Relieved

Eileen was crying in the bathtub again when Patrick came in to urinate. Her sounds were drowned out by the piddling in the toilet and its flush, but then entered a harmony with the post-flush porcelain ringing.

“I don’t know why you do it,” Patrick said, spotting the empty cardboard box, crushed flat on the pink bath mat. “You’re only torturing yourself.”

“It’s called hope, Pat.” She sniffled and trembled.

“There’s no hope here, hun.”

“There is, though. I swore I saw it start to change. I got so excited, I peed all over myself.” She looked up at him. The ends of her hair had dipped into the bathwater. “If you don’t have anything to add, I’d like to be alone.”

“Look, Eileen.” He saw his hand out in front of him, as if he were begging for change. Eileen looked down into the water. “Just lock the door next time, all right honey? And don’t catch a cold in there.”

*****

Patrick got dressed, tied a tie around his neck and drove to work. He would be half an hour early, but that was good because he had to move his bowels. Eileen was still in the tub when he left.

The air was cool, so he drove with a window down. He turned up the volume of his radio, trying to distract himself and relieve his hidden pressure, but falling acorns bouncing off his windshield made him drive faster.

The CVS parking lot was empty, typical for pre-noon on a weekday. His shift didn’t start until 12, but still he threw his white coat, his name stitched in cursive above his right breast, over his arm and race-walked through the automatic doors.

The entrance to the backroom stood just next to the pharmacy. It was comprised of two swinging doors and an alarm that had to be coded off before entering. Pat’s fingers fumbled and hit the wrong code twice before finally getting it right. His hand was pushing its way through when he heard a weak shout.

“Mr. Daughton.” He almost ignored it, but turned his head out of duty. “Mr. Daughton?” It was one of his regular customers.

“I’ve told you, Mrs. Mcgee, call me Pat. Or Patrick.”

“Right, right. Of course. Patrick, how are you?”

“Fine. Can I help you with anything?”

“Yes actually. I just have a question about which I should take.” Mrs. McGee sniffled and coughed. She pointed to three small boxes in her shopping cart. Patrick’s bowels felt tight, wound in twine like a baseball’s core.

“Take the red one, Mrs. McGee. It’ll clear you right up. Help you sleep too, so don’t take your Ambien with it.”

“Oh. But I don’t want to be drowsy.”

“OK, well you can’t take the Sudafed.”

“Why not?”

Patrick swore his testicles were rising into his stomach. He thought he smelled something. He wasn’t sure if it was him or his customer or mere fantasy, or if Mrs. McGee could smell it too. Maybe it was seeping through his skin? The old woman sniffled.

“Because you can’t. It’s not good for you. Take the green one. That should do you fine. Go ask Max if you have any questions.” He made a sweeping motion towards the pharmacy counter. “I have to run in the back for a minute.”

He heard her protest, something about Max being German, but he just walked through the door. A high-pitched squeal pierced his ears. He was on the toilet when he heard it go silent.

*****

A man sitting on a toilet is relieved of all pride. This is why he locks himself away in small rooms, or smaller cubicles within larger rooms.

Patrick studied his hands as he sat. Hair had crept its way up the back of each hand over the years, sloping up towards his pinkies. His fingers were unadorned. He prided himself on simplicity, on minimalism. When he felt a warmth in his urethra, his right hand aimed his hanging prick towards the waiting water. This led his sight to his thighs, pushed wider than normal from the act of sitting. There were thin red bands across it, stretch marks recording a previous time like rings in the trunk of a tree. Here and there pimples stood like puritan pariahs.

Patrick knew he was a lucky man to have a beautiful woman like Eileen in his life. He wished he could give her the two things she wanted: a child and marriage. But what was one without the other? In his mind, the act of marriage was more a transformation into mother and father than wife and husband. They’d been living like they shared a name for years now; a ceremony wouldn’t change anything. But a baby would.

These thoughts upset Patrick, though they were as regular for him as bowel movements. When he felt composed, he pushed the lever and flushed his waste away without a glance.

*****

Max was at the prescription drop-off window when Pat entered the pharmacy. He half-smiled at Pat under his graying moustache. Pat sat down at the pill counter, put the caps back on some opened bottles. Neither talked to the other. Without customers, there was no reason to talk. Pat stared at the phone, hoping for a ring and a line to light up, when his cell phone started vibrating in his pocket.

“Call me now,” read the text message. It was from Eileen. He called her, but the line just rang and rang and eventually went to voice mail. Pat flipped his phone shut before he heard the greeting.

An hour later his phone vibrated again: “Come home!” Max looked over at Pat.

“Urgent business?”

“No. It’s just Eileen. She wants me to come home for some reason.”

“I bet I know what she wants,” Max said. Patrick thought he knew too. In the past she had lured him home from work on her days off for some afternoon fun. Max didn’t know about this, but still strung his joke along. “Can’t have you today, though. No way am I covering for you. Got plans myself tonight.”

Pat felt a primal excitement as he stared at the text message. “What kind of plans?”

“It’s my day with Kate. Her mother’s dropping her off around 5. Probably go shopping with her and spend a paycheck. But that’s how it goes, I guess.”

“Yeah.” Pat was still fantasizing about Eileen, what she would be wearing, how she’d greet him at the door, when a customer called to refill a prescription. Then another called, then there was a line in front of Max and a line at the cashier. Max left at 4 so Patrick had to deal with the afternoon rush alone. There was no time to think about Eileen.

*****

It was dark when Patrick pulled into his driveway, but the lawn was blanketed in light. Every light bulb in the house must have been burning. Patrick peeked in the window and saw Eileen sitting at the counter. Her hands were clasped and held her chin up, while her elbows were pushing on the countertop for support. Patrick looked away and walked to the door. His long shadow bounced across the lawn.

“Hey honey, sorry I couldn’t call you back. Rough day,” he said after the storm-door rattled shut. He bent over to untie his shoes. Eileen didn’t say anything, only looked up. She was wearing jeans and an old gray hooded sweatshirt, and her hair was tied back. He could see light shining off of her eyes. Her mouth seemed to be slightly trembling, and she was holding something in her fist. “Eileen? What’s the matter?”

Eileen lowered her hands. She started smiling when Patrick walked over to her, and thrust what was in her hand into his face. It was a white stick, and he flinched when it flew so close. It looked wet, and had a rank smell coming off it. On it, there was a thin pink line running across a small plastic window.

“Oh, Eileen. I’m sorry.” He hugged her, but her arms did not close around him. She pulled away.

“Why are you sorry?”

Patrick felt a tingle along his arm-hair when he saw her teary eyes. “Because, the test…the minus.”

“That’s not a minus. That’s what it shows when the test is positive.” “Why would a minus mean positive?”

“It’s not a minus, Patrick. It’s a different symbol altogether. It means I’m pregnant.”

Patrick almost took a step back from her, from the stick and its minus. He balanced on his heels for a second, then repositioned his weight more evenly on his feet.

“How can you be pregnant? Remember what the doctor said?”

“Yes, I remember. He gave us a small chance.”

“Small? His exact words were ‘slim to none.’”

“That’s still a chance. Why aren’t you happy?”

Patrick wondered why he wasn’t happy. In his mind he saw himself ejaculating into a cup; the doctor’s scowling face, like a factory inspector judging him unfit for business. Then he saw the ring he would have to buy; Eileen’s stomach growing round and plump; the fluid that would pour out of her, that might drown him in his bed; the blood on a doctor’s white clothes. Then he saw what he thought was the truth.

“Tell me how this really happened.” He felt as if he was leaning forward slightly. He thought he could fall at any second, and was thankful the windows behind him were not open.

“You know how this happened. I’m pretty sure you were there.”

“Was I?” He saw her eyes glance at his hands, felt them tighten and tense.

“Yes, of course.”

Her eyes were teary again, and Patrick’s hands fell open, loose at his sides. He kissed her on the cheek and walked past her, upstairs to their bedroom.

“I think you should take another test, to be sure.” His voice was weak, and muffled by the growing steps between them. “False positives do happen.”

He didn’t see her sit back down at the counter, because his back was turned, or hear her when she said, “You know, Pat, miracles do happen,” because her voice was scarcely existent. He didn’t see her cry until her cheeks were cramped, or kiss the test stick with her lips slightly parted.

*****

It was ten o’clock when Patrick woke up, alone in his bed. It was Tuesday, and Eileen worked on Tuesdays, so he wasn’t alarmed to reach over and feel cool sheets. He noticed a pain in his sides when he breathed too deep, so he got up and walked to the bathroom in his boxers.

When he turned on the light, he noticed something on the lowered toilet seat cover. He walked in, and his eyes were still adjusting when he saw that it was a pair of Eileen’s underwear. This was another game she had played with him, leaving her panties around for him to find. He reached down to pick them up, and had them in his hand when he saw the small brown blotches blemishing the crotch. He dropped them back on the toilet seat on reflex.

He turned to the sink, still with a pain in his sides, in his kidneys. He grimaced as he brushed his teeth, tried to stretch out the pain by tilting from side to side. He was trying to think about Eileen, what he could say to her tonight. Maybe he would buy her a ring today? Or a vacation somewhere might be nice. He would ask her what she thought of Cleveland.

Patrick’s pain wouldn’t go away. He had no other choice but to piss in the sink.