The bartender came over and my slow-motion drinking in of this boy’s features came to an abrupt halt.
“I’ll get a Goose Island, and this guy’ll have-” he turned to me. Yeah. Was he trying to kill me? Christ, he was so attractive, and annoyingly sure of himself, but also so genuine…
“-the same.” It was all I could do. I didn’t care if it was a peanut butter chocolate mint porter that Goose was offering; I couldn’t think of a beer at that point to save my life. The bartender grabbed a couple glasses from the freezer and went to work.
I looked over at the boy currently trying to buy me a beer. He was fumbling with his wallet and his long blond eyelashes revealed themselves as he looked downward. There was a scattering of freckles across his cheekbones and his nose, which was adorable. I tried to interrupt, “You don’t have to get me a beer, that’s really-”
“It’s nothin!” he clipped, putting down cash. I decided not to argue. I was catching up now, and actually knew what to do when he reached out his hand toward me. “Chance Ruhlig,” he introduced himself.
“That’s…”
“Teutonic, I know. But it’s what I have to work with.”
I shook his hand. “I was going to say ‘impressive,’ but I absolutely approve of the use of the word ‘Teutonic’ in any sentence where it fits. Jon Mendez.” Caught up, trying to pull ahead.
“Nice, nice,” he said, as he flashed that smile again. The bartender brought us our beers, and I was grateful to have any reason to look away. I picked mine up.
“Cheers,” he said, holding up his pint as I stopped lifting mine to my mouth. For the love of God, that smile and manners too? I clinked his glass and thanked him, wanting desperately to say if you weren’t so fucking cute I might look less like a goddamn idiot drowning over here.
But dammit, Jim, I’m an attending physician, not an idiot, good old ‘Bones’ might say on Star Trek, and I decided to leverage that, if only to catch a few breaths above the surface for now.
“So, Chance, how is intern year going?” It was a cheap shot, and I watched his crest fall. Way to go, Mendez, bringing up work when the kid’s having fun.
“It’s…y’know…it’s going. It’s-”
“-hard as shit,” I offered. His eyes bulged for a second and he might have blanched, but he caught himself quickly and cleared his throat.
“Yeah, well. I’m getting by.” He looked up at me with his blue eyes like a small Disney animal.
A hand appeared and patted his shoulder. “Getting by is sometimes the best we can do. Don’t stay out too late now,” Erica was standing between us. He blanched this time – ran completely pale, in fact. “Goodnight Jonathan, don’t sabotage my team, we’re on late call tomorrow!” She waved over her shoulder as she left the bar. I glanced back at Chance, who looked frozen.
I watched for a few seconds to make sure Erica was out of earshot, and said, “You can breathe now, Chance.” Some of the color came back to his face and of course that smile. “It gets better.” I used a line I often borrowed from my own past, to help students have some hope.
“You sure about that Dr. M? ‘Cuz…”
“Because no answer is ever correct enough? I love her to death but Jesus.”
Chance’s jaw hit the bar in a wide-open version of his smile, and he maybe sat up a little taller. “I thought it was me.”
“Listen,” I said, in full advice-giver mode now, “you didn’t get here by accident. You went through the same intense training as everyone else and got into a top residency program. You can’t take it personally when someone’s leaning into you. Just trust that when you don’t have the answer, you know how to find it.”
I might have laid it on a little thick, or perhaps it was the beer, or maybe it was really what he needed to hear, but Chance bit his lip slightly and his eyes started to shine. He turned away and I heard him clear his throat a little. I looked down and gave him a second, and when I looked back he was composed.
“That’s…really nice to hear. Thank you, Dr. Mendez.”
I shrugged. “You bought me a beer, least I could do.”
Jane and Catherine came over to thank me for the beer, and then left. Chance and I talked some more, and he started to share things about himself; he and his family were from Atlanta, this was the farthest he had lived from home, he was going to propose to his girlfriend who was also a resident at another hospital in town. He passed the ball and asked me, “How about you?” I didn’t generally share a lot of personal information with colleagues, and I certainly didn’t with students. Maybe it was the beer, or the fact that this kid was so disarmingly genuine, but I barely gave a second thought to his question before I started answering.
“Well, I’m from the Midwest which is why people tell me I’m so nice; my family live mostly in Indiana, and I was engaged, but not any longer.” I couldn’t believe what he just dragged out of my mouth. What was I doing, trying to caution him, jaded-and-older, about his pending proposal? It was probably time to get going.
He had turned slightly away. “Yeah, same again,” he was aiming his deadly smile at the bartender, who reached into the freezer for another couple frozen glasses. Cash had already sneakily appeared. I was both shocked that he was buying us yet more beer, and hopeful that he had perhaps missed my last comment in his hunt for the bartender.
“Whoa, I’m sorry to hear that Dr. M. You doin’ okay?” The sincerity in his eyes told me not only that he was an exemplary listener and communicator, but that he was one of those precious young people who went into medicine because he actually cared for people. It also made my breath catch.
“Oh, I’m…I’m good, honestly! I don’t know why I told you that. It’s really for the best, you know, better to find out now you shouldn’t be married than…” He was eating up every word and had made a sizable dent in his new beer. I was typically a faster drinker than most, but Chance was keeping me talking. “God, I’m sorry,” I looked down at my beer, “here you are excited to propose to your girlfriend and I’m being Debbie Downer.”
“Well, she sure missed out on a good guy,” he offered.
“He will probably find another, so will I,” I returned, with a wink. His eyes widened and he almost spat out his beer. I should have given him a second.
“I’m so sorry, I-”
“It’s okay,” I smiled, elbowing him in the shoulder, “you’d only be right 90, 95 percent of the time.” The look on his face told me he was being too hard on himself; he got enough correction during his workday as it was. “And you’re giving me a very nice compliment without knowing that I’m really an asshole.”
With that he did actually cough on his beer, and then let out a laugh that was the most boyish, raspy-from-talking-too-loudly, genuine laugh I’d heard in a while. It sounded as gorgeous as he looked while making it.
We talked a little more about work, and what his schedule looked like for the rest of the year. I had mixed feelings finding out he wouldn’t be rotating on my service at all, and would actually spend most of his time at one of our other hospitals. I thought it would be nice to provide a learning environment for him that was more supportive, but also didn’t need to have to stare at him in close proximity on a regular basis while trying to think.