The Polaris Effect Ch. 03

Chapter Three – Sunrise

From the futon in his front room, Archer Finklin could see the sun cresting the Berkeley hills. The more brilliant oranges and pinks from the streaming sunlight reflecting off the morning fog from the bay were slowly replacing the periwinkle blue of dawn. His head lolled back onto the pillow and a tear slipped down his cheek, pooling in his ear. For every breathtakingly beautiful sunrise he witnessed, there were the memories that haunted him of the sunrises and sunsets that he had once shared with his soul mate.

He closed his eyes and thought of all the drawings he had done of Jeremy over the three years that they had been together. How many of them had the backdrop of a beautiful scene in nature? Arch had hunted the most romantic, seductive locations to draw his lover. They had made mad, passionate love in some of those spots, away from the prying eyes of their parents and the world. Each and every portrait had plastered the walls of his bedroom in Ashland.

His breathing became slow and even again as he slipped his heavy, earthly bonds and lapsed back into the heavenly repose of dreams.

...the artist could barely see the name of the book that his subject was reading. Perched on the planter, peering around the corner of the science building, his pencil glided along the porous, ecru colored composition until a shape became evident. His unknowing model stared intently at the content of the exhausted volume of text, flipping his bangs out of his eyes every thirty seconds or so. This act in itself made the head; face and hair come to life in the sketch and seemingly jump off the paper. He worked tirelessly for a few more minutes, lengthening the arms and legs into proportion and then stole away from the scene so as not to be discovered.

He arrived in his haven, anxious to put the finishing touches on his newest masterpiece. He bent close to the sketchbook and made tiny corrections to the eyes and nose, not wanting them to be out of sync with the rest of the face. The eyes were always his problem. He wanted to draw them huge and alert, to portray the pools that his sub-conscious drowned in every night while he slept. He fussed with it for a little while longer and then quit when he was afraid he had overcorrected. He pulled it from the binding and quickly pinned it up with all the rest.

The dream morphed and he saw his young subject standing at the end of a long dock. He knew the setting, he knew the location, he recognized the well-defined butt in the 501's of his first best friend, his first boyfriend. He walked toward the dock, knowing what he wanted, knowing what was waiting... but as in most dreams; the more he walked the further away his favorite guy was. Then suddenly he was standing on a path, battered wooden cabins on either side of him. The boy was there again, bent down toward the ground, Archer reached out to touch his shoulder. Is he okay? The boy turned slowly and pitched himself forward into Arch's arms and then they were kissing. Yes, his brain screamed, he does love me... but just as he was the happiest, he thought he could ever be, the boy pulled away. Archer reached for him and caught the sleeve of his t-shirt, but a face turned back and he saw Jeremy's mouth utter the words in slow motion...I... can't... do... this...anymore...

The rude, blaring scream of the alarm clock brought him back to consciousness. His cheeks were wet with tears, as they often were when he woke after dreaming of the first time he and Jeremy ever kissed. He hunched his shoulders forward to brush the tears away. He slammed his hand down on the menacing appliance buzzing in his ear. He stretched his aching arms and legs out across the edges of the small couch. Archer looked mostly the same after the dozen or so years since high school. His hair, still golden red and streaming down his back was pulled into its traditional ponytail. Much of the time he looked like a direct descendent of Eric the Viking, statuesque and stately, just not quite as buffed as the pictures portrayed the fierce warrior to be.

He pulled his aching six-foot-five frame from the tiny piece of furniture and rambled for the bathroom. He habitually went to bed in his bedroom, but always seemed to end up out here on the couch in front of the wide French doors every morning. Sub-consciously he knew why he yearned to wake and see the sunrise every day, but when the sun finally crested, he returned to the reality of his life, boring and unfulfilled. Waiting and wanting for his one true love, never to be satisfied with much of anything.

He turned on the shower and waited a minute for the water to warm. As he leaned against the counter looking into his weary eyes, his reflection showed the strain of the years and his mind suddenly felt too tired to fight anymore, too tired to continue in this pointless, loveless existence. He reached for his medication from the cabinet above the sink, grabbed a cup of water and washed down the conglomeration of pills that kept him steady each day. What am I doing? Why do I keep trying to make everything work, when I know nothing will work without Jeremy in my life?

The steam rose from the shower enclosure and alerted Archer to its readiness. He slipped beneath the water and let the pulse of the water massage his head and neck. Tears of desperation slipped from his overwrought eyes. Terrible images of his own demise slipped through his mind in rapid succession... His cold, rigid body laid out for the mourners to see. Jeremy next to him, crying inconsolably, unable to rationalize why this had happened or what he could have done to prevent it.

Arch shook himself out of his reverie and scolded himself for slipping back into the old habits of depression. The meds kept him from contemplating suicide very often anymore, but lately it seemed that he just couldn't get away from the thoughts that he would be better off dead than suffering the way he had been since he turned nineteen. He knew the thoughts weren't right, but he had trouble finding any reason to fight them. He promised himself as he stepped from the shower that he would call Anne as soon as he got to work this morning. It was time to stop denying the inevitable and get back into therapy!

***

The circle of friends in Archer Finklin's life was a small one. He had been estranged from his parents ever since he and Jeremy had split up thirteen years ago and Archer decided that he didn't want to go to college right away. With his parent's both having high-paying professional jobs, his idea of traveling and letting time heal him, didn't go over to well with the Ivy-League grads. When they discovered four years later that he had enrolled at UC Berkeley, they tried to contact him. He never returned their messages and soon, they gave up altogether.

Therefore, the only circumference of emotional ties that encircled his life was made up of friends. The people he had met in college and had finally allowed to become close to him populated his family. There was George Hutchinson and Landers Birch, both international exchange students from Great Britain, also a couple from the time they had come out to each other as best friends at age fourteen. Then there were the girls, Kylie Riordan a creamy-skinned, freckled-faced Irish girl who could have easily passed for Archer's sister and her girlfriend, Thea. Kylie had become friends with him after being asked a million times if they were related and finally decided to introduce herself to him at a café one Friday night during their first year. He blanched as she approached the table and though not intending to be rude had spilled out that he was gay, attempting to keep her from embarrassing them both by propositioning him. She laughed so hard, tears streamed from her eyes as she sat in the seat opposite him. After regaining her composure, she motioned across the room and introduced him to her lover, a very pretty, olive-skinned girl named Thea. After being burned so young, Archer did not trust easily and the friends who had managed to win his confidence had stayed in the circle of his life, close and comforting in the times when he felt he could not go on.

And then there was Gia, of course. Gianna Blanchard had been his best friend and confidant for almost ten years now. They had seen each other through almost everything in that time, her boyfriends and his boyfriends, although Archer never got past the dating stage with any man or allowed them to get close to him in any way. Her broken engagement and his recent attempt to squelch his pain with the pills. They knew each other the way kindred souls do, hurting for each other, rejoicing in each other's successes, dying inside a little each day knowing just how unhappy the other really was and knowing there was nothing either of them could really do about it.

When he finally got his act together and got out the door and on his way, she sat waiting for him at a tiny marble table outside of the little café on Shattuck Avenue where they always met for morning coffee. He stooped to kiss her forehead, brushing her long black hair out of her eyes before he headed inside to get his espresso. She grabbed his forearm and squeezed, just a little sign of affection that they shared. He sat down instead of going directly inside, he could see that her eyes were puffy again from crying, just as his were.

"What's the matter Gia?" It was a rhetorical question, as he thought that he already knew the answer, thinking of James' untimely departure.

"I'm pregnant Arch." She starred straight through him as the thoughts of panic and overwhelming dread crept through her tiny frame again.

"Oh Gianna!" Flashes of red-hot fury seared Arch's nerves when he thought of Gianna's ex-fiancée and how he had bailed on her a week before their wedding last month. Reminding him oh so vividly of how Jeremy had walked out on him after their perfect three years together.

"Baby, what are you going to do?"

Tears poured from her dulled blue eyes. "God, I don't know! I just don't know."

He reached across the table and grasped both of her hands in his, shivering with her in pain and agony against the impending emergency and the chilly Autumn wind skirting up off of the bay and in between the inclined streets of the Berkeley hills. She rested her head on the cold marble of the bistro table in between her outstretched arms and sobbed. Archer, not knowing what else to do, bundled her into his huge embrace and scuttled her away from the café and back toward her apartment.

When they reached the two-story house a couple of blocks away where Gianna lived, Arch fumbled to retrieve her keys where she usually kept them on the elastic coil around her upper arm. She was totally out of sorts when she realized what in the world he was trying to do and finally pulled them from the pocket of the old navy pea coat she was wearing. He unlocked the door and ushered her inside without a word. She sat on the couch that she had long ago covered in an old tie-dyed sheet, and he went into the kitchen to make her some hot tea, something she always appreciated when she was upset.

He came back with two mugs of her favorite Chamomile tea; she sat in the same place, her heavy coat still guarding her vulnerable form. Once the mugs were down and out of the way he sat down behind her and gathered her into his arms once again. She laid her head back against his chest and sighed heavily. His immense hand stoked her hair and her back in a vain attempt to soothe her. She nuzzled into him, trying to draw some strength from their bond.

"I think I'm going to keep the baby Arch." Gianna sniffled a little as she actually made her decision in that moment.

Arch considered what to say next. He knew that she didn't want to talk about James anymore; they had an unspoken pact between them about volatile subjects such as Gia's flaky ex.

"Are you going to tell James, honey?" He continued to run his hand through her hair, softly, as he would have if comforting a child.

She pushed against his expansive chest just slightly and righted herself upon the sofa, "I haven't decided yet, Arch." Her eyes were so puffy that she instinctively closed them against the sting and strain of a night full of hysteria.

Her eyelids dipped and she yawned. "Right now I think I had just better get some sleep though. You go on to work and I'll be fine," she assured him.

"Okay, honey. I'll just call and tell them I'll be a little late this morning." He sneaked away from her to use the phone in the kitchen. He could hear the shower start and figured a good hot shower would calm her nerves.

He dialed the number and waited for an answer.

As he knocked on the bedroom door, to make sure she was decent; he recognized the soft sniffles and knew she must have been crying again in the shower. He knew she must feel desperate and alone, just as he had felt when Jeremy tried to explain to him that he couldn't give up having a family to spend the rest of his life with him. The emotion was almost debilitating. He vowed, as he slowly opened the door, to be there for Gianna. To help her in any way he could and make sure that she never felt as lonely and helpless as he did the night he swallowed thirty-seven vicodin trying to end his pain, although not necessarily his life.

He tucked her in and told her he would be back after work to check on her. He brought her a box of tissues and a glass of water with a couple of Tylenol. She took them dutifully and slipped down beneath the sheets, crumpling like an accordion.

His compassion for her swelled as he thought about the days he spent in bed after Jeremy had fled from him all those years ago.

And he asked himself again the same thing he had asked then," WHY? Why did this have to happen?"

***

The walls of gray and blue dusk in Archer's office served only one purpose today; pulling him further into a deep depression that could do him no good. He recognized the signs, no appetite, the need for seclusion and the constant state of exhaustion he had been feeling over the past week. These were the beginnings of what he felt before the suicide attempt. After hours of simply staring at the architectural designs littering his desk, he gave up and called his old therapist's office.

The receptionist who had always eyed him lustily when he was there for his visits before answered in her deep southern drawl. Archer could never figure out why a progressive, professional like Anne Baxter would hire someone as obviously uncouth as Ginny Welch.

Archer stifled his distaste and asked if Dr. Baxter had an opening in a day or two.

"Only current clients are being seen at this time sir." Ginny's thick monotone cadence reverberated into the connection.

"I am a current client ma'am. My name is Archer Finklin and I would like to make an appointment as soon as possible.

Ginny Welch cleared her throat and apologized heartily for her mistake. "Unfortunately, Dr. Baxter is full up this week Mr. Finklin. Can I make an appointment for you a week from this coming Thursday?"

Archer knew that she was trying to be efficient and polite, but he wanted to scream at her. 'I might be dead by then you idiot.'

He kept his voice in a deep, even timber. "This is very important Ms. Welch; could you possibly have the doctor call me at this number at her earliest convenience?" Archer left the number and calmly replaced the handset on the cradle of his multi-line office phone.

He was gazing out the window onto the bay when his assistant announced a call from Anne Baxter.

"Hello Anne, I'm glad you got back to me."

"Archer my dear, how are you?"

He knew that she must suspect that he wasn't doing well at all, but as always, she let him broach the subjects when he was ready.

"It's no good Anne; I'm slipping back in again."

"Are you taking the meds regularly?" She wasn't accusing, she was merely probing for information as to the reason for the setback.

"Yeah, the Welbutrin twice a day and the Lexapro and Topomax once a day."

"Okay then Arch, you had better come in. Can you stop by here on your way to work in the morning?"

"Ginney said you were overbooked this week."

"I'm sorry Archer; I'll have a talk with her."

"It's okay Anne; I'll see you in the morning."

"Okay, and Arch... do you have my cell number?"

"Yes Anne, I know, I'll call you if I am thinking about doing anything stupid. Besides I can't let myself now, I'm going to be an uncle."

"Good Boy. See you tomorrow and you can tell me all about it."

Arch signed off and felt a little of the gloom lift from his chest. Anne always knew just what to say to him. She never patronized him or diagnosed him until he had said everything that was on his mind.

He drifted in and out, as he sat at his desk for the rest of the day. He was seeing Jeremy's tall muscular frame lying naked on a fluffy white nest of bedclothes when the intercom buzzed on his phone just before five. He practically hit the ceiling.

"I'm leaving now Mr. Finklin is there anything you need before I go?" His assistant Courtney queried through the speaker.

"No, thank you Courtney. I'm off here in a minute or two myself."

He gathered his things and fought to find the strength to go and sit with Gia. He knew that somehow he had to find a handle to hold onto, if only to be available for her in her time of trouble. She had been such a godsend to him after he tried to kill himself that if the only reason right now he had to live was to help her, that had to be enough.

He saw her side of the old Victorian lit up like a Roman Candle as he approached from the street.

"Good, the Cavalry is here." He said aloud to himself, seeing that his earlier phone call had proven fruitful.

He rapped twice on the old purple and pink pane glass door and opened it to hear the confusion of five voices talking at once. That was one thing he could always count on with his friends; he never had to be much of a conversationalist. They all talked so much, he had to say nary a word.

"Hi honey, I'm home." Arch shouted over their clambering.

Gianna looked up from her place on the couch and threw her arms up in the air. He moved over to her, sat down, and held her tight against his massive chest.

"Thank you so much for making sure I wasn't alone today Arch. I don't know how I could have gotten through the day if these yahoos's hadn't shown up."

"Hey!" Shouted Thea from the kitchen, "We heard that."

"Yeah," Landers interjected, "I resemble that remark!"

They all laughed. Arch watched Gia's face slowly spread into a warm smile. "Can I talk to you for a minute in the bedroom?" He asked her quietly next to her ear.

"Sure, I need to stretch my legs anyway."

"Ky, Thea," she warbled on the way past the kitchen "don't burn the place down, k?"

Kylie piped up from the other side of the refrigerator door. "What we can't cook, we can't burn!"

Gia opened the door and shuffled through. She was wearing a tattered UCB sweatshirt and a pair of flannel boxers, thick woolen socks and furry purple slippers. Archer chuckled to himself at the atrocity that was her ensemble, her clothes like "comfort food." He softly closed the door as she sat on the edge of the bed.

He flopped down next to her and threw his arms to his sides. Their most intimate talks had taken place cuddled up next to each other before James had come into Gianna's life.

Arch let out a heavy sigh. She shifted her eyes towards his. She knew this wasn't good.

"I'm slipping G. The walls are starting to close in around me again."

She opened her mouth to ask what had happened, but he put a finger to her lips.

"I know the signs now. I know that I can't just ignore them and I know I can't get through it alone. I called Anne this afternoon and I'm going over there in the morning."