'Anyway, we're going away for our summer holiday. I won't see you for three weeks. I suppose you don't care.'
'I said I was disappointed about what happened and what you did, Catherine, but I hope you will see my point and we'll still be friends.'
'And I hope the lifeguard I met last year is working at the beach again. He thought I was too young for him, but maybe he'll change his mind this year.'
'How old was he?'
'Twenty-three. I know. You think he's too old for me,' she said quickly.
'No. That's not too old for you.'
'Really? I don't think so either.' She lowered her voice. 'But my parents wouldn't be happy. How would your parents feel about it?'
'I don't know,' I said. 'I suppose if we really cared for each other, they wouldn't complain.'
'Your mother's so understanding. Well, maybe I'll drop you a postcard.'
'Do that, Catherine.'
'Don't give anyone the wrong pills,' she warned. 'I'm not permitted to dispense medication. I'm just an aide.'
'Well don't give anyone the wrong aid,' she said and laughed. 'Look. I'm sorry. Maybe you're right. Maybe the girls went too far and I should have told you right away, but I didn't want everyone to hate me, too.'
'Too?'
'You know what I mean. Anyway, I said I was sorry.'
'Okay. Thanks. Have fun.'
'I will,' she promised and we hung up. I sat there for a moment thinking. Somewhere in the back of my mind I heard the voice of a little girl trying to hold on, trying to keep me from being so serious. But it was a voice that was dwindling and barely audible anymore.
Whether I liked it or not, I was rushing headfirst into adulthood now. And there was nothing to do about it but sit back and enjoy the ride.
I fell asleep quickly after Catherine and I spoke, but I did have a nightmare about Mrs. Conti. I saw her eyes pop open when I returned to her room, and they were glassy and milky white. Then I thought about Dr. Weller and his impish smile. 'Still want to be a doctor?' he had challenged.
'More than ever.'
I mumbled it in my sleep.
'More than ever.'
4
Life Lessons
'If you and I are going to be study partners,' Dr. Weller said as we left the hospital the next day, 'you should call me Jack. Dr. Weller is too formal after we walk out of there,' he said, nodding back toward the hospital.
'Jack?'
'That's my name. Oh, my real name is Jackson Marcus Weller, which is what I will hang on my shingle. I was named after my great-grandfather on my mother's side. I'd rather be just Jack, though, especially to people I admire and people I hope will admire me,' he said. Then he put his hand on my waist to turn me to the right. 'My apartment is just a few blocks this way,' he said. 'You don't mind walking, do you?'
'No.' His hand lingered on my hip, his fingers pressing with authority.
'I have a car, but I seldom use it. Driving is such a hassle in the city. I'd much rather walk or use public transportation.' He drew his hand away when we started to walk again.
'Did you grow up in New Orleans?' I asked.
'Grow up?' He smiled and then laughed. 'Most of my relatives and friends think I haven't. They think because I'm going to be a doctor, I should look, act, and feel like an old man. Who trusts a young doctor these days? In almost every other profession, youth is an advantage, but in medicine . . .' He paused and turned to me. 'My ex- roommate actually dyes his hair gray. Do you believe that?'
I shook my head.
He stared at me a moment and relaxed his lips, a look of pity in his eyes. 'Actually, I feel sorry for you. It's twice as hard for a woman to become a doctor. You've got to be twice as good. But,' he said, winking, 'I think you might just have the grit to make it. Now,' he said holding up his hand, palm toward me, 'don't tell me anything else about yourself. Let me guess.'
We continued, strolling at a slower pace. It wasn't quite as humid as it had been the day before. The sun was low enough to leave the eastern sky a darker blue so that the billowing clouds looked as white as milk. Toward the south a single-engine plane was dragging a banner that advertised a jazz and dinner special in the French Quarter. We could hear the streetcar rattling along past the palm trees behind us. The birds were twittering noisily. I imagined they were filled with news that they had stored up like acorns during the impressive heat and humidity. Now that they were cooler and able to gossip, they did so nonstop.
The street lanterns were just flickering, it not being dark enough to turn themselves on full. Less humidity seemed to free the scent of camellias and of the banana and magnolia trees that grew along and be-hind the pike
