NOTE: See The Description Above
Steve Larson sighed and cursed to himself as he sat in his 4-Runner, trapped in bumper-to-bumper gridlock on Spring Street. Atlanta was already hot, crowded, and angry at eight in the morning. Steve turned up the AC and wondered again why he had to torture himself every morning just to get to work. He turned up the volume on the radio to drown out the noise and chaos that surrounded him. The only reassurance he got from the DJ was a description of the egregious mess that was downtown Atlanta. As if he needed one. Steve felt his chest tighten as he lit another cigarette. “Why the hell are you even here?” he asked himself aloud. He quickly reminded himself that this mess was a necessary evil. His career was flourishing, and columnists who want to get recognized work and live in the city. Now all he had to do was make it to work on time.
He didn’t see that happening today. He didn’t have to look at his dash clock to realize that he was going to be late again. He was certain that his ill-tempered Deputy Editor, Martin Hurney, would catch him coming in late. Hurney could sniff out latecomers like the dog he was. Steve was his favorite victim. Hurney had never liked Steve for reasons Steve himself wasn’t sure of. He suspected that Hurney was a bit jealous. Charlotte Murdock, the editor-in-chief of The Atlanta Journal and Constitution, was particularly fond of Steve, and Hurney seemed to think that Steve had slept his way into the middle-aged tiger lady’s good graces. Or something. Lord knows.
Steve’s heart began to protest, and he forced himself to stop worrying about Hurney lest he have a spell. The pain in his chest often made him wonder why he troubled himself over interoffice politics. He had enough to occupy him. His job had become progressively more stressful. His column continued to get more and more popular, and at the same time, Charlotte had become increasingly excited about Steve’s talent. He appreciated Charlotte’s faith in him, but she continued to pile countless assignments on top of his weekly column. It was almost more than he could handle, but he didn’t dare complain. You have to pay your dues if you want to succeed, and Steve was well aware of it.
He sighed again and closed his dark green eyes. He let his head fall back against the headrest and tried to block out all the madness around and inside him. When he failed to ignore all the pesky distractions with which Atlanta was wrought, he thought about Kinney, his hometown. He could see his town quietly awaiting his next visit in its comfortable cradle of mountains northeast of the throbbing Atlanta heat. Fresh and green. Serene and beautiful. Maybe this would be a good weekend to pay that visit he so greatly owed his town and its inhabitants.
Steve opened his eyes to look at himself in the rearview mirror. He ran his fingers through his longish wavy black hair and caught a glimpse of the white streak in his hairline over his right eye: a result of his first spell and the panic it had brought down on him. He sighed deeply at the streak and the dark circles under his eyes and let his hair fall back over his forehead. His chest tightened a bit more at the fear that the streak would spread and the circles would darken if he didn’t take it easy. He dragged his cigarette and decided that he would definitely go to Kinney for the weekend.
He finally made it to work at 9:15. The moment he thought he was safe in his cubicle, Hurney’s great sharp splat of a voice croaked, “Larson! You’re late! You only got 45 minutes to get ready for the morning meeting!”
“There was traffic, sir,” Steve replied. “More than usual. And I’m more than prepared for the meeting.”
“I don’t care!” the somewhat rotund, bald-headed deputy editor exclaimed. “All I know is you’ve been late five out of the last seven days!” Hurney leaned over and thrust a long, crooked finger at Steve’s nose as he growled, “The next time you’re late, your ass is mine whether Murdock likes it or not!”
As Hurney stormed off to make someone else’s morning miserable, Steve caught the eye of Audrey Preston in the cubicle across the way. Audrey was a lovely red headed society columnist with long legs and that confident sort of grace that all beautiful women possess. She grinned at him and flipped Hurney an unladylike gesture. Steve chuckled and made an equally obscene (if not more creative) motion directed at the commonly disliked Hurney. They both laughed and winked at each other before turning to their work.
As Steve made out a list of all he needed to accomplish for the day, he realized how substantial that list was. Man. Being the Jack of all Trades columnist guy was becoming rather daunting. He had to finish an article about the Braves outfielder who had written an autobiography; organize his interview notes for his piece on the state of the Arts Council; research court cases against the shock-rocker who was coming to town; finish his column…
Suddenly, Steve became very aware of the frantic pounding in his chest. He felt his ribcage being turned inside out, and a painful bout of arrhythmia set in. “Jesus no,” he grunted. He held on to the edge of his desk with one hand and his chest with the other. He looked at his list and felt flashes of heat and his eyes began to lose focus and he told himself over and over to “Calm down. Calm down.”
“Steve?” Audrey asked from across the aisle. Her voice sounded like it was coming from the bottom of a Mason jar. “Steve, are you okay?”
He heard the panic in her voice and tried to reply after he swallowed one of his pills, but the clutching, searing pain in his chest wouldn’t allow him to speak for the moment.
“Steve, do you need an ambulance?” she asked desperately as heads popped up over cubicle walls nearby. None of his coworkers had seen one of his frightening spells before. He understood why Audrey’s pretty face was so pale and alarmed. He imagined he looked rather grotesque and maligned when these things struck. He wished he had been able to make it to the restroom, but this one had hit him very suddenly; which really worried him.
“N…no,” he managed to answer Audrey’s question. He closed his eyes and took deep breaths as his coworkers continued to look on in shock and horror. Steve sat still and waited until his pill had taken effect. When he could no longer hear or feel his heart hammering its rapid, out-of-time cadence, he opened his eyes to see Audrey still poised to help and looking a little green.
“Steve?” she asked timidly. “Are you okay?”
“I am now,” Steve sighed. “Thank you.” He turned to his desk and prepared to dive into his work as if nothing had happened.
But Audrey wasn’t satisfied. “What happened, Steve?”
Steve started to dismiss it again, but he knew Audrey wouldn’t leave him alone if he didn’t explain himself. “My…my heart,” Steve answered reluctantly with a twinge of embarrassment. “I have Long Q-T Syndrome.”
“What?”
“Long Q-T,” he repeated. “My heart skips certain impulses in the sequence of my heartbeat, and when I get upset or stressed or whatnot, my heart beats too fast to account for the skips and it kind of gets out of synch. My brother Marty says it’s like I’ve got a bad timing belt.”
Audrey looked at him in awe for a moment. “How dangerous is it?”
“Not a big deal,” he mumbled. He wished he hadn’t told her. He wouldn’t be able to abide being treated like an invalid: which was usually the reaction he got when he told people about his illness.
Audrey looked at him skeptically.
“I’m fine, Audrey,” Steve snapped a bit more harshly than he meant to. He saw Audrey’s wounded expression and felt like a jerk. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t like being reminded about it. It gets in my way and when people see it for the first time, they start looking at me like I’m an exhibit in a museum or something.”
Audrey nodded and replied, “It’s okay Steve.” She flashed a warm little reassuring smile and concluded, “I understand.”
“Thank you.”
By the end of the day, Steve had managed to accomplish everything that needed to be done – although not without having to stop every thirty minutes to fight tremors. He wasn’t sure exactly what caused his left hand to shake, but the doctors seemed to think it had something to do with the Long Q-T. Maybe a lack of blood to some little part of his brain. It was enough to scare him. So by the time he got home that afternoon, Steve was hell-bent on going to Kinney for the weekend. Going home always did some good in reviving him.
Steve lived in one of the friendlier (if not one of the more eccentric) neighborhoods in Atlanta. He lived in Little Five Points in a large house that had been converted into three apartments. Steve had the second floor (and a nice little balcony) all to himself.
The evening was cool for summer, and there was a wonderful sort of bustling energy on his street, so Steve spent the evening out on his balcony reading a book. He had just started a new chapter in Cold Mountain (he refused to see the movie until he finished the book) when a woman’s voice called his name from inside his apartment.
“I’m on the balcony, Baby,” Steve called back as he marked his place and set his book on a small scrubbed wood end table. He stood and turned to see his girlfriend, Lena, standing just inside the open French doors. Steve often wondered how he had managed to attract a woman like Lena Walraven. She looked as beautiful and sophisticated as ever in a designer sundress that enhanced her gorgeous curves and made her cool blue eyes stand out dramatically.
Steve smiled and went to kiss her, but before he got within touching distance, she asked, “Why are you out there?”
“It’s a nice evening,” Steve answered as he stepped up to her and grinned. “I needed some fresh air.” He took her face in his hands and kissed her deeply until he felt her weak response. He released her and pointed a puzzled look at her. “Lena, are you okay?”
Lena gave him a bored look and sighed lazily, “I’m all right. I’m just a little out of it. Anyway, what were you doing?”
“Reading,” Steve answered. “I can’t imagine how they made a movie out of that book, but I’ll tell you, I’m sure as hell curious.”
“You wanna go out tonight?” she asked as if Steve hadn’t said a thing. “There’s a really good DJ at The Star Bar tonight, and I thought you might want to go out for a change.”
Steve sighed and wished again that she would get over the “party-every-night” mentality and be contented with a quiet evening at home. “Baby, I’d love to, but I’m worn slap out.” He paused as he ran his fingers through his hair, debating whether or not to mention his spell.
“Steve, when are you going to dye out that ugly white spot?”
Steve only sighed and ignored her question and her pouty “you’re no fun” expression. “Lena, I had another spell at work today, and I really need to…”
“Steve, you’ve got to go back to the doctor about all that,” Lena scolded, temporarily transformed back into the concerned girlfriend she once was. “Whatever he’s doing isn’t helping. How will you get well if…”
“Lena, I’ve told you, Honey, what I have is a chronic disorder. It’ll never go away. All I can do is…”
“Well, whatever, Steve. You’ve had two in three weeks.” She sighed and gave him a look that he couldn’t quite place: annoyance? Regret? Remorse? Guilt? All of the above? He didn’t have time to decide. She put her arms loosely and carelessly around his neck and smiled sweetly. “You need to get better so you can start raising hell again.”
Steve only replied with a half-hearted smile. She did a good enough job raising hell by herself lately, and Steve’s feelings toward raising hell had changed considerably over the past several months. He watched Lena work herself silly every day as a Marketing Specialist for a prominent advertising company, then party herself stupid every night. It had gotten a little worrisome. Granted, he used to be guilty of the same thing, but he had grown out of it. He had begun to realize how boring all the club hopping really was. Plus it wasn’t exactly good for his heart. He had assumed that Lena would soon come to the same realization once he got her into a few good authors and took her to the occasional Symphony concert. But so far, she remained ever the cosmopolitan party girl. And the party girl had become increasingly vapid in his eyes.
As he usually did, Steve shoved these thoughts and his concerns about Lena’s distant mood to the back of his mind. He grinned tenderly and pulled Lena tight against him. He kissed her slowly, thoroughly, and deeply. When he released her mouth from his, he smiled and quietly murmured, “So there are two choices before you. You can leave my sorry butt behind and go shake yours…” he let his fingertips barely brush over her fine throat. He smiled as she shuddered. “Or I can entertain you myself.”
Lena gave in to Steve’s touch – almost reluctantly. Nonetheless, they somehow ended up in the bedroom.
Half an hour later, as he smoked his cigarette and she smoked hers, Steve wondered what had just happened. They were sitting half a world apart, it suddenly seemed. Why didn’t he feel anything while they were making love? Why didn’t he feel anything now? She had only been half there, and he had barely been there at all. Yet another thing to add to his ever-lengthening list of stress-inducing, heart abusing worries. He knew there had been something amiss for the past several months, but as usual, Steve ignored it in hopes that all would right itself. Now the distance was practically impassable.
Unable to even consider confronting her about it without a head full of nicotine, Steve lit another cigarette and quietly asked, “Are you sure you’re all right, Lena?”
“Yeah,” Lena answered distractedly. “Why?”
“You just seem…I don’t know. Was I that bad?”
“No,” Lena sighed impatiently. “It’s not that, Steve.”
“But it’s something. What?”
That look of mingled regret and guilt crossed her perfect face for maybe half a second before she answered, “It’s nothing, Steve. Don’t worry about it.”
Steve sighed and gave up. There was silence as they retreated into their own minds and their separate sides of the bed. Finally, Steve remembered his decision. He looked over at Lena and smiled. “Hey, do you want to go up to Kinney and see my brothers this weekend?”
“Oh Steve, do I have to?” Lena huffed.
Steve was taken aback by the harshness in her voice and couldn’t speak for a moment. “Well,” he began defensively, “You don’t have to do anything. What’s so bad about that idea? I thought you liked it up there.”
“Jesus, Steve, I was just being nice,” she sighed impatiently. “Your brothers are such rednecks, and the town is pretty and all, but it’s boring.”
“Kinney?” Steve asked, insulted by Lena’s attitude toward his town and especially his brothers. “Kinney may be in the middle of nowhere, but the folks know how to party. And yes, I admit my brothers are country boys, but they’re good men. More importantly, they mean the world to me. It ain’t like we’re a bunch of white trash idiots. Even Marty went to Appalachian State for three years.”
“But he never graduated because he was stoned all the time,” Lena snorted.
“No,” Steve replied indignantly. “He doesn’t get stoned all the time – not at all since little Olivia was born. He never finished college because all he wanted was to open his cabinet shop, be with Mary, and be near his family. How dare you insult Marty like that! The man practically raised me and Keith after Daddy died.” Steve repressed the temper rising in his blood and dragged his cigarette. He looked reproachfully at Lena and added, “I had no idea you felt that way about my town and my kin.”
“For God’s sake, Steve, I didn’t mean to insult anybody. You’re just not yourself when you’re there. And you get that god-awful accent back for like a week when you come back. Anyway, I don’t feel exactly comfortable around your people.” Lena crushed her cigarette in the ashtray on the bedside table and sighed. “Don’t get so damn defensive. It’s just another world up there. And you’re another person.”
Lena’s protest rang in Steve’s ears all night as he tossed and turned. Was he really a different person when he was at home? How is it even possible to change according to location? Well, he supposed he had changed in general over the past few months – though not without reason. One night, about three months before, a pretty serious spell hit him when he was out at a club with Lena. He remembered it well. All the lights smeared in his vision, and the faces he saw as he held on to the bar and tried to will himself to calm down had suddenly looked empty. He supposed that was the turning point. He wondered if Lena knew him anymore. They had been together for over a year, but the man who fell in love with the blond beauty was now interested in more than beauty and fun. His country blood – his Indian blood – had begun to boil and make him remember things he hadn’t thought of in years. Like when he and his brothers gathered hickory nuts every fall and helped their mother shell and grind them to make Kanuchi. When the breeze off of Selu Falls hit his face and filled his nostrils with mountain perfume. These memories often made him more homesick than he had ever been. But he knew he was where he belonged in Atlanta. His career was everything to him, and he would never reach the level he wanted if he lived in the mountains. He was the darling of Charlotte Murdock at the AJC; a well-known and well-respected columnist prized for his keen sense of the world. He was “The Observationist” in Atlanta. In Kinney, he’d only be one of the “Larson Boys.” While he had no problem with that, he also wanted to be more. And he could always visit Kinney. Lord knows he’d always be welcome there.
|
Submission Name: The Art of Calm (Submission Possibility 2)
