Chapter 5

2001-2002

For a while, things were OK. The clinic was flourishing, and Maria or Miranda would come home beaming each day with a new story of who they'd been able to help because of the facility they occupied.

The three of us settled into a comfortable routine. One of the women would work at the clinic and the other would be at their offices with me.

Miranda and I got along famously. Even after the "do you remember this or that" phase ended, we still found something to talk about. In some ways, being around Miranda again was like being 15 again. We had water balloon battles with some of the local kids. We'd take bike rides. We even played hooky one after noon and drove into Belize City to visit a batting cage and watch a couple of baseball tournament games. Sure, it wasn't Coors Field, but it was a nice distraction.

My relationship with Maria, while not flourishing like the clinic, was at least constant. We'd spend the evenings I stayed at her house chatting and catching up, but there was always an unspoken line. We could talk about what we'd done that day. We could talk about things we remembered. But we never spoke of the future. We couldn't seem to find a way to move past first gear. It was frustrating and awkward, I think for each of us.

When I tried to talk to Maria about this, so just said it was a big adjustment for her and we needed to let things play out.

I accepted this as a reasonable explanation and put it off as something I'd created in my mind.

Another big adjustment was the loss of my anonymity. Almost everyone in town knew Miranda and Maria — either by name, by face or by reputation. Soon, everyone knew me, too. I couldn't get used to having people point at and talk about me every time I'd pass. I know they did the same to Maria and Miranda as well, but it either it didn't bother them or they'd gotten used to. The worst part was, although I speak passable Spanish, I had a problem picking up the local dialect, so half the time I couldn't determine if they were saying good or bad things about me.

The first chinks in the armor came about four months into my stay. The next clinic was to be started in a couple of weeks — and I'd been in the tiny town for almost six months now, excepting an occasional visit to Belize City. I know Maria had to have seen that I was going a little stir-crazy.

Outside of my time in captivity, I've always lived in or near a major metropolitan region. I'm not a hugely social person, but I enjoy a movie or evening on the town every once in a while. I was constantly walking on eggshells around Maria — I didn't dare suggest we take a trip into the city or even get satellite television. She fought me tooth and nail when I bought — without asking — a cell phone for her and Miranda. She only relented when I mentioned the clinic was relatively isolated and the phone service there was spotty at best.

Maria's time was limited and much of the payment for Maria's and Miranda's services wasn't in currency but in goods or in-kind trade.

On more than one occasion I'd drive to the clinic to pick up a piece of livestock that was payment for medical treatment and then drive two or three towns over to a farmer or rancher who would buy the animal from them or butcher it for them.

The women's salaries — paid by the government — were meager. It provided enough for necessities, but left little for anything outside of those. On the afternoon we skipped out to Belize City, I think Miranda saw how crazy small-town life was making me. When she asked me if I wanted to go, at first I declined. "You can't afford that," I told her.

"I can't. But you can," she said. "It never bothered me you had money. Hell, the only reason I didn't ask you to buy me a pony when I was 12 and a car when I was 16 was because Maria would have killed me. You know you don't have to purchase my friendship. But if you want to, I prefer straight cash these days."

So we went. And I had a great time, but for the first time I started to wonder if I was going to be happy living this way even with Maria. It was also the first time I realized that Maria was just going to have to get over the money thing. There was no reason for me — or her and Miranda — to live like paupers.

I was supposed to stay at Miranda's that evening so I rented a hotel suite to avoid another night on a couch. I figured we'd drive back first thing in the morning. Miranda took one look at the gigantic bathtub and decided that would be her first stop.

"If I'm not out by morning," she told me. "Just leave me here."

It wasn't morning, but it was almost an hour later when she came strolling out.

"Holy, balls," she said, laughing. "That is what you can get me for Christmas!"

I told her the tub wouldn't be a problem, but given our water system, we'd probably have to take turns pissing in it to get it filled.

"Yeah, I doubt bubble bath and urine go well together," she joked. But then she turned serious.

"Josh, I'd like to tell you it gets better there," she said. "But it doesn't. The life we have there is the life that will be there 10 or even 20 years from now. I'm a city girl, like you're a city guy. It took me a while to get adjusted there, but I was already used to the poverty part. You've been doing well so far, but I can tell you're starting to get to the end of your rope."

I told her "end of the rope" might be stretching it, but I was frustrated sometimes that I didn't have some of the amenities I had taken for granted.

"I'm used to a month or two of 'roughing it' and then I go back to my air-conditioned office and my king-sized bed," I said. "When I came down here, that's what I expected to happen this time, too. The evenings I stay by myself I'm so bored I've started going into the office and surfing Internet porn sites."

Miranda laughed and said, "You too, huh? We'll have to compare bookmarks sometime. You have to talk to Maria about this. I've tried to tell her, but she doesn't seem to want to listen to me about this."

I mentioned that Maria wasn't paying much attention to me on this subject either. We agreed that neither of us was going to find an answer, but there was no reason not to make the best of the situation at hand. I headed to the shower for what I was sure was going to be the first consistently hot, full-pressure washing I'd had in months.

I was just starting to enjoy the scrubbing when Miranda knocked on the door.

"You're only bothering me because you know I'm naked in here," I joked, but I wrapped a towel around my waist and opened the door.

She was standing there holding the cell phone. I could hear Maria's voice through the earpiece. She didn't sound pleased.

Miranda stared at the scars on my chest for a moment before dragging her eyes to my face. With a questioning look on her face, she pulled the phone away from her ear and whispered, "It's for you."

I pulled a shirt on before I answered, and Maria lit into me like I'd killed her dog.

"You couldn't wait for me to get used to things, could you," she yelled. "I can't believe you're sneaking around with Miranda. How could you do this to me? She's the only friend I had."

I should have taken a deep breath or counted to 10 or something. I didn't.

"Maria, what in the fuck are you talking about?" I yelled. "No one is sneaking anywhere with anyone. Are you out of your fuckin' mind?"

I was greeted with stony silence for moment, then Maria launched into another tirade.

"Now you lie to me," she sobbed. "Are you going to tell me you didn't sneak off the city for an afternoon and that you're not in a hotel room, naked with Miranda right now? She already told me you were."

I realized, except for the towels that covered all of our good parts, I had been naked in a hotel room with Miranda.

"Honey, hold on a minute," I started only to be met with "Don't honey me."

"OK, Maria, hold on a minute," I tried again. "Factually, you are correct — although both us have on towels. You're simply taking the whole thing out of context."

She told me, "See if you can take this out of context." Then she disconnected. I tried to call her back for the next five minutes, but got voice mail each time.

I turned to Miranda. "You ready to head back?"

She said no she wasn't ready to head back. And she had no intention of heading back.

"Screw her," she steamed. "First, she has no property rights to either of us. You're a nice guy, but I can be pretty persuasive. If I wanted to be fucking you right now, I'm pretty sure I could convince you. And even if couldn't convince you, I'm pretty sure I could convince somebody and I'd fuck him right in front of you."

I tried to get Miranda to calm down a little, but my efforts were wasted.

"If you want to be calm, you be calm. I'm mad and I'm going to stay that way until I get the chance to give that stupid little bitch a piece of my mind," she started again. "There's no way I can go home now because I'd beat the fuck out her. She's been this way for years about you and me and it's the last time. I told her once when we were younger, 'If I decide I want you, I'll flat-out take you from her.' And I'd do it right in front of her face. There wouldn't be any sneaking around or hiding bullshit."

Finally, I think she'd calmed down a little.

"Feel better?" I asked with a wry smile on my face.

She smiled and said "Maybe a little."

I figured this was the time to mention that her boob had popped out of the towel as she was gesturing about kicking Maria's ass.

"Well, so it has," she said as she tucked it away. "I guess Maria was right. I'm just a slut."

I jokingly told her since I had taken her out to dinner and set her up with a bubble bath a boob shot was only fair.

"She really called me that," she said, and I could see the anger rising again. "After all the shit I put up with from her, she calls me a slut."

I asked how the conversation managed to escalate to the point of name calling, since I'd never know Maria to hurl pejoratives freely.

"I guess that is kinda my fault," Miranda admitted. "She was so huffy when she called. The first thing she asked was, 'Where are you two?' in this really snotty voice. So I told her we'd taken a little road trip Then she asked when we'd be back and I told her tomorrow and she got a little madder. Then she asked what we were doing and I kinda lost my cool. I told her I was enjoying some naked time in a hotel suite with her boyfriend.

"As you told her, it was all factually correct. It's not my fault if she wanted to assume the worst."

Miranda got a strange look on her face.

"Josh, I don't mean to pry, but what happened to you? Your chest? We're you in an accident?" she asked.

I enjoyed spending time with Miranda, but this wasn't something I wanted to share with her. It's what separated Miranda from Maria. And I knew it.

"It's just part of something that helped make me who I am," I told her. "Maybe someday I'll tell you about it."

She asked if Maria knew, and I thought I saw a flash of hurt cross her face for a moment when I nodded. I mentioned again that perhaps we should cut our losses and head back to town.

"Let her stew," she said. "If you are going to stay there, you and I are going to have to do this more often. It's good for your mental health and if you think I'm going another three years without a bath like that, you're crazy. She's going to have to get used to it."

It seemed Maria was going to have to get used to a whole lot of things if this was to work.

Maria wasn't at the house when returned. She wasn't at the clinic or the offices either. Miranda and I were starting to worry before we found her sitting in her car in front of Miranda's house. I'd hoped she cooled down.

I would have to hope again.

When she saw us drive up, she was out of her car in flash. Also out her car in a flash was just about everything I'd left at her house. No fanfare, no garbage bags, just my stuff tossed on Miranda's yard. At least she waited until we got there so the neighbors didn't think it was an unattended yard sale.

"Let me handle this, please," I asked Miranda.

"Yeah, right," was the only answer I received. From the look on Miranda's face I thought she might just run Maria over and let it be done. Thankfully — or maybe not at this point, who knows — she didn't.

Maria was storming toward the car and Miranda met her stride for stride.

"You don't even have the decency to be embarrassed by this," Maria yelled.

"Why should I be embarrassed? You're the one making a complete ass out of yourself," she screamed at Maria. To me she yelled, "Pick up your shit."

I was about ready to leave the shit there, grab my truck, head to the airport and get as far away from these crazy people as I could. Instead, I gathered my belongings as Miranda snagged Maria by the arm and practically dragged her into the house. The argument continued unabated for the time it took me to collect my meager possessions. With each item I grabbed, I felt my frustration and my anger rise. By the time I picked up the last of my shoes and piled them onto Miranda's porch I was seething.

When I saw the scene that met me when I walked into the house I couldn't help it. I burst out laughing. Not a chuckle or a guffaw, but side-splitting laughter.

Maria and Miranda were face-to-face not an inch between their noses, each of their mouths moving a mile a minute and neither was listening to a word the other said. Their faces were so red I was glad each had medical training because I figured one of them was going to pop a blood vessel at any minute. The only thing I could think of was former Seattle Mariners manager Lou Piniella going toe-to-toe with an umpire. I could just picture Maria (or Miranda) picking up second base and tossing it into the outfield. Suddenly I wondered if either of them chewed tobacco.

By the time I sat down on Miranda's couch, I had tears rolling down my cheeks from laughing so hard and the women were looking at me like I'd lost my mind. I think they were right.

"Look at yourselves," I said when I finally could speak. "You look like a preview for the Jerry Springer Show. Please, let's sit down and clear the air. I think after you've heard what I have to say, Maria, you'll look at things differently. And Miranda if you'll bear with me for just a moment, I'll give you your chance to address the name-calling."

Apparently Maria couldn't resist one more snide comment.

"I just call them like I see them," she snarled, to which Miranda replied, "Fuck you."

It was the last straw.

"Enough!" I screamed. "You want to act like kids? I'll treat you like kids. Sit your asses down, shut your mouths and listen for one god-damned minute."

I'm pretty sure it was the first time either had seen my temper. When I was growing up, I used other methods to get my point across — methods such as manipulation and coercion. Really, as a kid, I didn't have a whole lot to be pissed about.

Miranda looked like she might say something. But she saw the look on my face and changed her mind, I think. The women sat, but still glared at the other.

"First, Maria," I started. "Miranda and I are not having a sexual relationship. But if we were, I can't see what right you'd have to be angry about it. You and I are getting re-acquainted. It's your pat response to anything I try to discuss with you. We've never talked about the future; we've never discussed dating.

"Hell, we haven't even been on a date in 15 years. If you think the fact we hold hands on your couch a couple of times a week constitutes a committed relationship, then it's you who've get your head buried in the 1980s this time. I understand your initial reaction. I don't appreciate it, nor do I think it was correct, but I understand it.

"I tried to explain the situation to you. You refused to listen. You've refused to listen to any serious concern I've had for the last month. When you're ready to listen — and I don't mean sit there and formulate arguments while I'm talking — I'll tell you minute-by-minute, if you'd like, what Miranda and I did on our trip and why we took it. Until then, I really don't care if you're mad.

"Miranda, if you're ready to talk rationally, I'll let you speak to your concerns. But if you're just ready to yell some more, I insist you wait."

Miranda composed herself for a moment and began.

"I wasn't trying to destroy your relationship, if that's what you even have," she told Maria. "I've never sabotaged a relationship — even the ones I knew you'd get hurt in.

"Josh was going to leave. Not this week or even this month, but I could see it. This little town is driving him nuts, so I took him to the city so he could enjoy himself. Not to fuck him."