Chapter 2 - Dimensions of Genesis

The pressure on his chest always came first. A deep-seated panic washed over him as he became lucid within his dream.
Water. Floundering in an ocean of liquid, smothering him from all sides. All his senses dulled by the fluid, trapping him within its suffocating density.
Frantic for a breath of air, his lungs blazed with pain. David searched the black abyss for some signature of light, to shine a path to salvation. There didn't seem to be a sense of logical direction, he couldn't tell which way was up or down.
Swimming with frenzied hysteria, he screamed into the obsidian depths. Calling out for help, as though some unseen angel might hear his pleas and save him.
His chest desperate for air, his instincts finally force him to inhale the cold, black mass into his defeated lungs.
Surrendering into the darkness, he watched his body sink…drifting down into the liquid void. He observed how the tendrils of blackness shroud his face until it was no more.
Then, as always, came the ominous, disembodied voice that seemed to whisper some ethereal answer to his suffering…
“The light...David...the light…”
***
Watching the raindrops descend upon the window pane in his office, David observed how each drop seemed to cling to its temporary existence. Noting how every tiny droplet adhered itself to the transparent wall of glass, then allowed gravity to pull it to an unknown destination.
Like a tear gliding gently down the tender slope of a lover’s cheek and plummeting off the jaw line cliff, the raindrops surrendered themselves to the ocean of droplets below.
David stared as each one succumbed to its destiny in the puddle at the base of the windowsill. While most of the raindrops traveled on the proven paths, a brave few would veer off course; blazing their own trail to form their own puddle.
In the midst of his quiet surveillance, he was reminded of a philosophical question that he’d once heard…
“If you were a droplet of water placed into the ocean, could you pull yourself out or would you simply blend with the waters?”
It made David think of society and its desire for conformity. Religion, marriage, money and a life of servitude, all predestined paths set before a human at the moment of conception.
David wondered whether anyone could truly be a single awareness, all their own thoughts, feelings and beliefs, or if being born into the ocean of mass consciousness leaves you completely at the will of the tides.
He smiled in spite of himself, small wrinkles forming at the sides of his compassionate blue eyes, recalling his nickname in medical school...Socrates. Many of his peers teased him over his philosophical nature.
Chuckling to himself, he crossed his arms and sighed deeply, he rested his forehead against the cool window pane.
Watching the tiny droplets do their perilous dive into the pooling abyss, he wondered if he was the rebellious droplet forging a new path; or simply a lost teardrop in the smothering ocean.
“Dr. Blake…please report to emergency…Dr. Blake.” the voice of a tired nurse echoed over the intercom, snapping David out of his abstract daydream.
Sighing, David turned away from the window and walked briskly out of his office, heading towards the emergency ward. Running his hands through his neatly trimmed dark blonde hair, he attempted to smooth back any rogue strays.
Adjusting his collar and stethoscope, he glanced up to give an obligatory nod to each of the doctors and nurses that he passed. He realized that he knew very few of them by name, even though he’d worked at St. Mary’s Hospital for three years. He made a mental note to learn more of the staff by name.
St. Mary’s Hospital was one of the biggest hospitals in the city, founded by the Catholic church over forty years ago.
How ironic that one of their top doctors be an atheist he thought dryly.
Thankfully, the hospital didn’t have any religious prerequisites for their staff, David wasn’t shy about debating his religious opinions within the walls of the hospital staff room.
Approaching the emergency desk, he noticed the abnormally high number of patients in the waiting room. So many that they had run out of seats. Several people were standing or sitting on the floor.
An angry heat flooded through David as he stomped up to the admittance window.
“Why didn’t you page me sooner?” he demanded of the nurse behind the emergency desk. He didn’t recognize her as the usual admitting nurse for the evening shift.
“I’m sorry…Dr. Blake…I thought you were on a dinner break…I didn’t…want to bother you early.” She stammered nervously, glancing at the now curious audience within the waiting room.
David stared at her incredulously, “When I’m at the hospital, I am always available for the patients. Having this many waiting is unacceptable…how would you feel if you were hurt and had to wait hours for a doctor?”
The young nurse, her eyes now brimming with tears, tried to distract herself by shuffling patient’s records around the desk.
Feeling guilty for losing his patience, David spoke with a calm voice, “I’m sorry, I didn’t become a doctor to have patients wait for me while I pick my nose in my office…okay?” The young nurse looked up at him carefully and forced a weak smile.
“From now one, please make sure there is never more than three people waiting before you call me, that way we won't get too far behind.” he added with an encouraging smile.
“I’m sorry Dr. Blake, it won’t happen again.” she promised, still wary.
“I’m going to hold you to that you know,” he joked, pointing his finger at her and giving her a wink, glancing at her name tag, he added “…Nurse Henderson.”
Hoping he had not earned an enemy with the young nurse, he turned and walked to the rows of curtains where several patients were waiting.
David leafed through the patient file for the person behind curtain number one. Peering tentatively through his steel rimmed glasses, he perused the symptoms this patient was experiencing.
“Gastrointestinal cramping, fever of 102 degrees, fatigue, three days vomiting…food poisoning, flu maybe.” David murmured to himself as he drew back the curtain.
“Hi there,” David said to the young lady perched on the observation table. “Rebecca is it? Not feeling too well today, huh?”
“No.” She moaned, a lethargic expression on her pale and sweaty face. She clutched her queasy stomach as she kept an anxious eye on the small kidney-shaped dish reserved for vomiting. David had often wondered why those bowls were so petite, only the world’s most proficient bulimic would be able to spew into such a small dish without making a terrible mess.
With a sympathetic smile, he held her arm as he assisted her to a laying position, the sanitary paper crinkling loudly as she adjusted herself. He gently checked all her vitals, assessed the condition of her lymph nodes and questioned her about what items she’d eaten over the last three days.
Narrowing it down to a sour tasting piece of chicken at Mr. Chan’s Chinese Den, he diagnosed her ailment as an unpleasant case of salmonella. After administering a mild anti-nauseate shot into her arm, he prescribed her some electron balancing fluids and lots of rest.
Helping her off the table, he wished her well and proceeded to the next curtain, and the next…and the next.
Two concussions, one false labor, one real labor, a broken collarbone, a broken ankle, two hundred stitches, one mild heart attack and a cold sore. David performed flawlessly under the pressures of the emergency room night shift.
Nine hours later, after tending to an endless stream of medical woes, he was relieved to see the day shift wandering in to take over the constant parade of maladies.
Stretching his weary arms over his head, he arched his back and groaned at the aches that snarled at him from his lower back.
“Another successful evening…” he muttered to himself as he locked up his office and walked to his car in the staff parking lot. Nothing could make for a better shift than one where no one died.
Exhausted, he pulled into his driveway just as the sun was reaching the top of the elder poplar trees that swayed silently behind his home.
Exiting his car, his nostrils filled with the sweet scent of damp roses and fresh cut grass. The dew laden rose garden sparkled as though coated with millions of tiny liquid diamonds. The hired gardener had taken special pride in cutting diagonal rows over the vast expanse of the Blake family's large front yard.
David felt a pang of jealousy toward the gardener as he walked up the front steps of his home. David missed that sense of pride after laboring on the lawn, the accomplishment of adding beauty to his home and to the world.
With his responsibilities at the hospital, he never had time for anything resembling extra-curricular activity.
Opening the door to his home, he glanced around the large, open foyer. The vaulted ceilings loomed overhead. Meant to be spacious and impressive, it always left David feeling intimidated.
The walls were painted and dressed with white crown molding. Cold Italian marble tile lay throughout the main floor of the elaborate home. Coming home to the ostentatious environment left David feeling less like the homeowner and more like a guest at a pompous hotel.
Tiffany is probably just getting ready to leave for school, he thought briefly as he hung up his jacket.
With sleepy eyes, and desperately needing a shower and a shave, he shuffled to the kitchen where he could hear the voices of his wife and daughter.
“Mom, I need one!” David’s daughter Tiffany whined, sounding dangerously close to throwing one of her trademark temper tantrums. “Everyone has one, even Chantella Clarkson, and her dad is just a carpenter!” Tiffany’s voice was becoming shrill.
David pictured the scene, such dramas occurred quite often at the Blake residence. He envisioned Tiffany glaring venomously at her mother, her hazel eyes shrouded with contempt as her eyebrows wove themselves into an angry scowl.
“I said no! I just got you a new cell phone for Christmas!” Ellen angrily snapped at Tiffany, dangerously close to her breaking point.
“Fine!!” Tiffany screeched, “I’ll just tell the kids at school that my parents are too cheap to buy me a Blackberry!”
David rolled his tired eyes as he heard Tiffany slam her books into her backpack and storm away. Muttering a profanity under her breath as she stomped around the corner, she was startled when she bumped into her father.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, “Hi Dad.” appearing embarrassed for having been caught swearing.
Attempting a disapproving grimace, but surrendering a weak smile at his daughter instead, he ventured in vain to tame the shrew’s wrath. Sensing his fatigued vulnerability, she threw him a smug smile and continued her pouting tirade.
It always amazed David how much he loved that little girl, despite her attitude. He smiled as he recalled the moment of his daughter's birth. Even though he didn't believe in God, he was sure that Tiffany was a miracle. The beauty, the perfection and the awe within such a tiny bundle was miraculous to David. Never before had he felt love for anyone like he did for this little person.
David tried to be a positive influence in his daughter’s life, but Ellen took charge of the parenting from the beginning.
“You're just the sperm donor, deal with it.” Was Ellen's cold response to David's complaints of being excluded from Tiffany's upbringing.
Regaining her stride to the front door, Tiffany flung her backpack over her shoulder. Flicking her long golden hair, Tiffany slammed the front door hard as she left sending a thundering noise to reverberate throughout the foyer.
Sighing as he watched her storm away, behaving so much like her mother, David muttered sadly to himself, “Bye, love you too.”
Defeated, he proceeded to the kitchen to face the true apocalypse. Taking a deep breath, he rounded the corner, he anticipated the worst.
“Good morning, how are things in Ellen’s world today?” David asked, but already knew the response.
“Oh, just friggin’ peachy.” she expressed with a face to match her bitter tone. Her short, black hair tucked behind her ears, framing her pout.
“Ah, another bout with Tiffany, I heard the tail end of it. Princess Tiffany would like a new phone?” he said.
“Oh, this time, it’s a Blackberry. They’re bloody expensive, all her friends have one you know.” She snapped sarcastically, imitating Tiffany with a spoiled voice and over-exaggerating her hand movements.
Despite Ellen’s comments, David, and especially Tiffany, knew all too well, that mom eventually gives in.
According to David, Ellen couldn’t stand to be outdone by anyone when it came to anything pricey or luxurious. Ellen Blake had a compulsive need for her, and her daughter, to be at the top of every list. She even insisted that David buy her an expensive home in the most elite part of the city.
“Have to keep up a respectable image honey.” She would state if David attempted to reject any of her elitist notions.
At her insistence, David and herself had to drive matching BMW's. He would've been perfectly happy driving his old, reliable Chevelle. He never feel the urge to parade his profession around like arrogant medical royalty. He could not comprehend the audacity of people and their prestigious notions, least of all, his wife’s.
Sighing, David leaned in to kiss Ellen on the forehead, but before he could make contact; she abruptly moved away. Wrinkling her nose, she stated bluntly, “Ugh, Dave, you need a shower.”
Rejected, exhausted and mildly relieved to have been excused from Ellen’s sulky mood, he retreated to his bedroom.
Since Tiffany was a baby, Ellen insisted on having her own room. “I don't feel the need for traditional sleeping arrangements.” She told him a month after their wedding.
Entering into his room, a navy blue comforter welcomed him as it hugged his bed. A simple roll down blind filled his window and a shaggy cream colored area rug warmed the wood flooring. Nothing fancy, just the way he liked it.
Several pictures were arranged on his dresser, faded memories captured in print, like ghosts imprisoned within a moment in time. Pausing to look at one of his favorites, a small framed photo showing himself as a toddler. Young David grinned devilishly, his wavy blonde hair defying gravity as he flung mud at his sister.
Next was an elegant sepia photograph of his mother, Laura, sitting in her favorite armchair. Her face pensive, chin resting on her graceful hand, and her eyes staring withdrawn out the window. It appeared unlikely that she suspected his father was sneaking into the room to snap a picture of her.
Unbeknownst to everyone but her, the quiet moment that he captured was likely his mother trying to articulate the words to tell her family she was dying. David brushed the back of his fingers lovingly against the glass to remove any trace of dust that might have accumulated anywhere near his mother’s angelic face.
The next picture was a large photo of Tiffany at three years old, staring smugly at him. She was wearing a fluffy pink gown complete with sparkling imitation diamond tiara and a perfectly trained smile. Ellen insisted that Tiffany enter several Miss Mini Beauty Pageants.
Needless to say, as beautiful as David thought his daughter was, he only attended but one of these illustrious events. He promptly informed Ellen afterward, “I’d rather have a vasectomy done in a public bathroom with a dirty butter knife then ever see that disgusting display of child exploitation again!” Her curt response to his lack of support was, “That can be arranged.”
A wedding picture of Ellen and himself also lurked within the photos, a day he recalls as stressful, to say the least. This picture really did say a thousand words, David with his forced smile and Ellen looking smug in her ostentatious ceremonial gown. The whole wedding day should have been scripted and filmed for the amount of sincerity that it held.
“David, where is the speech I wrote for you?” Ellen asked him the morning of the wedding.
“I...wanted to write my own.” he stated, staring at the piece of scrap paper in his hands.
Shaking her head and snorting, she replied, “If I wanted you to write it, I would have told you so.” Taking a deep breath, as though composing herself, then in a sweet voice added, “Honey, it has to be perfect today. Don't you want me to be happy?” Her eye lashes fluttered like butterflies.
David should have seen it coming. Her mother, Victoria, had been the same way with Ellen’s father. George Andrews, a sad, dumpy little dentist, existence revolved around pulling his wallet out for his wife’s extravagant purchases.
Despite Ellen's parents strict religious background, it seemed that she and her mother were oblivious to the meaning of being humble. Ellen seemed to be mirroring her mother’s haughty attributes, though David had been blindsided and didn’t realize until was too late. If nothing else, Ellen’s mother could be happy knowing her daughter did her proud.
As he glanced around his lonely room, attempting to shrug off feelings of resentment. For twelve years, he had slept alone, all the time wondering why Ellen wanted to get married in the first place. After a while, the reason became obvious. Marrying someone with the title of ‘Doctor’ couldn’t be ignored in Ellen’s books.
God forbid it should have been something so ridiculous as marrying for love he thought sarcastically.
Pausing in the middle of his bitter thoughts, he wondered if he could recall why he married Ellen.
Hmmm, he thought sarcastically, I'm sure it will come to me.
Chuckling to himself, he lowered the blinds, crawled slowly onto the bed and tucked the feather pillow under his weary head. Smiling with relief, he snuggled his pillow like a delicate cotton mistress.
Is this it? He thought sadly to himself, Is this as happy as I'll ever be? Is this my purpose in life? Seems like a waste really he thought as he closed his eyes.
***
“The light...David...the light.”
Clutching his chest, beads of sweat rolled down his forehead, David lurched forward in his bed. Coughing and sputtering to catch his breath, he cursed as he rocked his body back and forth, hoping to tame his peaking adrenaline. Hyperventilating, he drew slow breaths to calm his racing heartbeat.
Damn that dream! He thought angrily, shaking his head with frustration.
Since the age of ten, after his mother passed away, he’d had the very same nightmare almost every night. Drowning, always drowning.
The nightmare occurred more often when he was young, but still it continued to plague him for twenty-two long years.
Swinging his legs to the side of the bed, he rubbed his forehead forcefully with the palms of his hands. Pushing the dream and memory of his mother as far back into his head as he could, he wandered into the washroom to splash water onto his clammy face.
Meandering his way back to his bed, he flinched at the bright sun sneaking its rays past the blinds. Working the night shift was hard on his body, mentally and physically. He never got a good rest while sleeping during the day, his body wasn’t designed for that.
Glancing at the clock, he realized he’d slept longer than he thought, he had another shift at the hospital beginning in an hour. Sitting on the bed, he stared longingly at his pillow as it is beckoned him to lie down again. He could almost hear the soft feathery bliss whispering sweet nothings into his ear from where he sat, luring him to rest his weary head for just a little longer.
Stretching his neck from side to side and yawning several times, he resisted the temptation and bid farewell to his precious cradle of slumber.
Feeling relatively refreshed after his shower and shave, he wandered to the kitchen to get a bite to eat. The house was very quiet this late in the afternoon. Usually there was music blaring from Tiffany’s room and clatter from the kitchen as Ellen prepared supper.
Oh yeah! he thought, snapping his fingers. I remember why I married Ellen, she's an excellent cook!
The quote, ‘the best way to man’s heart is through his stomach’ was a glaring overstatement. She had other redeeming qualities that had intrigued him during their courtship, but man, was her cooking good! He recalled being completely blown away on their first real date when she whipped up a three course meal that was amazing.
Since then, she had concocted a wonderful meal almost daily which David always enjoyed, hence his slightly expanding waistline. Patting his hungry tummy, he realized he was disappointed that Ellen wasn't home; making a great supper.
Entering into the kitchen, he noticed a note on the counter.
David,
Gone to the spa for the weekend. Tiffany is at Cassandra's house.
I'll be home Sunday night.
Ellen
“Short and sweet.” David said out loud, sarcasm bouncing off the cupboards of the empty kitchen.
“Must be Friday today if the girls are gone for the weekend.” he said as he crumpled up the note and tossed it into the recycle bin. One of the hazards of working the night shift was losing track of what day it was. With the realization it was Friday, his spirits were instantly uplifted as he remembered the Charity Golf Tournament on Sunday.
Searching the back of the fridge for leftovers, he discovered some two day old lasagne. That was his favorite since he was a kid, his mom made the world’s greatest lasagne.
His mom had been a wonderful cook too, maybe that’s what drew him to Ellen. In a strange way, having Ellen’s cooking loosely tied with the memory of his mother seemed to resurrect her even in the smallest way.
David didn’t venture into the painful memory of his mother’s death very often...if ever. The reason David became a doctor was because of his mother’s illness. It seemed fruitless now, all the years of medical school, working two jobs to pay for university and suffering through years of internship. She wasn’t coming back, no matter how many people he could save now.
His thoughts reluctantly drifted back in time...to her last moments.
Watching her beauty waste away like a terrible entity had entered her, transforming his mother into a skeletal monster right in front of his eyes, was so much more than young David could bear.
Her once radiant glow, traded for ashen skin that clung to her bones, faded like the last ember in a dying fire. It happened so quickly, within weeks of her announcement that she was ill.
The cancer that was ravaging her body was ruthless in its pursuit to destroy her. The doctors couldn't find where it had originated, it had spread throughout her body so voraciously they had no way of tracking it...or treating it.
Ten years old and watching helplessly as your own mother is destroyed, day after day, by an unseen predator. It was so much more than David could come to terms with...even now.
The day she died…
“The light, David, the light! Do you see that light David?…” His mother’s ghostly last words echoed within his mind. Her thin hands clambering at his face, her hair wild, her eyes delirious...
“No!” He yelled loudly into the empty kitchen, his hands squeezing his head as though trying to force the memories out. He wouldn’t let himself think of that day, he couldn’t...not yet.