After my conversation with Kate's mom, I never heard anything from them.
Her friend Melissa gave me a heads-up that Kate delivered the boy well, but they couldn't see him as he was premature. Thus all I did was buy diapers and some clothes for the boy. Melissa gladly accepted it, but she never gave me a heads-up of Kate's reaction.
The next thing was them leaving for the Bay.
From then, I decided that I would find a job in the Bay, somewhere where we would, in one way or another, cross paths, despite knowing the possibilities of ever meeting again were minimal.
Yes! Two years have passed since Kate and I.
I was now in my last year of study, the fifth year, not sure whether I would deal with the intense training they were choosing to offer for another three years after this. I majored in becoming a cardiologist, courtesy of Doctor Kingstone, who greatly influenced my thinking process.
My desire was far off from majoring in cardio, but rather doing anesthesia or something with plastic surgery. But this was alright.
A lot has happened through the two years. I have become a night party man. Drinking every weekend has become my favorite burn.
And well, women... but I am not delving into women. It is not good to delve into that; I might not like what I shall say about them here. However, I have made truce with the fact that relationships are less and barely meant for me.
"You have been enrolled! You have been called for an interview," Doctor Kingstone gives me the news as I package some medical documents.
"Where?" I question.
"San Francisco Memorial," he states, and right, a grateful smile plasters my face. I haven't been this happy. So I take the papers from Dr Kingstone's hands, and check them out.
They dictate I shall start as a non-paid intern, as a volunteer or something; well, that's bad. However, they add, until I get my graduation certificate, I shall start getting full-time work payment. In addition, they wrote that all allowances; medical, housing and food was up to them, especially during lengthy working hours and night shifts.
"How sure are they I am a diligent worker?" I questioned, making Doctor Kingstone grin.
"Diligent or not, they shall indeed check that on your sacrifice and working style there." So, I smiled again, placed the papers on the glass table next to me, and continued packaging the medicine.
Doctor Kingstone had already expanded the chemist into a smaller hospital. So, experience-wise, St. Francis Memorial needed not to worry about that. I was competent when it came to dealing with drugs and injecting needles. The only thing I was still unfamiliar with was how to behave during surgeries. The last practical, I fainted right when I saw the human heart with my naked eyes. I remember the surgeon in charge, after waking up, convinced me it was normal, but before that gave me a standing lecture on why I should not be fearful. He stated, "We are doctors, and we snatch life that is nearly being taken away by death," and I just nodded. Surgeons, are sometimes hefty, they just say anything., but I understood why he gave me the lecture. That statement was one of them, the rest trust me, you don't wanna hear.
After finishing the packaging of medical files into respective boxes and carefully placed all of them in the desired room, my phone started ringing and vibrating inside my pocket. 'Who is this now?' I was already used to being called by different numbers every time, and sure enough, they were never base full voices.
"Hello," I answered without even checking the caller ID.
"Hello," the voice stated. It was Kate, her voice still lingering in my brain as if it had never left.
"How are you!" I stated, surprise filling me as I scratched my head, amazed by the voice on the other side of my phone. She was the only person I wanted to hear from, the only human being I would say to, 'call me as many times as you want, you are all mine.'
"Send me some cash," she stated, without even wondering if I was indeed eager to know if she was fine or was being bullied by someone. There were a lot of questions I wanted to ask her, but...
"Kate, how is the child? How are you?"
"Send me some cash!" she stated, now seeming impatient.
"Okay, I will," I added, as she hung up on me.
I did not waste any time. There was enough money in my bank to prove a point to her that indeed I had turned out rich, so I commanded my mobile banking app to send ten thousand dollars. I wondered where she had been all these years. So, after some five minutes, I called her again to confirm if she had gotten the amount. But it all went to voicemail, and I remembered the police restriction order. So I stopped myself. I stopped myself from making another call; it would break my heart after the two years of trying to piece together and bandage my broken pieces. I was a wreck again, and I started thinking about her again.
'I needed not to think about her, she has already done enough of a damage' I reminded myself again.
"I'll take my leave," I told Doctor Kingstone thirty minutes after my conversation with Kate. I did not tell him about the caller. He already had a perception of Kate as a lady who lays no value on men. So, telling him that she called would make him snort at me like a pig, especially if I added that I sent her some money for no reason. He was one in a million men who had a certain 'idea' of women. I still respected women, I honestly did. I don't know how long it will take before someone convinces me otherwise, but one thing I was sure of: I don't know if I would ever commit.
I have so many girl friends; they just want hook-ups or whatever. In addition, currently, my school schedule is a little piled up. I cannot have time to buy flowers for my girl, or set dates, or keep texting her goodnight and good morning, or call her every time I was heading out of class. I really did not have much time.
So, everything was just telling the girl who has a liking for me that I would not commit: 'I can't commit.' One thing was for real, I did not approach any lady since Kate; the ladies did the approaching, and I warned them a thousand times. But I think they listened. However, they were not many, but I know I am the weakest man when it comes to women.
Or maybe this is not about me being with someone; it is me being with someone just to forget another. This is the weakest version of mentality that I, as a man, had. Nonetheless, I know people who are way worse than me. I still hold onto that; someone out there is way worse… way worse.
So, Doctor Kingstone indeed gave me permission to leave. I headed straight to the Royal Car Club, opposite the gambling center in NYU, and just chilled there as my thoughts blurred into a fantastical tune:
'Where did Kate go?' 'Funky left school.' 'Why would Kate's parents be so illogical?' 'I need to tell my mom about my acceptance at St. Francis.'
Yes, Funky left school. No one knows what he is doing. I had tried getting information from him about Kate, but he laughed at me, calling me 'a bastard' and stating; let me remember:
"Dude, you are a bastard. (laughing) Do you think Kate would even look at you?"
He said it in front of all my coursemates. I remember the next thing was my hands all over him, just wanting to thrash him. However, I just couldn't. The moment my right hand got hold of his collar and my hand was raised in a fist, the police statement pictured in my mind, and I just stopped. That police statement just seemed to change every significant illegal move I have always wanted to pull out; except drinking, if in any case it becomes illegal. All the rest that deals with a school princess or girl or man, I just raise my hands meaning I surrender, or I submit. However, I wish that day I had smashed Funky's cute face. It would be fun to watch it turn a wreck.
Despite all the wants and desires of punching Funky and just hating him, deep down I knew he sure was right. 'Funky was right'; no one sees potential somewhere. All the thing human beings want is the final product. The final product of who you have become, not the illusion of who you shall be, or how many castles you shall build. No! not that. People want to see the final product! That's why they always discourage potential; they always do. Fucking bastards.
"Whiskey," I shouted at the bar counter, and he nodded, as he always did to me.
This bar is already used to having my money. I think I should change bars.' I randomly thought.