A Perfect Match

PERFECT MATCH

You could say it was fate; you could call it a full-blooded attraction, or you could just say what I say: we’re a perfect match.

People love to tell how they met their partner: in a pub or at a dance, or somewhere boring and not worth remembering, much less, telling. But not me, I met him when I drew blood. Sounds like I’m a vampire, but no, I’m a nurse. And he was nervous. It was the first time that Jeremy had ever given blood and I got to tease him with a long list of personal questions:

‘Have you ever had homosexual intercourse?’

‘What?’

‘Didn’t you hear me? Have you ever had…?’

‘Yeh. I mean, no! I mean yeh, I heard what you said and no, never. What d’you want to know that for?’

It’s one of the questions. We have to screen you. So that’s a “No” ?’

‘No. I mean yes, that’s a No!’

‘Not no, that’s a yes?’

‘No. That’s a NO!’

‘Got it. So some lucky lady is happy about that, I take it?’

‘Not anymore. Is that a question, too?’

I smiled at him. ‘Just me, making conversation. Now, how about tattoos? Do you have any tattoos?

‘No. Apparently, I’m boring on every front.’

‘Do you do drugs? Have you recently shared a needle…” And so on. Jeremy getting more and more hot under the collar as time went by and me warming to him bit by bit.

By the time I got him to sign the declaration and led him through to the donating ward, he was light-headed that he had passed the test. It was like, he had been judged worthy. I patted his bed and waited while he removed his jacket.

‘You’re an AB positive’ I told him as I read his results from the swab.

‘Does that mean something?’

‘Very special. You can donate plasma if you like. It’s more valuable than whole blood and easier on you’.

‘Sounds good. How does it work?’

‘We extract the blood, it is spun in the centrifugal collection chamber, the plasma is separated from the whole blood and then the blood is rerouted back into your vein. Because it takes so little from you, plasma donors can donate again in as little as two weeks. What do you think? Want to try? You look like you have nice strong veins.’ And I gave him that special smile. How could he say no?

And he didn’t. I called over the doctor who set it up and left them to it. That was the end of our first meeting, except that at the end of my shift, he was still sitting with his coffee and had just bitten into a small pie. Surprisingly at this time of day, it wasn’t dried out and a little gravy dribbled down his chin.

‘Looks like you’re enjoying that pie.’

He probably had been, but my comment caught him by surprise and he choked. I thumped him on the back.

‘You’re so lucky there was a nurse here to save your life.’ He said something, but I’m not sure what. I had just noticed how wavy his hair was and so I said, ‘Make sure you rest tonight. Do you have anyone at home?’

‘Just the dog. She takes care of me’.

‘What sort?’

‘What sort of dog or what sort of care?’ His turn to tease me.

‘What sort of dog do you have?’

He pulled out his phone and hit a few buttons. A mutt appeared in an adoring lop-sided love-me pose. He stroked the screen, another mutt shot appeared. I took the phone from him.

She’s gor-geous! What’s her name?

‘Sheila’.

‘You’re kidding me’.

‘Nope. She’s me Sheila!’ and then he laughed as if that was really funny and original.

I tapped the phone a few times. He looked concerned but sat patiently. I handed it back to him. ‘I’ve put my number in. Just in case. You might have symptoms. You might want to talk to a nurse…’

‘What sort of symptoms?’

‘Maybe heart palpitations. You can call me. I already saved your life once this afternoon.’ I turned on my heel and walked my best catwalk walk to the door, turned perfectly and looked back. He was staring at the phone. Wasted. Damn!

For three days, I checked my phone. I was really tempted to lift his phone number from the records. That’s a sacking offence but still I hovered my fingers above the keyboard, tempted. Oh, fukkit – forget him! And I almost had, except for the odd imaginary conversation, when two weeks later to the day, he walked through the door. I almost scowled at him.

‘I’m here to give blood,’ he said.

‘I take it you mean plasma?’.

‘I give it, you take it’. He smiled at me and I forgot I was pissed off at him. But when I fixed the tourniquet, I yanked it hard so that his arm brushed up against my breast. I was treated to the sight of two conflicting emotions rushing ’round his face. Ow! and Oooh!

‘We have something in common’ I said to ease the moment.

‘Dogs?’

‘Blood. I’m an AB positive, too. We’re special.”

‘So you’re a plasma donor, too?’

‘No. I can’t donate. My veins aren’t strong enough. I have a congenital heart condition. I could have a heart attack if I donated. So I do the next best thing; I work here and donate my time’.

“You have a heart condition? You? You look great!’

‘Why thank you, kind sir. It can be scary. But it’s good for one thing, I never take my life for granted. If I can do something, I do it. Like giving you my phone number. I don’t hang around anymore. I take chances. There, that should be fine. I’ll check on you later.’ I did my catwalk walk away again and this time, he watched.

The plasma donation takes about forty-five minutes. I was back in forty, ostensibly to read his charts and check the flow. In reality, I wanted to make sure it was me that discharged him.

‘Doesn’t it worry you?’ he asked.

‘What? Working here?’

‘No. Having a heart condition. Is it serious?’

‘Not yet. But it will be, it’s deteriorating rapidly. I’m on the donor list’.

‘Wow! That’s awful!’

‘Ha! I’m on the donating list, too. Just in case. I think everyone should be. Nobody ever knows what may happen. I’m one of the lucky ones’.

‘I think I’m faint from lack of blood. You’ll have to explain that ….’

‘The donating list. Look, you’re young strong and healthy – and cute. But you could walk out of here and get hit by a truck. And suddenly all that young, strong, healthy and cute is lost. But if you’re a donor, up to seven people could get a new life from the bits you aren’t using anymore. I can’t understand why everyone doesn’t do it.’

‘Well, you can’t be a donor if you’ve got a heart condition, eh?’

‘My kidneys, liver, skin and eyes are fine, thank you very much. I’m a walking, talking op-shop!’

He shook his head, reeling from a huge idea that had never entered his mind before. I leaned over him to reach for the pile of donor applications we leave around the place. My breasts just missed his face and I had his full attention again. ‘Here, have a read through this. Think about it later’.

He waved as he left and I smiled. This time I was optimistic.

Two days! It took him two days to ring me. Time has a rate of its own and each hour had stretched long over its allocated period. My message bank was worn out with me checking. You. Have. No. New. Messages! She electronically emphasised the words to discourage me from ringing back. When finally rang, he caught me by surprise.

‘Tamie speaking.’

‘Hi Tamie, umm I don’t know if you’ll remember me: Jeremy. Bloo – umm, plasma donor…?’

‘Oh, Jeremy, hi. You feeling ok?’

‘Yeh. I’m fine, it’s just, um, well, I was wondering if, um….’ I held the phone and listened, enjoying his moment of struggle and in no hurry to put him out of his misery. He’d made me wait, now it was his turn. Finally, I broke in.

‘Look Jeremy, I’m on the ward at the moment. I can’t talk. Did you want to grab a cup of coffee with me later? I know a café nearby.’

It was that easy.

When he walked in I could see that he’d made an effort. I’d arrived five minutes early and picked a corner table near the window, both public and private and with a view of the street, so I could see him approaching. He’d washed his hair, his clothes were obviously clean, but a bit rumpled, as if he wasn’t too sure about the iron. He sort of co-ordinated, which is rare in a straight man these days.

‘Hi. Good to see you. Did you order?’

‘No, I only just got here,’ I lied.

‘What can I get you?’

‘Cappuchino.’

‘Retro. You got it.’ He ordered and we had those few awkward moments waiting for the coffee to come and wondering what to say. So I started the conversation. Dogs and kids, always a safe bet, everyone has a story.

‘How long have you had your dog, Sheila? Is she a pound-puppy?’

‘Ummm, I sorta got her from my ex. I guess she left me and the dog. She took the fridge and the telly, tho.’ We both laughed as if she had made a bad bargain. He was about to talk more about the dog when the coffee arrived and we had another moment of silence while we pretended to enjoy the coffee. This time he started with another safe subject:

‘Ummm, tell me about the donation thing.’

‘The organ donation?’

‘Yep. I mean, if you’re badly injured and it’s touch and go, what if they kill you to get your parts?’ He looked at me with puppy eyes and I couldn’t mock. I had to answer him seriously.

‘You’ve been watching too many horror movies! You’re a person, not a shipwreck. You don’t get plundered. But look, if you’re scared, just go on the tissue donor list. You have to be alive to do that.’

‘I’m not scared! I’m just, y’know, cautious. God! You’re really passionate about this, aren’t you?’

‘I guess you could say I have a vested interest, now. I used to ski. I loved aqualung. I loved dancing. Three ordinary, wonderful things and I can’t do any of them any more for no fault of my own. It’s not like I took drugs, or anything. I just got sick and now I spend Saturday nights checking my face-book status to see if anyone wants to ‘friend’ me.’

‘Well, Saturday I thought I might go to the pictures. If you can cope with a couple of hours sitting in the dark, you could come with me …?’

‘Let me see…. If I clear through my ‘friend’ requests early, I could be free. Where did you have in mind?’ The waitress cleared the cups, we chatted more comfortably and left after another fifteen minutes and two more interruptions enquiring if we wanted anything else because the waitress clearly wanted the table.

This time, Jeremy turned up first. Or at least he thinks he did. I was parked up across the road, watching him pace and strain to see if I was coming. I suddenly realised I’d made a mistake and he’d see me getting out of the car. Damn! I slithered over to the passenger side and crouched down. When a truck passed, I slipped out and made for the corner. By the time he saw me, it looked as if I’d just arrived.

‘Hi, I’m not late, am I? What are we seeing?’

‘Yes you’re late. Never known a woman who wasn’t. We can see anything you like – there’s ten to choose from.’

We saw some shit-awful thing about monsters from outer space. The plot had galaxy sized holes in it and the greatest acting talent from any of the cast was undoubtedly keeping a straight face while delivering their lines to a blue screen monster.

‘I’m exhausted. All that extra terrestrial stuff has worn me out.’ I took his arm as we came down the steps. ‘Do you want to go for a drink?’

What bloke doesn’t? He took me to a bar where the noise level was just low enough to allow us to talk without too many ‘pardons’.

‘So, do you like science fiction?’ he asked.

‘Pardon?’

‘I said, do you like science fiction?’

‘I didn’t have much choice’ I laughed. ‘My dad’s a Trekkie. I grew up with the stuff. Star Wars, Star Trek, Babylon 5, Deep Space 9, July 4th. How come they all have numbers? Alien 1,2,3 & 4, maybe 5?’

‘I’ll tell you a secret. I love the sorta fiction where they dress up. I like it when it takes me away from the mundane. I hate Masterchef, and the Block and Big Brother and all those things where they just take everyday stuff and make it more difficult.’

‘Really? That’s a shame because I have a really great idea to pitch to the networks that I’d hoped would be a sure-fire hit series: “Australian Celebrities Have Got Talent Dancing in the Kitchen whilst Cooking and Renovating.” Couldn’t miss! Now I’m devastated. You wouldn’t watch it.’

‘Can you get them to dress up as Aliens?’

‘It’s an angle. I’ll consider it. So tell me Jeremy. I know this is only a first date, but tell me, do you like dressing up? Role play? Is there anything I should know? Is there a Captain America suit in the back of your wardrobe?’

‘If there was, would you like it? If I got you a Princess Leia costume, would you wear it?’

I laughed. ‘Y’know it suddenly considers to me that I’ve had more wines than was a good idea to answer that question. I’m going to get going. There’s a cab outside with my name on it.’

‘Your name is really Taxi? Not Tamie? Ok, ok. I’ll walk you out and get you a cab.’ The cold air hit us and naturally he put his arm around me. I turned in to him and he kissed me. Ohhh, that was nice. He kept on kissing me and finally we both knew that it was stop now, or don’t stop. He pulled away and propelled me to the taxi rank, opened the door and practically shoved me in. ‘I’ll call you,’ he gargled. His tongue wasn’t working properly anymore. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow.’

He turned away and I took the taxi home. I left my car where it was. I wasn’t dumb enough to risk donating my organs any earlier than necessary.

Time changed pace again. It went from really slow to really galloping. I can’t believe we’ve been seeing each other for six weeks now. Even though he comes in every fortnight to donate the plasma, no one at work knows about Jeremy and I. They think he’s marvellous. He’s on the organ donor register and he’s on the bone-marrow register. I was there the day they did the tissue typing. I know it hurt, but he didn’t say a word about us and I haven’t either. I’m not sure but I suspect it’s a disciplinary offence to date the donors. Surprising! You’d think it would be a bonus. Give a pint, get a bonk. He hasn’t told his friends about us, either. He’s still sniffling over Marissa. This time, he says, he wants to take things slowly. We haven’t moved in. We haven’t gone on couples’ dates. There’s been lots of ordinary sex and more movies than I thought they’d even made. I mean, how much celluloid is there in the world? We’ve sat through most of it.

‘You’re getting tired of me, aren’t you?’ he stated, his head propped up on his elbow. He glowered down at me. I didn’t move. I knew my hair was spread out over the pillow and just catching enough light to make me glow like a girl in a Pantene ad. I smiled and touched his face.

‘You want to know what I think? I think you think too much.’

‘You think I’m boring.’ He challenged me to deny it but the truth was: I wasn’t up to the challenge. So I changed the subject.

‘Maybe we don’t communicate enough. Yeh, don’t look at me like that! Humour me. Let’s play a game. Here’s a pad. Here’s a pen. You can’t talk to me for the rest of the day. If you want to say something, you have to write it down. The first one to give up, gives the other anything they want!’

‘Anything?!’

‘Ok. Alright. I’m going to make one exception to that rule. Anything but one! We have the right to refuse one request, only. Ok? Here’s a pad. Here’s a pen. You want it, put it in writing.’ The next fifteen minutes passed happily enough as we struggled with the spelling of several words we’d never written before. All of them rude. Then he said:

‘I’m making coffee. D’you want one?’

‘Hrrrrgh!’ I scribbled at him quickly. You have to write it down!

‘Yeh, right. I’m making coffee. Is that a Yes?

I wrote yes and handed it to him. He smiled like he’d won and flounced out of bed.

I came down a few minutes later and handed him a note: thank you.

‘Oh for God’s sake. Now you’re just being childish.’

I handed him another pre-written note: Do you give up?

‘Yes. I give up. I don’t want to play your stupid childish moronic game again!’

I handed him another pre-written note: So I win. I can have anything I want from you.

“Fuck, if that’s what you want. What do you want?”

This time I wrote it down. I want you to love me. I want your heart… The note got a bit smudged because by now I was crying. I let him hold me and comfort me. His thumb rubbed away my tears and I handed him my last pre-written note: write it down: I lose. I don’t want to do this anymore. Jeremy.

He looked at the note and looked at me. I handed him a pad and paper. He wrote: I lose. I don’t want to do this anymore. Jeremy. I put the note on the table and turned and kissed him. ‘You mean the world to me, Jeremy. You are so precious. I need you. I want you.’ I wrapped myself around him and whispered in his ear, ‘Now you have to do what I want. Are you ready? Then come back to bed.’

Afterwards, he fell into a really deep sleep. I was exhausted myself, but I needed him, I had to keep moving. I kissed him and nudged him until he turned over and spread across the bed. Then I quietly slipped the end of a silk scarf around his wrist. The other end I tied to the bedpost. As quickly as I could, I tied up both his arms and legs while my heart beat so loudly, I felt it could fail right here and now and ruin everything. I checked the bonds. Jeremy was not the strongest man I’d ever met, but he could probably fight hard when he found himself tied. I wasn’t going to have much time. I went to fetch my bag. I wasn’t gone long but when I came back, he’d woken.

‘Hi honey, s’this some new game?’ his bound hand waved at me. ‘Only I’m not really into this stuff.’

‘I won, remember. You have to do anything I want. Will you give me your heart?’

‘You want me to love you?’ he smiled and waved both hands at me. ‘You gonna keep me tied up 'til I do?’

‘No sweetie. I want you to give me your heart.’ I pulled a gun out of my bag and pointed it at him. It could have gone either way. He could have freaked out and maybe broken the bonds. He lay still. ‘That’s not funny. Put that away and come back to bed.’

‘Do you love me?’

‘Yes, I love you. Now put that away and come back to bed.’

‘If you really loved me, you’d give me your heart. Wouldn’t you?

‘I, I do. Whatever you want. Now will you goddammit untie me!’ I placed his note beside the bed: I lose. I don’t want to do this anymore. Jeremy. His eyes widened as he noticed I was wearing latex gloves. Now he started to struggle! ‘Untie me, dammit. This isn’t funny, anymore!”

I got up really close. He was sweating. His eyes were wild with panic as he looked at me; like a rabbit in headlights. I could see his heart racing in a vein across his temple. I stroked the barrel of the gun against it. ‘Jeremy, I will always love you. We’ll be together forever. We will be one. I saw the results of the tissue-typing. Good news, Jeremy. You’re my perfect match.

And I pulled the trigger.