So Many Kinds of Love

"I didn't say anything when I phoned for the appointment."

"Still, I should have seen it."

"We don't look alike."

He shook his head, dismissing that notion. "She's blond and you're dark, but the facial structure's very similar. Looks better on her, though." He leaned back again. "Now it makes sense that you would come to me instead of the VA. You two have a pretty complicated history, if memory serves me. Father died in your childhood. Mother was passive and alcoholic, and married an abuser."

"That's it in a nutshell."

"Mmm. Well, this puts you in a new light, but my question's the same. Tell me about this girl."

I couldn't help but smile at the thought of Gabriela. "She's fantastic. Smart and passionate, ambitious, beautiful, warm-hearted and funny."

"The perfect woman?"

"I don't know her that well, but I think so, yes."

He went right for the jugular. "How's she like your mom?"

I stared at him. "What kind of question is that?"

"Shrinks always ask about mama. It's the law, son."

"She is nothing like my mother," I replied coldly.

"Maybe not your mother now, but what about when you were a little boy?"

As I pondered the question, my liking for Dr. Harrison evaporated. "I don't see any similarities."

"Let's look at this another way. Tell me about your mother when you were little. What's an early memory you have of her?"

The memory came straight from my brain's "do not open" locker, the same one where I stored everything about my dad's death. "Her sitting on the couch in our living room, singing along with my dad."

"What does she look like?"

I closed my eyes to bring it into focus. "She's smiling. So happy, just like Dad. Her hair's dark blond, like Layla's. She's so young and pretty. Her smile's like magic. She could make you feel so special. The most beautiful lady in the whole world."

Opening my eyes, I found Dr. Harrison looking at me quizzically. "When you remember something, you really immerse yourself in it."

I shrugged. "It's how I'm wired. But it helps me write lyrics."

"You write music?"

"Yes. Both words and melodies."

"Nice. Like your dad?"

I frowned. "He didn't write music. He performed it. But he passed along his love of music to me, yes."

He nodded, scribbling some more on the pad. "So this young lady you like so much..."

"Gabriela."

"Gabriela actually does have something in common with your mother. You describe them both as beautiful."

"Well, yes."

"Does she like music too?"

"Yes," I replied, somewhat grudgingly. "That's two things. They're beautiful and they love music. Which is pretty common, I think."

"And they care about you?"

I sighed heavily. "Hat trick. You win, doc."

"It's not a competition, son. It's an observation. The fact is, most of us imprint on our parents to some extent before we even get to kindergarten. You being a cis-gendered straight man, you're going to have some mother issues. Freud was mostly BS, but he was onto something with that, at least."

"Huh?"

"Never mind. When did your mom stop being that lovable young woman of your memories?"

I glanced at the ceiling, thinking. "I guess about the time Dad got so sick. She'd come home from the hospital and drink a few to put the day behind her. Depending on how much she drank, she could turn into someone I didn't recognize. I hated that. I wanted her to be Mom."

"You were in charge of your sister while your mother was gone?"

"Sometimes. I didn't mind. Layla was a sweet kid."

"That's beside the point. How old were you?"

"Ten."

Drumming his fingers against the desktop, Dr. Harrison looked at me as if examining a new and unexpected species. "Ten. And in charge of a little sister and trying to hold it together for mom."

"I guess. I didn't see it that way at the time. I just did what I was told and tried to make the best of it. Dad would have expected me to do that."

"And you did that very well, from what Layla said."

That made me smile. "Did she really?"

"She speaks very highly of you."

"I adore her. I'd do anything for her."

He gave me an intense look, then moved on. "Tell me about your father. Your real father, not the step-father."

I felt on safer ground with this question, and I let my enthusiasm show. "Dad was the best. He taught me all about music, and we played and sang together all the time once I could play a few chords on the guitar. He loved teaching me about everything, really. We'd go out at night to look at the stars and he'd point out the Big Dipper and all the other constellations we could see. He told me all about Orion the hunter and his dog, Sirius, and the other Greek myths that lived in the skies."

"Sounds like an educated man who loved his boy."

A tear prickled behind my eye at that. "He was so smart. He knew everything -- or so I thought. And not just intellectual stuff, either. Sometimes he'd take me to his workshop and he'd let me help when it was safe. He taught me how to drive a nail straight when I was nine. Even now, I think about him every time I open my toolbox and get out my hammer. Silly, I guess."

Dr. Harrison shook his head. "Not at all. Perfectly natural, under the circumstances. Go on."

"Other times, I'd sit on his lap and we'd read National Geographic together, and he'd talk about all the places we'd travel to together when I got big enough to go." A lump rose up suddenly in my throat, and I swallowed. "Only we never got to go. It was one reason I joined the navy. I wanted to see the world, just like my dad."

"That's very powerful."

Unable to speak, I nodded.

"You loved him."

"I s-still do. He's my father. I wanted to be just like him when I was little. Sometimes I wonder now how much like him I really am, and how much is just me hoping and praying that I'll get it right."

"Like he did."

"Of course."

"Surely he didn't get it right all the time."

My ease with the doctor dissipated once more. "I don't remember a time when he didn't. He always knew what to say, what to do, to make it all better."

"And then he left you."

"It's not like he chose to!" I shot back, angry on my father's behalf. "He loved us. He wanted to stay. I know he did."

"What he wanted to do and what he actually did are two different things."

"You say that like he had a choice. He had cancer. He was sick. He didn't want that."

"Of course he didn't. But could a young boy understand the meaning of cancer?"

Suddenly, I found myself sweating and facing a dark, deep abyss. "I did my best."

"Of course you did. But you were ten. That's an age where we still often take responsibility for what happens around us, whether we control it or not."

"I tried to help him. I took my guitar to the hospital for weeks and sang all his favorite songs."

A tissue found its way into my hand and I swiped over my eyes with it.

"And then your father died."

"It wasn't enough," I said bitterly. "I did my best and it wasn't enough."

"Your best and his outcome were never tied together," the doctor said gently. "You gave him love. You offered your music as a sacrifice."

"I never saw it that way. I was happy to give it to him."

"That doesn't make it any less of a sacrifice, just a willing one."

Shaken, I leaned back into the couch, trying to absorb all this. It felt like my conversations with Layla and Gabriela, only more so. I wasn't sure that I could stand feeling so broken all the time, and said as much to the doctor.

"Gary, this part doesn't last," he told me. "You were a corpsman, right?"

I nodded.

"Then you know that sometimes a wound festers, and a medic has to clean it out so it can heal properly."

"Yeah."

"It's not pleasant, but it has to be done, right?"

I nodded again and he shrugged. "Same thing. We're probably going to spend a few sessions finding and cleaning out some old wounds. It won't be a day at the beach, but it's necessary. And I promise you'll feel better afterwards."

Put that way, it made sense. "So I will get back to normal, and stop with all the emotional outbursts?"

He smiled. "Nah. You'll find new ways to express your very human and universal emotions, and you'll grow more comfortable with feeling your feelings, and reach a healthier normal. Promise."

Glancing at the clock, he stood. "It's time."

Still feeling unsettled, I stood up. "Thanks, doc. Um, do you have any homework for me? I don't know how this all works."

His deep blue eyes met mine, and once again, I found myself thinking of my old boss and relaxing. "You can journal if you like, but no, you don't need to do anything you don't want to do anyway. In your case, some of this will probably find its way into your lyrics. My best advice is to let it. Might make for an interesting new phase in your music career."

I snorted. "All this stuff that's churning in me right now would make people run away."

He gave a little smile. "Or not. The best music comes from a place of truth. It facilitates connection. Maybe it's time to try that. You might be surprised. Until then, just concentrate on feeling your feelings and not avoiding them, OK?"

**

The next few weeks passed in a blur. I got the hospital job, which turned out to be even better than I'd hoped. For one thing, the hospital had a staff gym with well-kept machines, a variety of free weights and a well-used punching bag. Feeling the spirit of Smitty urging me not to lose all the muscle I'd just built up, I brought in my gym bag and started working out most days during my lunch hour or at the end of my shift. I quickly found that the physical activity helped me work through any problems that arose much faster than sitting at my desk.

My boss, Janie Johnson, even joined me in the gym and I taught her the most effective ways to take down any would-be muggers, a skill every woman should have. Janie had the air of having seen and done everything twice, while still finding entertainment value in the drama around her. I envied her attitude, skills and experience. I had a feeling she could mentor me not only in the hospital, but in life.

"How old would your mother be now?" Dr. Harrison asked when I told him about Janie in our fourth session.

I started, thinking about our mother-centric second session, which had left me drained, angry and tearful. "You know, not everything is about my mother."

He gave me the crooked smile I had come to know too well, and his blue eyes glinted. "Still -- how old would your mother be?"

"In her early fifties," I admitted.

"Like Janie."

"A little younger."

"Stipulated. Nothing wrong with having a strong, mature female figure in your life," he remarked. "Just like there's nothing wrong with being conscious of why you might be attracted to certain people."

"I'm not attracted to Janie! She's nearly twice my age. And she's gay."

"Not all attraction is sexual. Think about the people, men and women, you've clicked with in your life. That's a universal. We all like certain types of people, often ones who remind us, for any number of reasons, of a significant figure in our lives."

"She's not a mother substitute. She's a great boss, that's all."

He shifted in his seat. "All right. What makes her a great boss?"

"Well, she's very smart and accomplished. Decisive. Strategic -- always thinking ahead. She tunes in to other people like nobody else, and has a gift for making you feel like you're the only person on earth while she's talking to you."

"Does any of that sound like your mother when you were a young child?"

"Geez, doc, can't you leave that alone?"

"Gary, if you want to spend our time here talking about sports, or history, or beer, that's fine with me. But you're paying me to help you sort out your feelings and develop some better ways to cope with them. I can't do that unless you talk to me about this stuff, and let me show you some new lenses to look at the world through."

Dr. Harrison had an annoying habit of being right, and I groaned. "You're absolutely right. I guess she could be like an aunt or something."

"That wasn't exactly where I was going with this, but OK. It's great that you have a strong female authority figure in your life, and I hope she turns out to be exactly the mentor you hope she is. I just ask that you don't confuse her with your mom."

"I couldn't. She'd kick my ass if I did."

He snorted. "Good! She sounds pretty great. Now, speaking of strong women, how's it going with Gabriela? You two been out again?"

What with moving to an apartment and starting a new job on my part, and studying for finals on hers, we hadn't seen much of each other. But we texted a few times a day, usually something to make the other smile or feel good, and I loved seeing her name pop up on my phone.

"We have coffee together most mornings, and we text and talk on the phone, but we won't be going out again on a date-date till close to Christmas. She has finals and her internship, and I've got my new job."

"Sounds complicated."

"Not really. Just busy. I really like her and I know she likes me. We'll go out again."

He studied me for a moment. "Most people, at the beginning of a relationship, tend to be a little insecure, but you said that with complete confidence. No anxiety there?"

I shook my head. "Nope. I feel as sure of her as I ever have about anything."

"How come?"

I considered this. "Well, my exes all liked playing games. They were fun, but I could never be sure about any of them. I couldn't trust them, and I definitely never felt like I could share my real self with any of them." I thought for a second or two. "But Gabriela -- she doesn't play. She's real. She speaks her mind. And she expects me to do the same. It's a totally new way of being with a woman. I gotta tell ya, doc, I love it."

"Well, look at you! You're already changing."

"I am?"

"You are. And it's time."

**

Layla and I had developed the routine of dinner together at her place a couple of nights a week, with me sleeping over afterwards so I could indulge in a glass or two of wine with dinner. She had turned into a fearless experimenter in the kitchen, and I enjoyed being her guinea pig -- emphasis on the "pig" -- most nights. On the rare occasions that she failed, I ordered the takeout.

I considered it our special sibling time, so I was surprised to find a stranger sitting at the dining table when I arrived that evening with the two bottles of dry white wine she had requested.

"Gary, this is my friend Michael," Layla said, tending to something sizzling in a pan on the stove. "Michael, this is my brother, Gary."

Michael rose and stuck out his hand as if he were doing me a favor. "Good to meetcha, man."

Shaking his hand, I took an instant dislike to him. "Likewise. So. How do you know my sister?"

"Try not to be such a stern big brother, Gar," Layla called over her shoulder. "Damn this prosciutto! It doesn't want to stick. Michael and I met through work. We've known each other about six months."

Examining him more closely, I still didn't like him. For one thing, he had an annoying smirk. For another, he eyed Layla the same way I regarded a nice steak. And finally, he resembled me closely enough that it felt like a "Smitty Special" punch in the gut to even look at him.

Opening the wine, I poured each of us a glass -- I felt a powerful urge for a drink just then -- then handed the bottle to Layla in case she needed it for the sauce. Giving me a grateful smile, she stood on her toes to kiss my cheek.

"Thanks, Gar. I won't need all of it, but it's nice to base the sauce on what we're all drinking. The whole meal tastes better that way." She turned back to the stove, assessing the progress of the chicken. "I've never made this before, but it ought to be good -- if that prosciutto will just stick like it's supposed to."

Nodding towards a stack of dishes, she added, "Set the table for me?"

I grabbed the plates and noticed an extra one. "Hey sis, there are four instead of three."

"Yeah. Another friend's coming over. She should be here soon."

Maybe whoever it was would mitigate the presence of whatshisname. "Ah, OK."

I set the table around Michael, who did not offer to help. Instead, he sat staring at Layla in such a way that I seriously considered using one of the forks to stab him through an eyeball. Luckily for us both, the doorbell rang.

"Would you get that, Michael, please?"

"Sure." He reluctantly pushed away from the table and set off. I breathed in deeply, held it for a count of three, and exhaled, just the way Dr. Harrison had taught me.

"He's not a bad guy," Layla remarked, transferring the chicken to a platter. "He's just unsure of himself outside the office."

Pouring the wine into the hot pan, she jumped at the loud sizzle and cloud of wine-scented steam that billowed into her face, then tittered at her own reaction. I smiled to see her pleasure in the evening and resolved to try to like, or at least tolerate, Michael for her sake.

"Gary!"

Whirling at the familiar voice, I took in the sight of Gabriela and covered the distance between us in three large steps. Sweeping her into my arms, I kissed her joyous mouth, then hugged her to me, running my fingers through her wavy hair.

"God, I've missed you!"

She smiled up at me. "I can see that! I've missed you too."

Unsticky Italian ham or not, the chicken saltimbocca in its wine, butter and lemon sauce tasted delicious. Gabriela and Layla kept up a steady stream of vivacious conversation that drew me in and soon had me laughing with them. Even Michael forgot to be annoying after a time, and as the meal drew to a close and we polished off the second bottle of wine, we had reached an amiable rapprochement.

Leaving the dishes in the sink, we all headed to the living room, Gabriela and I cuddling up on the loveseat, and Michael and Layla taking the couch. He put an arm around her, and my heart broke a little to see her thrilled face. Poor kid. Twenty-four and never had a boyfriend. I squeezed Gabriela's shoulder and she gave my thigh a reassuring pat as if sensing my thoughts.

"Michael and I were thinking about heading to Pinchot Park on Saturday to get in a hike before it gets too cold," Layla said. "You two want to join us?"

Gabriela stiffened under my arm, and my heart sang. She didn't like him either!

"I don't think so, sis. We'll probably head to Lancaster or Harrisburg and go to one of their markets. We've been meaning to for weeks."

I felt a tremor of amusement pass through Gabriela as I focused on Layla and Michael. My sister gave me a long look, knowing I had just lied, but Michael appeared delighted at the news.

"That's too bad," he said insincerely. "It would have been fun to spend some more time together. Still, I just want to keep Layla to myself for now." He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and again, she looked elated.

"You two need to spend some time alone together to get to know each other," Gabriela said. "New couples need lots of time. It's so easy at the start of a relationship to misjudge the other person, to build up a false picture of who you want them to be instead of they are."

Layla looked from her to me, and I couldn't read her expression. "Yeah, I would think so. Sometimes those first impressions are really misleading."

"And sometimes they aren't," I said lightly. "Time will tell."

"How long have you two known each other?" Michael asked.

"A couple of months," Layla answered. "They're really just getting started too."

I opened my mouth, then shut it. The energy in the room had turned odd, and I didn't understand it.

Gabriela nodded. "True enough. I really like Gary, but the truth is, I don't know him very well yet. I just know that he's the kind of guy who takes me seriously and is working hard to resolve some issues that might drive a wedge between us. He's not just a lot of talk and no action. And that's enough for me at this stage of the game."