It was a little after 10:00 a.m., and the day already sucked. The sun was bright in a cloudless sky, a delicate breeze carried away the morning chill, and hatchlings chirped in a nearby tree, safely nestled above the day’s drama. Even that hag of nature was against me today, I thought as I shuffled through the doors of Washington General Hospital toward the park across the street with all the exuberance of the condemned.

Protected by a moat of asphalt filled with honking man-eaters built mostly in Detroit, the park stood out against a backdrop of smoked glass and baked concrete as a welcomed refuge in the center of D.C.‘s commercial district. After a brief game of dodge the car as I jaywalked to the other side, I headed off in the direction of a recently cleaned walkway that led to the center of the park and the only true solace in my life, Jorge Rumme.

With my hands clenched, shoulders hunched, and an expression that could give ice cubes frostbite, I trudged past budded trees and newly planted flowerbeds, resentful of their promise for renewal and hope. Still irked at the hospital administrator as I replayed the morning’s incident, I was unaware I’d reached my destination until an explosion of bright white and yellow stars blew apart my train of thought as my kneecap banged into the edge of a pressed-wood-and-steel bench.

“Damn it, Rumme, you could have said something before I took out my knee.”

“I did Marion, twice. Apparently the bench speaks louder than I do.”

With one hand, I gripped the top of the bench for balance, as I drew up my injured knee and began to vigorously massage it with the other. I concentrated on the sharp flashes of pain and my ministrations; it was all that kept me from literally choking off the braying laughter of the chestnut-maned ass that was my best friend.

By the time I was able to hobble around the bench and take a seat, Rumme’s guffaws had subsided to a mildly uncontrolled fit of wheezing. I wanted to say something mean and hurtful, the words pressed against the back of my lips. I should never have dared to look at the pudgy idiot, for a smile broke free in spite of the pain. Typical Rumme. No matter how bad I felt he always managed to lighten my mood, even if at my own expense. It was his unique magic, one for which I’d go to the grave and back.

“Whose crap got you wading so deep you can’t watch where you’re going?” Rumme asked as he pushed up from his knees and slouched against the backrest of the bench.

Even though the raw-honey of his eyes was shielded by dark state trooper-styled glasses, which I noticed he’d begun to wear around the clock, and the puffy caterpillars that passed for eyebrows continued to wrestle for composure, I knew Rumme was still whooping it up on the inside. It was just his nature to turn any bad situation inside out until he found the buried humor. Bastard.

“Some jerk spread my personal business around the ward. The grapevine being what it is, the higher-ups got an earful and decided to reassign me from lead nurse on the critical patients ward to supervisory helpline specialist. True, I’ll be making a few extra dollars, but basically I’ve been demoted to a desk jockey.”

“Well, I’d tell you not to worry yourself gray, Marion, but the shine from your dome is blinding.”

“You know, Rumme, you’re the only person I let get away with that crap.”

“What crap?”

“Making fun of me when I feel like a steaming shovel full of dog shit.”

“Is there anything you can do about your situation, Marion?”

“Not really.”

“Won’t the extra money help out?”

“Yeah, it really would,” I huffed.

“Are you going to sit there and pretend, as drained as you looked, that a lighter workload isn’t a good thing?”

“You know, Rumme, I could bury your ass out here and no one would know.”

“Yeah, well all things considered, that’s not likely, now is it?” he remarked through a lopsided smirk.

He was right of course, damn him. There was a time when I was NBA fit. My big feet and long legs used to carry me along a three-mile run in less than forty-five minutes. I’d done crunches and weight training four times a week that left my abs, pecs, and biceps so defined, water didn't glide down my body: it tumbled.

Lately, if I didn’t get winded on a trip back from the corner store, it was a good day. I took hundreds of pills to keep my white blood cell count up, which left me a little better than the walking dead. Still, the way things went down this morning was foul, at least I had our trip to look forward to.

“So, we still on to do Kilimanjaro this month?” I asked as I gingerly swiveled on the bench toward Rumme and rested my knee. I’ve always been a competitive bastard, and I decided it would be better to pick a fight I might actually win. I watched as his flabby chest expanded and fell on a deep sigh. His lips became thinned and pursed, and I could have sworn I saw his eyes roll behind the heavily tinted lenses. Score one for me.

“Gee, that was a smooth segue. I hardly noticed. Public speaking is truly your calling,” Rumme said in a voice better suited for the end of a ten-hour lecture on the mating habits of slugs.

“Yeah, well I’m not feeling my A-game today. Are we still on or what?”

He didn’t answer right away. That bothered me. I watched as Rumme took in another deep breath and a moment to consider his response. His gaze focused, as I knew it would eventually, on a misshapen birch tree about thirty yards from where we sat. If he started with that old mess again, it was going to be all-out war. Time was ticking for both of us, and she was a complete waste of it.

"You know, Marion, before I met my lady-love-"

"Man, don't start that mess up again."

"Before I met my lady-love, Maaaarion. My life was as fulfilling as yours. No family, no close friends-"

"Excuse me, I am sitting here, right?"

Pushed too far, Rumme fell silent. His chin dropped to his chest as he slightly shook his head. After a moment he became still, and his gaze once more trained at a spot just below the birch tree. A look of contentment had replaced his exasperation. He was with her again, which meant the situation was critical.

***

"I'm sorry," I said from behind my hand as I rubbed the tension from the bridge of my nose. I didn't need a reminder that before the day Rumme approached me in the park, I had no friends, no family left who would deal with me, and a sorry-ass job only good for paying the bills.

"You need to let go, Marion, if only for your own sake."

"I know, Rumme. I just can't remember when it’s ever been this tense between us except for maybe the first time you came to my job as a patient."

It continued to eat at my soul that I hadn't paid enough attention to his symptoms. Caught up in my own drama, which hadn’t been as serious at the time, I was AWOL when my friend needed me most. No wonder he turned to that heifer.

“You should never have ended your appointments, Rumme, not for any reason.”

"Marion, the problem with opening old wounds," he said in a weary tone, is once they’re opened they need to be re-dressed. Are you sure you want to go there? I'm seriously tired of you ragging on my lady-love."

This confrontation had been in the works for months. I should have broached the issue sooner, but I was too afraid I’d lose my best friend -my brother- in the aftermath. I’d been given another chance, damned if I’d let it slip away without a bare-knuckled-alley scrape -not again.

“You never answered my question, Rumme. Kilimanjaro. Are we still a go?”

“No, Marion.”

“Care to tell me why?”

“Very soon, my lady-love and I will be fully committed to each other. “

“Uh-huh.”

“Look, Marion, we share the same passion for sailing. I’ve already placed a sizable down payment on a forty-five-foot destination houseboat. I had to cash in almost everything I own to do it.”

“Riiiight,” I responded through teeth clenched so tight my ears began to twitch.

“We’ve plotted a course that will take us down the Eastern Sea Coast, shoot us around the Gulf, and spit us out in the Caribbean Sea. This is my last shot to chase this dream or to have someone special to share it with.”

“If you say so, Rumme.”

“See, Marion, I knew you wouldn’t take me seriously.”

“Seriously? Rumme, you can’t even face me like a man, eye to eye. “

He moved very slowly, as if quick-drying cement had begun to set within his veins. With a slight wince Rumme removed his sunglasses as he turned in my direction. Cautiously, he trained the full force, or as much as he could muster, of his honey-glazed attention toward me. The pained look that framed his clouded orbs was all the evidence needed. The aneurysm had ruptured.

***

At some point I must have blacked out. It was the only explanation. When I came to, it felt as if a huge belt were looped around my chest. I couldn’t see it, but it was there. I knew this because as I tried to make sense of what Rumme had told me, the belt tightened. Soon it was almost impossible for me to breathe, my thoughts became fuzzy, and my vision blurry. I knew one of us was a dead man, I just couldn’t be certain it wasn’t me.

I braced my hands on either side of me and kept my breathing shallow. It helped. My lids closed of their own volition and left me temporarily blind. Even better. I was ashamed, but the last image I wanted in my head was Rumme’s face, folded in on itself out of concern for me. A stray thread of rationality flickered through my brain; I grabbed hold of it with everything in me.

“Rumme, your relationship is not what you think. You’re not really in love,” I said gently.

“You’re my brother, Marion, and I love you, but you don’t know my heart not even a little. Maybe you should check your own and make sure it’s not jealousy that has you hating my lady-love.”

“Jealous? Of that heifer? How can I be jealous of someone I’ve never seen, Rumme? Anywhere!”

“I don’t mean any harm, Marion, but you’ve been attracted to me since the first time I met you at this very park. Hell, you were sitting on this exact bench when you asked if I wanted a date. Instead of hating my lady-love, maybe you should go find your own Prince Charming or at least get laid.”

My head became too heavy for my neck. It lolled forward and swayed against my chest, like a buoy rocked by a strong wave. I was being sucked in. I would drown on this bench in the shame. If I could just put some distance between me and it, I’d be able to surface, regain myself.

“You bastard, Rumme. You sorry-assed bastard.”

Somehow I managed to turn the rest of the way toward the backrest. Guided by the last shred of my self-respect, I was able to grasp the top and push off from it into a bent-over stance. With some effort I was able to stand. My knees were still a bit so-so, but for the moment they held.

“You call yourself my friend, Rumme, my brother?“ I challenged as I tried to dislodge the hurt that had settled in my chest with several pounds of my fist.

“I am, Marion, but that doesn’t give you the right to cross every line.“

“I thought we’d gotten past that crap.”

“We’ve been friends for years, Marion, so don’t get all sensitive on me now. You hit a tender spot, and you did it on purpose, so deal with it.”

Oh no, I wouldn’t let him squash it that easily. I’d never been more embarrassed than that day I mistook Rumme’s initial gesture of friendship for a casual hook-up. It took me months to get over the need to apologize and to accept I’d found a true friend. Until now, he’d never thrown it in my face. Fine!

“I’m gay; an older man approaches me in the park, Rumme. What the hell else was I supposed to think?” The binding loosened, my chest filled with deep, scalding breaths. Liquid steel fused my knees and backbone into the straight and upright position. Indignation consumed me, and the burn felt good.

“Look you ass. All I‘m trying to do is get you to put your affairs in order. Not because I want anything from you, Rumme. Because I care. You clear?”

At six feet two inches I’d tower over Rumme, even if he weren’t seated. I’d invaded his personal space. I was too close for him to stand comfortably and not shove me out of the way. I blocked his precious view of that damnable silver-barked tree and his imaginary lover. He’d have to deal with me. I was ready for any response except for the one I actually got.

At first, Rumme sat there seemingly unfazed by my behavior. He simply crossed his leg with one ankle resting on the other leg and began to pick unseen lint from his nylon sock. I started to reach for his shoulders in order to shake some sense into him, when an alarming look crossed his face.

The ruddiness of his skin took on an odd bluish-green pallor. Sweat began to stubble his bare lip. His hands slid to the edge of the bench, drained of all color by the force of his grip. His stomach collapsed in on itself and doubled Rumme over, as if an invisible mugger had attacked him. The moment I touched his shoulder, he convulsed violently then spewed an inconceivable amount of pink-orange bile over my shoes.

***

There was no soundtrack. No cars wrecked on the streets, no thunder clapped overhead, not even the screams from a mugging or crack of gunfire interrupted the tranquility of the park. Absent, too, was the inane chatter of the local minions who preferred to remain in their offices working frantically to justify their existence. I was about to lose my best friend, and the city simply lost its voice.

I needed space; Rumme’s insanity might have been contagious. I offered him my handkerchief, which I’d dampened at a nearby water fountain. So, what does the fool do after he freshens up? He smiles weakly and waves his fingers, not at me, but the damn tree. I was done. I sprinted toward the small reflection pool, no more than fifty or so yards opposite where we sat. I still wanted to keep an eye on Rumme as I cleared my head.

In medical school I was taught never to get personally involved with a patient. At the time I thought it was a completely obvious and unnecessary course to take. If only I understood then… I walked up and down the length of the pool with my fingers tightly laced and resting on top of my head. The counter-pressure from my big hands eased the one inside my skull that threatened to blow it apart.

On a sunny day, in a quiet park, by a pool of calm water, I was faced with breaking the heart of the dearest man I’d ever met. Rumme stood by me when half my family disowned me because I’m gay. He was there when the other half abandoned me because of my HIV status. In a world where it’s still okay to break a bottle over the head of a homosexual, Rumme embraced the human being and never let me forget I was worth something.

Exhausted, I laid down across the cool marbled ledge of the reflection pool. It was the only thought of the last few minutes I didn’t second-guess. At once my body responded as if I were lying on top of a tension magnet. Every muscle that came into contact with the mystical stone unknotted and immediately relaxed. Only after a mild drowsiness began to blanket me had I risked a glance in Rumme’s direction.

Other than him being seated on the opposite side of the bench, nothing else seemed changed with Rumme. He even managed to regain that stupid doe-eyed look he got whenever she was present. Should I have told him when I first suspected his lover was just a by-product of pressure to his optic nerve? Did I have the right to? Wasn’t he better off delusional, happier even?

Fear slammed into my groin and snaked its way up my spine. Suddenly, I pictured Rumme, penniless, filthy, and warehoused in some state-run facility, left to die with no one there who gave a damn to even hold his hand. No, better he faced the truth and lived out what little time he had left on his own terms. My decision made, I eased off the ledge and went to destroy a dying man’s dream.

***

I took one step then another on the grayish-white walkway that led past the benches, through a wooded garden, and back toward the hospital. A few yards more and I’d reach the ruination of my friendship. My feet had already carried me halfway across the manicured lawn before I realized I’d made the decision. Well before Rumme could amble out of his seat, I stood before the birch tree and unzipped my fly.

“What the hell, Marion? Was that really necessary? What was that supposed to prove?” Rumme bellowed as stomped around the tree.

“Marking territory I guess,” I replied with a slight shrug. I felt damn near giddy. If I had to battle this bitch for my friend, then it was going down dirty.

“Sometimes, Marion, you can be a complete asshole.”

“At least this asshole was around when you lost your stomach. So tell me, Rumme, where was your lady-love then?” I knew it was wrong, but an evil satisfaction welled up in my chest.

Rumme lowered himself to sit on the lawn just a few feet away from the tree. Though he moved like a man twenty years his senior, there was a slight flush to his face. He was angry and for the moment focused. He was exactly where I needed him to be.

“Unlike you, she respects the fact that I hate to be fussed over like some slobbering old man.”

“Fair enough. So where did you meet your angel of mercy?” I prodded as I took a spot on the lawn across from him.

“At the hospital, as a matter of fact, on the critical patients ward,” Rumme said as he leaned back on his hands and crossed his ankles. A look of smugness he hadn’t earned washed over his face. If I hadn’t known him better I’d swear he was enjoying this.

“I know every patient and staffer on that ward, Rumme, and I’ve never seen this woman you’ve talked of.”

“Do you know every visitor as well, Marion?”

Okay, he had me there.

“If you must know, I was there about the headaches. I ran into my lady-love as I was leaving the building.”

“Fine. So how come you’ve never mentioned her name?” He better have a good one for this.

“You’ve made your feelings plain about my lady-love, Rumme. Was I really supposed to help you persecute her as some kind of gold digger or black widow, just because I might have done something nice for her?”

“Ouch.”

“May I ask the interrogator a question, or would that be against the rules?”

“We’re friends, right? Ask me anything; just be certain you can handle the answer.” I was determined not to be sidetracked, no matter what he threw at me.

“What makes a relationship real to you?” He asked with a sincerity that was unsettling.

Rumme knew the answer as well as I did. It was everything I hadn’t had until I met him. It was what my family didn’t have the courage to give, what strangers who didn’t know me feared I could offer. “Acceptance without conditions, genuine concern for each other’s well-being, someone by your side always”, I blurted. “Everything I lost when you died.”

It was out. It all came out in a rush the guilt, the regret, the loneliness. For several months, I’ve come to this park, on the same day, at the same time, and prayed for a second chance to make things right. I saw the symptoms, the neck pain, the sensitivity to light, the headaches and rationalized them away. I was so obsessed that some lab tech mistakenly posted my test results that I neglected my best friend. By the time Rumme began to talk of his lady-love, I needed her to be real too.

“Do you want to know what makes a relationship real to me, Marion? A sense of belonging, memories I can cherish, the comfort that comes from knowing I mattered to someone. In this I’ve been blessed two-fold, by you and my lady-love.”

I saw Rumme then really saw him. Not the guilt-tinted specter with which I’d haunted myself for so long, but Rumme the way he’d always been. Head tilted to one side with a smile that matched. His honey-colored eyes were uncovered and sparkled with mischief, and an aura of gentleness surrounded him. This was my Rumme, the one I’d cherished and loved. The one who needed me to let go.

“I’m afraid, Rumme.”

“You’re also ready, Marion.”

“What if I never find another friendship like ours?”

“What if you stop being such a drama queen?”

I closed my eyes for just a moment to let Rumme’s good-natured chuckle work its magic in my heart. When next I opened my eyes I was alone, in a quiet park, seated under a silver-barked tree, on a wonderfully sunny day.