Clinical Commiseration

I’m too young for heartburn, aren’t I? Even in a dream? 

My eyes open to greet my smooth white ceiling with the ache in my chest burning a hole in my mattress. My chest pain woke me from a stroll on the beach with my high school sweetheart, though that’s the least of worries: it still hurts like a devil! 

Sternum collapsing, left arm smarting: heart attack?! My goodness, I’m only 31 as of last month, I watch my fats and sugars… Could it be a heart attack?

My chest guides my body as I sit up in a panic, gasping in pain: what can I do? I reach for my phone on my bedside table– EGADS! It can’t be!

What’s my heart doing on my bedside table?!

Not a drop of blood anywhere, naked and unmoving in all its glory: my heart of hearts, sitting as if it was meant to be there. Well it’s not! 

I fumble with my blankets and sheets– those damn sheets, what are they good for? I do a quick check for all my limbs (just in case the rest of the body followed suit) and bolt out of bed with my hand out to grab– AH SHOOT!

I tumble head-first, chest-aching to the ground with my foot wrapped in sheets and– AH! My outstretched hand knocks my ticker off the table (and my alarm clock, too).

The pain is too much! My chest is a black hole and I’m staring at the floppy singularity in the hardwood in front of me! I snatch it flimsily, squeezing my fists in pain and– SWEET RELIEF!

A surge of vitality rushes from my chest outwards, restoring the black hole to a teenaged supernova. Gasping, my eyes meet my fist and a heartbeat later, I squeeze my ticker– the scientific method tells me to try if not simply to observe the results.

A moment later, another surge of life spiderwebs into my extremities and I understand. I rest for a few seconds on the floor, pumping my own heart and feeling the oxygen circulate each time. Slowly but surely, my squeezes become slower and the pain in my chest is a memory. 

I understand how to continue, but how did this happen? My heart’s on my sleeve and it’s dampening my bedsheets!

I stand shakily, squeezing intermittently as I stumble towards my closet. It’s astounding to me that I am holding my heart, but strange things happen all the time, don’t they? And even then, I don’t have time to marvel at how strange my cardiac predicament is– I’m in it! 

I force my closed fist through an oversized winter coat I forgot to return to my father this past winter and carefully zip it up over my bare chest. I don’t mind the outfit, but it’s the middle of summer! Pajama pants and an overcoat are hardly practical!

My trembling fingers call my doctor and I make a game out of my beating heart and the less-than-exciting muzak, though I’m off-beat a few times.

“Francis? We had our check-up last week, what seems to be the problem?”

I wish I could watch Dr. Diocleze’s mahogany, wrinkled forehead and bushy white eyebrows furrowed in confusion at my quandary; alas, we are apart like my heart and me.

“Doc, I’ve got a doozy for you. I woke up with my heart on my bedside table!”

Diocleze didn’t skip a beat. “Mmmmmm. Tell me, Francis. Have you been doing anything… I don’t know… fun lately?”

I chuckle, knowing I’ve caught him in a bind. “Well that’s just the thing: I don’t mean it metaphorically. My heart’s in my hand, doc, and it only beats if I tell it to!”

Again, Diocleze throws hesitation to the wind. “Yes, I know. There’s a term for it, you see. It’s not so common, but it happens to the odd apple here and there. Clinical commiseration, it’s called. Now, tell me: have you been having much fun lately?”

“Well, doc, I’m aghast: I’ve never heard of such a thing as clinical commiseration. How would this even work?”

Finally, I’ve urged a pause out of him. “Francis, I know this sounds crazy, but trust me when I say that no one knows. We can’t predict commiseration, and we certainly can’t induce it. Therefore, no one has ever witnessed it. We only know why it happens and how to reverse it.”

I sigh. My rhythmic pumping hasn’t ceased, but it’s certainly sped up. “I guess that’s all that matters in the end… but why does it happen?”

“You never answered my question, Francis!”

“Have I been having fun? Well, of course! After a nice day of balancing chemical equations and recording the results of my findings, I head to the bar and gab it up with the lads– you know how it is! Then I watch the game every Friday. It’s my dream!”

“Whether you know it or not, Mr. Anteros, your heart is on the prowl for a change of scene. Studies have proven that this change can be romantic, medical, physical, or even a change in lifestyle. Bottom line is, you have to start looking for some solid changes to make.”

“How do I do that? I mean, there are so many ways I could make little changes, and all the while, I’ll have to pump my heart!”

“I can get you a commiseration chamber by the end of the night, so that’ll patch up your pumping issue. It keeps the heart going, but you have to change the batteries, so pick it up at your pharmacy at 8:00 pm. As for the changes, you’ll have to see. Quit your job, go to France, kiss a stranger… the sky’s the limit! When you’ve found the right change, you’ll fall asleep and wake to an empty commiseration chamber and a returned heart. Simple as that!”

Simple? I have to keep my heart beating for the next– wait what time is it? I replace my alarm clock where my heart once was, staring at a bright red 11:00 am. Nine hours?!

“I’ll die before then! How am I supposed to make changes if all I can do is keep my heart going?”

“Not today, Francis! Take it easy today, keep an eye on your heart. I’ll call into your workplace and settle things for you. We’ll talk more the next morning. Until then, rest easy and keep ticking!”

A soft click indicates that I am now alone with my heart, the nuisance that it is. I’m not sad, I think indignantly, I control this thing. How has it escaped me?

Wait! Maybe it’s not that deep. Maybe I can even start today! 

I slide into a battered pair of flip flops I wore in the very dream that my heart pulled me from, picturing my exact destination three blocks up and two forward: Lindermen’s Bookstore! If a man ought to make a change in his life, perusing a novel or two could certainly return the heart to its chamber. Maybe a romance maybe, maybe a bio– God knows a self-help book might make the heart shrivel up and die in my hand all together. Who has time for things like that? Just fix it yourself!

Living my routine in winter clothes and summer shoes with only my right arm to use certainly makes for a change of scene. Maybe this’ll be enough for a quick cardiac osmosis. Down I flop to the shop as my hand continues to squeeze the heart in my pocket, humming a tune that my heart matches flawlessly. Hours I spend perusing guides to end my commiseration. Who knew there were so many? And to do it all right-handed and unaided. My goodness, my arms are so sore.

By the time I’ve emerged, it’s well past noon; hell, it’s into the eve, I’d say! A bag full of books from nearly every genre hangs in the crook of my right elbow: Great Expectations, Pride & Prejudice, Looking For Alaska— all the greats of self-fulfillment in all the strangest places. My heart must return, for the Colonel!

But where to read, a change of scene? Aha! My favorite bar, Artie’s, is across the street from a different pub, Venkmon’s. Despite their proximity, not a foot of mine has entered its doors in the 10 years I’ve been patronizing ol’ Art’s. Might as well seek the move, a change small enough to prove easy on my manual heart. 

The sun hadn’t even set as I entered the tawny dining room of Venkmon’s, the one wooden room turning strains of gold in the sleepy sunlight. Loose overhead bulbs and wide windows left only the sunlight to guide me to– OH HEAVENS ME! What is this glorious spectacle, this godly descension? Illuminated veins of wood in the floorboards present me a path to who must be the returner of my heart, the pirate of my treasure, the woman of my dreams! 

Sunlight touches every inch of her face at the table for two she’s resting at, the other seat mercifully vacant.

***

I take a chance, a change, and approach her. Susan. How decadent a name! We talk for hours, my chest swelling despite its vacancy. Oh I won’t share our conversations with you– that’s like revealing a candle wish! She’s intelligent, delightful, gorgeous. My! No wonder my heart set off on a path of its own! (Though I do choose to elude my heart’s escape for the sake of continuing or chats unhindered. I couldn’t risk scaring her off!)

After hours following sunset, Susan excuses herself with all the radiance she had at my first glance.

“But Francis,” she coos, “Take this, and promise me you’ll only open it once you wake up tomorrow morning.”

“How adventurous! Surely I’ll wait, if that’s what you wish!”

I stare down at what she’s just given me: a folded note on notebook paper, likely written when I excused myself to the restroom. 

Crows feet and smile lines wished me goodbye as she danced out of Venkmon’s, unknowing of the fact that I knew my heart would be back in my chest by the time I woke to read her note. 

****

I dance down the avenue towards the pharmacy at 7:55, lighter than a feather and lighter still with my absent heart. 

Entering the pharmacy, I’m a king of romance, Eros incarnate. I am love on legs, a heartless lover, a man squeezing my own chest into heartache. I barely notice when my name is called, “Francis Anteros, lover of women and heartless romantic.” 

Approaching the counter, the chamber looks like a lantern with an ovular opening for my little ticker. Perfect! I slide my heart into the chamber and start to lock it up when the pain in my chest starts to creep back in. 

Picking up the pace, my speed increases with the level of pain in my chest as I turn gears and push buttons, screwing in bolts as I go. What is this hodgepodge little time machine and why can’t it make my heart work?! Ahhhh, sweet relief. The chamber makes a buh-dum, buh-dum, buh-dum, and finally, I can rest. Skipping back to my home, I have never felt better in my life. My heart’s in the chamber, I have books that will unveil the mysteries of life, and I met Susan. Nothing could be better– wait.

Staring at me through a window from the street is a bag of Cheese Clogz, the ultimate cheese powder delight. Growing up, I was a bit chubby. Though my mom and I didn’t mind one bit, my dad was worried for my health and raised me on a strictly controlled childhood of off-brand cereals, fruit for dessert, and a full serving of vegetables per day. Obviously, my birthday parties weren’t the best. But ever since then, I’d never once eaten any cheesy snacks. 

Until today. Today was about change, and I would no longer restrict myself from the cheesy wonder of the green and red chip bags behind the window.

****

My bedroom welcomes a lit fireplace while Looking For Alaska sits open on my knee, alongside an opened bag of God’s greatest gift to mankind, Cheese Clogz– despite it all, only one thing harbors my attention: Susan.

****

The next morning lacks the sound of the commiseration chamber as I feel my heartbeat evenly spread through my body. Susan’s note! I feel like a child on Christmas!

I knock over my alarm clock for the second time in 48 hours blindly groping for the note. My hand touches paper and I squeeze her note, my new heart. I only went to the bathroom for a few minutes and she’d had it ready when I returned– like she was thinking about it the whole time! Trembling with excitement, I unfold the note and–

Francis,

I know we are kindred spirits. Ever since I pointed out Paper Towns and you compared it to the wild seas of Moby Dick, I knew you were the person I am supposed to spend my life with. But you have to know something, and my heart breaks to tell you this: I am married. In fact, I’ve been married for 8 years, with my son’s birthday passing last week. I’m at this bar in between flights, a redeye stay for a flight tonight at midnight, and by the time you read this, I’ll be long gone. For your sake, forget that I ever existed and find a woman that can truly discuss literature with you with no commitments. I’m sorry I couldn’t be that woman, but for my own sake, I’ll never forget you. 

With love and regret,

Susan

O Sovereign Supreme of the Universe, O Behemoth of the Cosmos, nameless and faceless in your cruelty, why forsake me in my time of emptiness? If she was not to the satisfaction of my heart, then why would it return to me? If my heart knew to leave my chest before I did, how did it return despite its omnipotence? WHY GOD, WHY?

As if cutting through the tense air of my devastation, my phone’s ringtone cuts through the unbearable silence. It must be Dr. Diocleze, as if he could fix my heart when this wound is so deep. 

“Hey, Francis. How’s the ol’ ticker?”

“Returned to my chest, despite the fact that Susan, the woman of my dreams and my greatest desires, entered my life last night only to leave mere hours later.”

“Yeesh. That probably didn’t return your heart then, huh?”

I’m taken aback by his colloquialism. How can he be so casual when the world is drained of its color?

“Uh… Probably not.”

“Well, did you do anything else different?”

Scoffing, I offer, “Uh, I read books that I loved when I was younger.”

“Reeeeally?” His doubt seeps through the phone like caramel I could choke on.

“No. Even though I was trying to read, I was thinking about…” I choke, though not on caramel: a sob escapes my newly-filled chest as I heave at the thought of her name. “Susan, I was thinking about Susan,” I finally choke out.

“Yikes,” he pauses, seemingly thinking things through. “Anything else different?”

I think for a moment, anything untethered to Susan, ANYTHING?

I sigh. That’s all I can do. “I woke up late, I went to the bookstore, I went to a new bar and got some food, met Susan, knew Susan, loved Susan, went and got the chamber, got a bag of cheese chips, came home, loved Susan, thought about Susan, read my books, ate the cheese chips, and fell asleep. Happy?”

Diocleze pondered for a moment, breaking the silence with a triumphant “Aha!”

I push on my eyes, wondering if I could push them hard enough for them to escape through my ears. “What, Doc?”

“It must’ve been the chips!”