This Can't be Life (15 page)

“It’s Malachi. Are you ready? Do you want me to come up?” His voice boomed from my intercom.

“No, I’ll be right down,” I replied, releasing the button and looking at the clock. It was 10 after
12:00
. “Guess he’s not that perfect; he’s 10 minutes late,” I whispered, still in somewhat of a bad mood. I grabbed my purse and overnight bag and headed out the door, happy that the Tylenol did its job. I walked out of my building to Malachi’s beautiful smile and immediately felt better about not canceling our date.

“You look wonderful. Are you ready for our day?” Malachi asked, embracing me and gently placing a kiss on my cheek.

“Thank you and, yes, very ready. Please take me away,” I said dramatically, as he led me to a silver convertible Ferrari. He held the door open for me as I handed him my overnight bag and slid onto the passenger seat.

“So, how has your weekend been so far, pretty lady?” he asked, as we headed west on Sunset.

“Not great, but I’m hoping to change that today. How about your weekend, did it get better for you?” I asked, referring to the loss of his patient.

“It did as soon as you walked out that door,” he smiled, sending heat sensations through my body with his dimpled smile. “You know, in my profession, we are taught to desensitize ourselves from the loss of patients or when one takes a turn for the worse, but I haven’t quite figured that out yet.”

“So, what do you do? I would think that if you didn’t desensitize yourself from it in some way, it would wear you down mentally.”

“Well, I haven’t quite figured that out, but I definitely don’t want to desensitize myself.”

“What made you want to be a doctor?”

“I wanted to be a doctor because my grandfather was a doctor. But the deal was sealed while he was dying of a rare form of bone cancer. He was in unbearable pain. The only thing that we could do was to try to make him as comfortable as possible and wait until it was time for him to go. During his battle, he was treated by one of the best oncologists in the nation. He was very good at what he did, but he was so desensitized and dehumanized. He spoke to us like he was a robot, just there to deliver news. He was so cold. I know he was there to do his job and treat his patients, but I would never want anyone to have to deal with a doctor like that if I could help it. To be that detached from my patients and their families is foreign to me. Sometimes, you have to let them see that you sympathize and empathize to really show that you care and did all that you could do to help their loved one.”

We small talked for another hour as we headed west on the 101 freeway. As we escaped the city, we enjoyed the sun and the cleaner and clearer air.

“Where are you taking me?”

“I’m kidnapping you,” he replied, with a serious look on his face.

“You don’t scare me. Just have me home so I can get back to work by Thursday.”

“Really? I can keep you that long?” He asked, with a boyish grin.

“No, not really. I knew that would get you, though,” I laughed.

“You don’t know how happy I was for that millisecond. We’ll be there soon. Just enjoy the ride and relax, pretty lady.” He looked over at me and smiled. “Maybe this will help you relax some.” He pressed play on his car system and the melodic sound of Sade filled the air around us. I reclined my seat a couple of notches and rested my head for the remainder of the ride to Malachi’s secret destination. Whether to a cave or to the moon, it didn’t matter, as long as I was in the company of this man, I didn’t care where he took me or how long it took to get there. I just knew I wanted to go there with him.

I awoke to the sound of waves and the smell of the ocean.

“I can’t believe I fell asleep. I’m sorry. I haven’t had much sleep at all in the past week and it must have finally caught up with me.” I was so embarrassed for falling asleep on the man on our first date.

“Don’t apologize. I’m happy that you were able to get some rest. I want you to relax and feel comfortable whenever you’re with me.”

“Where are we? I feel like I’m dreaming. This is so beautiful.” I was in awe, taking in the magnificent view of the beach from the escalated road we were driving on that was parallel to the ocean.

“Maybe you are dreaming; maybe we both are. You fell asleep in LA and awoke in
Santa Barbara
,” he replied, turning left onto a steep dirt road that led toward the beachfront. As we passed two gated homes, we pulled up to a tall iron gate. It glided open as he pressed a button on the dash of the car. I was speechless, looking at the view before my eyes. After coasting no more than 10 feet, we came to a complete stop in front of a beautiful cottage. It looked as if it were relocated from the
Bahamas
. It was absolutely astonishing.

Malachi got out and came around to my side. He opened my door, took my hand, and helped me out of the car. He escorted me down a cobblestone path through a beautiful garden that was lined expertly on both sides of the walkway with lilies, baby’s breath, lilac blue curiosa roses, pink and blue anemones, and many more beautiful flowers that I didn’t recognize. At the end of the cobblestone path was a door that led us down a flight of 10 hardwood steps into the living quarters of the home. The view was amazing. I stood motionless, staring out of the front wall that had been replaced with three sets of floor to ceiling French doors. I was staring at the ocean that was his front yard.

“Is this your house?” I asked in awe.

“It sure is. Only six months old and you’re my first visitor. I try to get out here as much as possible, although it seems that I was able to get out more when it was being built. Now, I can’t seem to find the time. Do you like it?”

“I love it and I haven’t even seen all of it. Who takes care of it for you when you’re not here?” I asked, wondering how it stayed so immaculate and fresh smelling.

“I have a lady who lives near here. She comes every other day or so and opens the windows and lets fresh air in. The gardener and my housekeeper come once a week. Are you hungry?” He asked, with his hand on my lower back.

“Yes, I can definitely eat.”

“Good. I’m hungry, too. The bathroom is the second door on the left. I’ll meet you outside in about 10 to 15 minutes on the patio. It’s through the doors and to the right,” he pointed, as he headed in the direction of what I assumed was the kitchen.

I was sitting, enjoying the sun and the smell of the ocean when Malachi emerged from the house using a side door that I assumed was the kitchen. He was carrying a large tray that held two large salad bowls filled with grilled chicken breasts atop freshly prepared greens, a basket of sourdough bread with a light butter spread, and two glasses of fresh squeezed lemonade. He sat the tray on a stand, placed the much desired lunch on the table, and sat down to join me.

“I didn’t know what kind of dressing you’d like, so I brought you some of every kind that I have. That’s Caesar, Ranch, Italian, and Thousand,” he said, pointing to an oblong silver container that housed four miniature removable bowls. I chose Caesar.

“Thank you. This looks so good.” I was actually salivating. “Do you mind if I bless our food?” I asked, reaching for his hand.

“Actually, who would we be asking to bless our food?”

“You’re joking, right?” I was praying that he was.

“Actually, no, I’m not. I’m not really a believer.”

“You’re not really a believer in what, Malachi?” I was stunned.

“It’s hard for me to believe that there is a God or a Satan, a heaven or a hell.”

“Why?” I asked, wishing I could just disappear. How could anyone not believe in God? Malachi had really thrown me for a loop.

“While I was growing up, I went to church every Sunday with my grandparents, but as I got older, I just had more and more doubts.” I lowered my head and blessed my food, throwing in a prayer for Malachi. More than anything, it looked like he was going to need it.

“Can you elaborate?” I asked, taking a bite of my salad.

“Well, it first started with the death of my grandfather. Like I told you earlier, he had bone cancer and had a very long, painful ordeal with the disease. It came to a point where the strongest medicines couldn’t take away his pain. If there is a God, why would he have let my grandfather suffer like that? My mother died while trying to give birth to me,” he continued, not waiting for me to try and answer his first question. “Why on earth would ‘God’ do that? Leave a child to grow up without a mother to nurture him? What excuse could there be for that? I work day in and day out, trying to save lives and make deathly ill patients more comfortable until their time comes because, at that point, it’s inevitable. They’re going to die and they know it. But why the suffering? Why are there children growing up in poverty? Why are there children being raped and murdered and molested by their own relatives? Why are there homeless people? Why? Why? Why? There are a lot of questions that need to be answered for me, Talise. It’s not that easy for me to just believe in what everyone else believes in,” he finished.

“I can’t answer those questions, but who can? There’s a reason why people go through certain things. It makes them who they are, and it makes the people around them who they are. Struggle forms character. Without struggle, who would Nelson Mandela be? Who would Malcolm X be? Who would Martin Luther King be? We can’t go around questioning everything. Some things are the way they are because that’s just the way it is. Without some type of spiritual connection and faith, I don’t know what I’d do or where I’d be. What would we have to look forward to if there is no afterlife? How would we handle the deaths of our loved ones if we didn’t have the hope that we would see them again? How can we explain birth and the formation of a fetus? There are so many questions that could be formed without a scientific explanation or answer. It’s just really hard for me to relate to someone who doesn’t believe in a higher power.” I couldn’t believe that I was having this conversation.

“There may be a higher power, but who’s to say that the power isn’t coming from within us? It would be a lot easier for me to just go with everyone else and believe what everyone else believes, but I can’t. Look at you. Now you’re looking at me like I’m evil. Like there is something wrong with me. Trust me. There isn’t. I’m not saying that I don’t believe that there is a God completely. I’m just saying that I have questions that no one can seem to answer. I have doubts and I’m sure I’m not alone in that, either.”

“Well, the power
is
coming from within us because if you believe in God and his son, Jesus Christ, you know that he lives within you. He is in your heart and his magnificence is exuded from within you. I’ll pray for you,” I said lowly.

“Please do. I’m not against that. Especially if someone is really listening,” Malachi said, looking me directly in the eyes.

We sat and ate in what seemed to be an eternity of uncomfortable silence, but was probably no more than a few minutes.

“So, where did you grow up?” I asked, breaking the silence.

“I’m originally from
Trinidad
. My father moved us to the States when I was 14. I spent my teenage years right outside of DC, where my father’s parents lived. How about you?” he asked, looking relieved for the change of conversation.

“I’m from here. I grew up in
Los Angeles
, but I went to college in
Boston
.”

“Oh, really? I went to med school in
Boston
. I was at Harvard.”

“Me, too! I was there from ‘99 to ‘02. Then I came back and went to grad school at USC. What years were you there?” I asked, surprised.

“I was in med school from ‘96 to 2000. That’s something else. We were there at around the same time and didn’t even see each other.”

“I know. What a small world. The salad was delicious. Thank you,” I said, adjusting my bottom in the seat.