Your Healing Touch
Parts 1-2
Disclaimer: I own none of these characters.
I knock gently on the apartment door, and in a split second, I see Pilar's smiling face as she flings the door open.
"Michelle!" she exclaims, grabbing me by the hand and pulling me inside her apartment. "I'm so glad you could come for lunch!"
"Thanks for the invitation," I say, as I hug my dear friend. We haven't seen each other since my graduation from college nearly two years ago. "I've missed you."
"Oh Michelle, I've missed you too," she says. "I can't tell you how glad I was that you called me last week."
"I'm just sorry I didn't call sooner," I answer. "I'd been in Europe visiting my dad, and I didn't hear about your father's death until I got back to the states."
"I understand," Pilar replies. "It meant the world to me that you called when you got home."
As we sit down at the kitchen table, Pilar retrieves to coffee mugs from the counter, filled with steaming espresso. Espresso was our vice when we were at Northwestern. There was a small, family owned coffee shop two blocks from the dormitory where we both lived, and we made the short walk for espresso quite often, especially during mid-terms and finals.
"How are you doing?" I ask sincerely. "And how's the rest of your family?"
"I'm doing really well, considering," she answers. "My father battled cancer for over a year, and even though it was a terrible ordeal, it gave me time to prepare for his death. And he had the time to say the things he needed to say. He died with no regrets, and that's a comfort to me. There really isn't a lot of my family left, other than my brother and my grandmother, and she seems to be all right, considering that she's outlived both of her sons. She's sad, but she's still going, and that says a lot at her age."
"What about your brother?" I ask, taking a sip of the hot espresso.
"Danny…" she says, as she sighs deeply. "Danny's not doing so well. He won't talk about Daddy. He doesn't even want to remember the happy times. I keep telling myself that it's just his way of grieving, but it's been four months, and he still hasn't opened up."
"Danny and your father must've been very close," I reply.
"They were," she answers. "They were best friends. Daddy and I were always very close too, but he and Danny really shared a special bond. I guess that's why Danny would never accept the fact that Daddy was going to die, even when the doctors told us that there was nothing more that could be done. He just kept refusing to acknowledge it, and went on about his life as if Daddy was going to be just fine. When Daddy asked him to take over the reigns of the business, Danny refused to do it. He said he's only do it temporarily until Daddy could come back to work. The only way Danny could go on functioning was to ignore what was really happening."
"I'm so sorry, Pilar," I say. "This must be terribly hard on you. I wish there was something that I could do to help."
"Actually Michelle, that's part of the reason that I called you," Pilar confesses. "When we talked the other day, it occurred to me that there may be something you can do for my family, and it might even be good for you, too."
"I don't have any idea what it could be," I say with a smile. "But I'm listening."
"My father kept a summer house about forty miles south of Springfield, on the small lake at the edge of the county," Pilar explains. "We all enjoyed using it, but it was Danny and Daddy who really loved it. During the summer, they would go up there, at least every other weekend."
"What has this got to do with me?" I ask, not understanding how it is that I can be of any help.
"Well, a few weeks ago, I asked Danny what I should do about the house," Pilar says. "He nearly came out of his skin when I mentioned it, and told me just to `take care of it'. He said he couldn't deal with that right now. I thought about selling it, but I just can't bring myself to do that. I really hope that one day Danny will want the house for himself. He and Daddy shared so many happy memories there."
"I'm still a bit confused, Pilar," I reply.
"Danny can't take care of the house this summer, obviously, and neither can I because I'll be in Calgary. There are a lot of people that come and go during the summer at the lake, and I think that someone needs to be looking out for the house."
"And you want me to do that?" I ask.
"When you told me that you had a bad case of writer's block, I thought our summer house might be just the place for you to go and get a little inspiration. It's really beautiful," she says. "Please, say you'll do this. You can stay there all summer if you like."
"Pilar, are you sure this is what you want?" I ask. "Are you sure that no one from your family will want to use it this summer?"
"Well, you know that I can't, because I'll be out of the country," she answers. "My grandmother isn't able to get out of town at all, because of her health, and Danny… trust me… that's the last place on earth he wants to be this summer."
"If you're sure," I say tentatively. "I'd love to stay there this summer. Life at my brother's house is always hectic, and I think that getting away from that might be just the thing I need to un-clog my creativity."
"Thank you, Michelle!" she says. "I'm so relieved that you'll be taking care of the house. I'll be able to leave town knowing that it's in the hands of someone I trust so much."
"Speaking of leaving town," I say. "I can't believe you're going on a photo shoot in the Canadian Rockies. In college, I always thought you'd end up photographing stick-thin models with trendy clothes for some hot- shot, over-priced designer."
Pilar laughs and replies, "Yeah, I did have those kind of aspirations back then. But I've grown up a lot, and now I just want to take pictures that will move people… touch people. It makes me feel good about what I do. One of these days you'll see my photos in `National Geographic'!"
"I'll be looking forward to that," I say honestly. "I'm glad that you've found your niche in life."
"I'm not the only one who's goals have changed since college," she says. "What happened to medical school? When did you become an author?"
"I wouldn't exactly call myself an author yet," I say. "I'm not published."
"But you have a book contract," she retorts.
"Yes, but I'm not even half-way finished with it, and I'm supposed to show my first rough draft to my editor by the end of the summer," I say. "And as far as medical school goes, I finally quit trying to please everybody else in my family, and started worrying about myself."
"Well, good for you," she says. "I really hope that you've found your niche in life too."
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After lunch, as I'm leaving her apartment, Pilar hands me the key to her family's summer house, and a piece of paper containing directions to it. "I'll call you from Calgary, and check up on you from time to time," she says, as she gives me a goodbye hug. "And thank you again Michelle, for taking care of the place this summer."
"I'm glad to help," I answer. "Hopefully it will be good for me too… Inspire me somehow."
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Standing in my bedroom, staring into a suitcase that's empty except for my laptop computer, I can't believe the predicament that I've gotten myself into. I wonder whatever possessed me to pitch my book idea at an actual publisher. I was a biology major in college, so what business have I got trying to write a book? When I approached the publishing company, I was sure that I'd be denied. The "book thing", as I now refer to it in my mind, was really only an attempt at thumbing my nose at my meddling family after I decided not to go to medical school. I took a year off after I graduated from college, trying desperately to figure out what I wanted. I still haven't figured it out, but I did come to the conclusion that medical school was not for me. Rick was ticked off, to say the least. Dad was disappointed in me, as evidenced by the tone of voice he's used with me ever since I told him of my decision, and when I visited him in Europe this spring, the disappointment on his face was even greater.
I never expected that the very first publisher I approached would be interested in publishing my book. I only had a few chapters and a general outline, so I figured I was in for lots of slamming doors. And really, to be honest, I didn't care. I just wanted to prove to my family that I did not have to go along with what they wanted me to do. My big, exciting idea for my book was to write the fictional story of a girl who loses her mother at a young age, and the struggle she endures to find herself and her place in the world, without her mother's influence. Sure, I called it fiction, but all I really did was change the names and a few of the circumstances. It's really my life story. My life story. Why anyone wants to publish it is beyond me.
And now, I'm looking at a deadline. I'm supposed to have my first rough draft completed by the end of the summer, and I haven't been able to write a thing in almost a month. I suppose the problem must be that my "fictional account" isn't really fictional at all, and I've already covered all the significant things in my life up to this point. Where do I go from here, in my book and in real life? I don't have the answer for either one. I feel like I'm on some kind of threshold… to what, I have no idea. It's as if one part of my life has ended, and another is about to begin, but for the life of me, I cannot see what lies ahead. It's both scary and exciting all at once, and were it not for the deadline staring me straight in the face, I might be inclined to jump into life with both feet.
Rick was none too happy when I told him that I'd be spending a lot of time away this summer. I'm sure he was hoping to use the time to work on convincing me to go to medical school. Lately, he's been rather forthcoming with remarks about how being a doctor has completely enriched his life, and I'm sure that it's all for my benefit. As I walk to my dresser and begin pulling out shorts and tops to pack, I instinctively reach up and pick up the picture of my mother and me, and toss it into my suitcase with my clothes. Hopefully, my the memory of my mother, combined with the peace and quiet of the Santos summer house, will give me the inspiration I need to finish my rough draft in time to show it to my editor in August.