw Dr. New York suddenly appear from the corner of her eye at the crowded bar a few nights ago.

He was wearing his baseball hat backwards like he always did while they were together. He was holding his beer bottle the same way he held it while they were together. He was smiling the same way he smiled when he told her “we aren’t breaking up… we could do the long distance thing. Babe, it will totally work out. There’s no reason to cry.” before he left for New York for his Medical Internship almost five years ago. Apparently, though, New York had swallowed him and his ability to answer her calls. Rachel was left with no end to an almost year old relationship. She was devastated. Actually, she was broken and in pain. Dr. New York’s selfish act had put her in an intensive emotional care with her close friends for months.

“He had the nerve to walk up to me and say ‘hello there.’ with that stupid smile he always gave people when he knew he was wrong about something, but had the perfect rows of teeth and sparkly eyes that would get him forgiven.” Rachel explains to me while we are licking envelopes closed for her engagement party with her fiancé. We are in her living room watching reruns of 90210.

“He’s a douchebag. He is the definition of douchebag!” I yelp.

“Yeah, but you know… that was like, five years ago…” Rachel says placing a stamp on to a white envelope. A commercial interjects loudly from the television in the distance.

“I’m sorry… I’m pretty sure that took you three of those years to get over…”

“Yeah, but I have Adam now… and, you know, Dr. New York and I are totally different people.” She says tilting her head in defense.

“OK… but that disappearing thing… did he have an excuse?” I say raising my voice.

“…He asked me to dinner to talk about it… to explain…”

I sit speechless trying not to have that shocked-look-face that people don’t want to see when they know they just said something shock worthy. A good friend knows how to maintain this face. A better friend knows how to execute it without judgment.

“But… why? I don’t…”

“I need to heal that part of my life before I can get better with my new one.” Rachel says looking me straight in the eyes.

Apparently, Dr. New York had just picked a five- year- old scab.

Pain in relationships is much like the pain our bodies experience physically. We get stood up on a first date; it’s like a minor scrape that quickly heals. We instantly fall for someone only to discover that that someone isn’t who we hoped for and it’s like a deep gash that leaves a noticeable scar.

Then there are the pains that we still feel years after we’ve supposedly healed. Much like a broken bone or a serious surgery, we’re never exactly the same after we’re nursed back to health. Changes in weather bring aches. We can’t be as flexible as we were before. Our diets have to change. We are scared that if we put too much pressure on it, we may break again. When it comes to physical pain, we protect ourselves so we don’t risk our fragile bodies harm.

But when it comes to matters of love, why aren’t we just as protective of our fragile emotions? We don’t want to experience physical hurt, but in so many cases, we are willing to risk the emotional hurt while blindly looking past the symptoms we’ve felt before.

Why risk your heart’s attack?

A few nights later, I was rounding a corner of the street to meet a few friends for a movie. It was a warm late winter night and I was checking my cell phone to see if Rachel had text any update on her dinner date with Dr. New York when…

“Hey… hey, Byron?” A voice calls from the other corner of the street.

It was my previous heart attack. The one I had spent four years of my life with and ended in a painful break. That’s the thing about cities. They’re high-risk places to live in. You never know when you’re going to bump in to something dangerous to your health.

“Oh, hey…” I said with a shaky voice. He looked good. He was smiling. His facial hair was perfectly trimmed. He tilted his head and smiled. I could instantly feel my many stitches begin to fall apart.

“God, I haven’t see you… well… in awhile. I think about you… a lot.” He narrowed his blue eyes and looked at me.

“It’s been awhile.” I could feel my stomach turning. My heart was racing.

“We… we should hang out sometime soon… dinner? Maybe this week.”

In that moment, I looked in to his face and saw four years of everything we shared. I knew that I shouldn’t have dinner with him because that would have canceled out every bit of healing I had spent trying to move on… trying to cover the scars… trying to feel like my normal self again. Then I thought about Rachel. If her and Dr. New York could try to mend things, maybe I could give it a shot.

“I… I…” I started to say just as my cell phone rang. I looked at it assuming it was friends waiting for me at the movie theater. It was Rachel. I pointed my finger to say ‘one second’ and answered.

“I stood him up! I didn’t go! I’m done with him. I decided I am OK…” She said laughing in to the phone. “You were so right. It would have been a really bad idea!”

I told her I was glad, but couldn’t talk. I hung up the phone and looked my last heartbreak in the eye, smiled and said:

“I just don’t think that would be a very healthy thing for us to do.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: When Byron Flitsch isn't pondering the art of relationships, buying magazines he'll never get time to read, traveling without maps, and discussing the meaning of life over a cocktail, he is a freelance writer. He's been published in The Advocate, New City, Gay Chicago, and a variety of print/online publications. You can spy on Byron properly at his website: www.byronflitsch.com