Calling Dr. Mettlen

             The setting Boston sun shone a salmon colored streak across the kitchen floor. Although the fall air was chilly, it made my kitchen feel warm. I was in my own little world, singing and dancing to an old mix CD. I took the lid off the pot of pasta, steam billowing out of the bubbly water. My glasses fogged over, and as I took them off, I felt this familiar little whisper in my ear. I couldn’t even understand what it said; I was too entranced by the strong arms that were squeezing my waist and the feeling of his stubble against the soft of my neck. All I could express was a low, “Hmm?”

             “I said, you are killing me with all of these home cooked meals. My buddies were right, I shouldn’t have moved in with you. I am going to turn into a chubby homebody.” He laughed.

              I turned around and gave him a kiss, resting my hands on his arms.

             “But, I’m sure there are worse positions I could be in” he said.

              I looked at him and smiled. Sean always had this smirk that never failed to make me melt. He was tall, with a very strong build, and even though I was tall and athletically built myself, he always made me feel petite and feminine in his arms. God, I loved that.

            We stood there, staring at each other in silence for a few seconds. How could I not be in love with this man? He was so driven, I had never known him to not chase a dream or meet a goal. He had matured a lot since we met when I was sixteen, but there were still little pieces of the boy I used to know there too. His eyes were icy blue, always alive and searching, as if looking for the next adventure, and his hair was a yellow mess. It wasn’t too long or too short, but for some reason he never felt the need to comb it, so there it sat, however it wanted. It always looked unruly, like he had just gotten in a fight. Paired with his shirt and tie, he almost looked like a frat boy who overdressed for his summer internship. At twenty six, Sean looked his age, but his hair always made waitresses second guess their judgment and ask for ID when he ordered a beer with dinner. He had an old soul, but a young spirit.

             He jumped in, chopping lettuce for a salad. We cooked alongside each other that way for a while, singing along to all of our classics. Free Falling, Change the World, and Sean’s favorite, Living on a Prayer. He belted every word, using a spoon for a microphone. It reminded me of when we were in college. We would get into the bars using fake ID’s and whenever the song came on, he couldn’t hold a conversation, only sing the words in his drunk, raspy voice, as if it wasn’t one of the most popular songs of all time, but instead his own personal anthem that Bon Jovi performed just for him. He knew it was cliché and overplayed, but he loved that song, and didn’t care who else did. It was his.

             The CD was over, and the music stopped. Dinner was ready, and as we set the table, I walked over and hugged him, burying my face in his chest.

I let out a muffled “I love you, Sean Gannon”.

             He kissed the top of my head.

             “I love you too, Quinn Mettlen”

             

             In that moment, I should have felt warm and secure, but I was cold and uncomfortable. I didn’t understand what was going on. Then I realized my phone was ringing. Slowly my world started to melt away, although I was desperately holding on to it. My eyes opened and slowly focused on the red numbers of my alarm clock, which read 4:46. I laid there for a moment, feeling as empty as the bed beside me. I couldn’t believe that was just a dream. It had felt so real. I could smell the rolls that I was cooking in the oven. I could feel his hand on my lower back as he squeezed by me to get to the fridge. But it was all in my mind. Suddenly I jolted up realizing my phone had stopped ringing. I scrambled over to my dresser where it was charging and saw that I had a missed call and a voicemail from the hospital.

            I listened to the message, recognizing Jill’s voice, the head nurse on the night shift.

           “Dr. Mettlen, the physicians in the clinic are swamped and need some help, so we are going to need you to come in. Call back as soon as possible.”

           I dialed the number and her extension.

            “Hi Jill, sorry I missed the call. I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.” I croaked into the phone.

           I threw on the only pair of clean scrubs that were in my drawer, grabbed my backpack and phone, and walked out into the street. As the cold January air hit my face, it served as a cruel reminder of how much things can change over just a few months.