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Robby’s grandmother died when he was in residency.
He was in New Orleans and got a call, he took the next red eye flight to Pittsburgh after his shift. When he arrived, the staff in the nursing home told him that she died peacefully in her sleep. She wasn’t fussy at all the night before, she did her usual routine and she fell asleep at her specified bedtime.
She left her lighter. It was even older than him but it was something precious to his grandmother that it still looked new.
He remembered it clearly. He was a kid where he would play in her backyard with whatever he found interesting that day. It was endearing to her that he changed interests on a daily basis and she could still keep up despite her age. Sometimes she would play with him as he got into soccer, sometimes she would inquire about his knowledge on bugs and wildlife, sometimes she would happily indulge in his interest in cooking and baking.
But when she wasn’t doing all of that, she was smoking.
Robby, an emergency medicine resident, knew the moment he understood how many pack years she had, she was going to die sooner than later. She was ready for it, he was ready for it—Robby was ready and he only needed to do funeral arrangements before he could go back to New Orleans.
When she was buried and Robby had to fixed all his grandmother’s belongings before going back to New Orleans, he found out that she had left him a letter—a letter deep inside her bedside table that Robby knew was her ‘secret’ stash of cigarettes. He remembers his grandmother placing small bars of chocolate or candy beside it for him. It was their own secret even if there was no one else in the house.
Robby has been handling the entire ordeal with a stoic face. She had no one, they were the only ones that had each other. Robby thinks to himself that maybe since he had foreseen this event already, his mind, body and soul have already prepared for it thus he wasn’t drowning in his own tears. Robby sighs as he opens the letter, seated in his grandmother’s bed and reads it with a quiet sip of his whiskey, still wearing the suit he wore at her burial that morning.
Mishka,
If you’re reading this, it seems like you’re all on your own. I have left you my lighter, the one thing that means more to me than the house you grew up in and the sentimental memories of my life with you. This lighter was the only thing that I had that was still alive from when I ran away from Russia. I bought it with my first paycheck, a celebration of my new life yet I bought the very thing that will ruin my health in the coming years.
Let this lighter be a reminder to you. The courage I had when I left with nothing on my back and the grace of a gentle flame that has been my only companion when I didn’t have anyone but my own mistakes. Don’t make the same mistakes as I did. Live long, be the doctor you want to be, help other people when no one would, and live your life with someone who loves you the same way I took care of that lighter in the past few years but don’t destroy them back. Love them back, be warm to them, be gentle, and be a force of nature.
Do it, with courage and grace.
I love you dearly.
Evelina Robinavitch
Robby handled this entire ordeal with a whiskey in his hand but tonight, he stepped out on the porch and sat down on his grandmother’s side of the couch. He lit up a cigarette and nursed his whiskey in the cold, even the smoke didn't warm his body, even his soul betrayed his thoughts as tears ran down his face and grew cold from the wind.
🕯️
Robby eventually went back to New Orleans after a month.
The first thing he did was to schedule an appointment with a local tattoo artist.
He left the appointment with nothing but sorrow but determination replaced it when he caught a glimpse of his chest on the mirror to see the work, still red, fresh from the torture of the needle digging his chest.
And, ‘do it with courage and grace’ was made in his own handwriting. Claiming his grandmother’s words as his own.
That night, he smoked another cigarette. He’d handle the world with the promise of his grandmother but he can’t move forward without the pseudo-warmth of a lit up cigarette.
🕯️
Years passed and Robby can no longer cling to the warm of the lighter and the memory of the words engraved in his chest. Over the years, he had given up trimming his chest hair and letting it cover the very words his grandmother left. He didn’t feel anything at all—he felt something like sadness when he knew he didn’t feel anything at all.
Years passed and courage and grace were replaced with fear and cruelty—similar to his heart that instead of being soft and gentle, became harsh and still over the years. The pandemic, Adamson dying, the harsh new reality post-pandemic. It was too much for Robby’s shoulders to carry, and too much for Robby’s heart to feel.
Maybe it was to be expected. Growing old with no love, no children, still in the same place that he used to dream of and now dread will do that to him. He felt stagnant, like nothing was worth going into with courage and grace. Like a sword, through many battles, will always become jaded. Robby can never polish it regardless, nor can he accept that he can be replaced just like an old sword.
It was like he was doomed the moment his grandmother picked up the lighter and left the comfort of her own home.
“Dr. Robby?” Robby turned to his student who gave him a sweet smile. “I need a second opinion for South 15. I have some ideas but I’m quite not sure.”
Robby smiled, “You need to be sure, Whitaker.” He teased a bit but placed his hands on Dennis’ shoulder as he took the tablet off the student’s hands. “You need to be more confident, you’re good and smart. We all can benefit from that.” He says as he reviews the laboratory results reflected on the tablet.
Dennis nervously chuckles, “Sorry.” He said but froze, “Not sorry, I mean—you did tell me to…not say sorry so much and I’m working on it! But, I,” Dennis nervously smiles but Robby chuckles. This kid was so endearing and it filled Robby’s soul with warmth, something that his cigarettes can never do no matter how many times he tried to.
”It was a joke, Dennis.” Robby smiled and nodded. “Yeah, the results don’t make sense. I’ll come with you and let’s find out together shall we?” Robby offers. Dennis gives him a nod and they both walk towards the patient.
🕯️
”Need a light?”
Dennis looks up and sees Robby with a smile on his face. Dennis laughs nervously and nods. “Sorry, I think Trin got my lighter.” Dennis explained and Robby pulled out the metal lighter in his pocket.
Robby lights Dennis’ cigarette who sighed in relief as the warm and bitter air fills his lungs. “Rough day?” Robby tries to make small talk and this makes Dennis laugh out loud.
”I think you out of all people should know that I had a rough day.” Dennis says in between laughs. “But you know, everyday in the Pitt is a rough day and you just have to be courageous enough to come back the next day. Luckily enough for me, that’s instilled in my bones now.” Dennis nonchalantly says and takes in another puff.
Robby looks at the metal lighter and thumbs at the tiny speck of rust already forming. He frowns, he can’t even take care of the one thing his grandmother has left him and has destroyed the very body that was cared for by his grandmother for years even if her back killed her and her knees gave into the soil of her own garden of faults.
“Do you think you’ll be courageous enough when you’re at my age?” Robby says and leans against the concrete wall. Dennis hums and smiles.
“You know,” He starts and shrugs. “Yeah. I mean, you’re coming back every single day even if it kills you, right? It’s like having a gun to your head and you still move because that’s what you’re supposed to do. That’s some courage you have there so yes, I do.” Dennis sincerely says and Robby wants to melt.
Robby feels warm. Like the grace of God had fallen into his soul in the form of one Dennis Whitaker where his smile lit up the room and how his eyes reflected the soothing morning sky that Robby had longed to be under but can never witness—replaced by the harsh fluorescent lights of the emergency room until the dark welcomed him when he was finally let out of prison. His curls were a force of nature, already growing quickly from the short cut bangs from his first shift and the more sweat Dennis came to be throughout the shift, the more stubborn it was to calm them down.
“Courage and me, such a foreign world.” Robby says, still keeping his hands inside the pockets of his hoodie. “Care to show how courageous you must be? I might need to take down some notes” Robby wanted to make a joke out of it. Dennis was courageous, a force of fucking nature to the point where he was better as a student than Robby was at his time.
Dennis was always going to be one step ahead even if he was still a student awaiting for his graduation. It seemed like Robby would gladly let the student take the lead—especially when he felt the damning press of lips from his student to his.
Is he now courageous when he kisses back?
🕯️
A smooth yet gentle run of blunt fingertips against his chest makes Robby shiver.
Post-coital activities for the now, intern, and the chief attending involved a shower with a hint of making out and a cuddle while they smoked inside Robby’s room. It was something Robby did, his room smelled of the rough tones of his Marlboro Reds—now carried the minty taste in his mouth from the amount of times Dennis felt courageous enough to press his lips against his own.
”Why did you get that tattoo on your chest?” Dennis asks, using a plastic vape in his hands. Dennis’ fingers brush through the chest hair that covers the tattoo that does not envision Robby in the slightest as much as he hates that to be. “‘Do it with courage and grace?’ How poetic, Dr. Robinavitch.” Dennis muses.
Robby laughs, “My grandmother wrote it in a letter when she died. It felt like a badge of honor for her.” Robby said, inhaling another bitter breath and letting it out—then leaning on the intern to steal a kiss from him, strawberry notes that cut through the bitter life of Robby. “I don’t even know if I’m still living life according to those words.”
Dennis hums, “Grace is such a big word for someone working in the chaos of the emergency department, huh?” Dennis thinks out loud and leans his head onto Robby’s chest, humming in satisfaction when he subtly hears the rapid heartbeat of his boyfriend.
“That is true.” Robby answers back and continues to smoke. “I don’t think I’m graceful at this age. My back and hips get sore and painful at random actions of the day, my feet aren’t necessarily light, my weight and height aren’t exactly graceful material.” Robby jokes which makes Dennis laugh.
“Well, that’s because you’re not a ballerina.” Dennis rolls his eyes and turns, so that his bright blue eyes that Robby longs to be pined under is melting the rough and tired brown eyes of his—brown that unconscious to him, seem to turn into a lighter tone when in contact with the sky he sees. “We have this thing in mass, ‘The grace of the Lord be with you all’ and we’d respond with ‘and with your spirit.’ It means that the good of the Lord is spread in mind, body and soul to those of his children. I do think that you, our captain, give us good, unite us and help us in the midst of our suffering.” Dennis says and Robby extinguishes the fire of the cigarette in the ashtray on his bedside table.
Robby looks at Dennis who holds eye contact with him and gives him that perfect grin—that smile that never fails to give him the grace of a life worth living.
“I love you.” Robby mutters softly, the grace of Dennis fully embodies his soul that those three words can only be enough to tell him ‘thank you.’
Dennis closes his eyes shut and snuggles against his chest, giving a light kiss on the very tattoo on his chest before muttering, ‘I love you too.’
🕯️
Robby was in a mood.
It was like Pittfest shift all over again where he gets snappy to everyone around him and it’s starting to affect the morale of the department.
It has been going on for 3 days already and Dennis has had enough.
“Robby?” Dennis sternly calls out as he steps inside the dark apartment of his boyfriend. “Where are you?”
Dennis can hear faint sobbing and he follows the sound to find Robby crouching down in the balcony with something in his hands and the smell of Marlboro cigarettes mixing quickly with the cold air of the night—producing a faint yet pungent smell that becomes all too comforting for the both of them.
“Hey, hey. Calm down, tell me what’s wrong, honey.” Dennis whispers against the cold of the night, his anger that was boiling has now simmered then turned to nothing. Dennis’ voice brings a comfort and grace to Robby’s body and soul, something that even layers of thick clothing in the coldest winter can never provide.
Robby sniffles, tears running down his face, brown eyes now filled with despair and Dennis wipes them with his own handkerchief. Robby smells a faint scent of his fabric softener and sweet chocolate as he uses it to wipe his face. “I don’t know how to fix this,” Robby mumbled, soft yet cold. Like the cold he’s feeling from the night and the shivers in his body as realization accumulated over the past few hours that the one thing he keeps safe as a memory from his grandmother, is broken.
Robby has tried to keep himself safe for his grandmother but ultimately fails when he inks his chest with her own words yet his own intentions but fail to meet their expectations and wishes from the grave—failed the moment he smoked the first cigarette using her lighter and never stopping, failed the moment he let the nature growth of his hair to cover the tattoo as if he was doomed by fate to never accomplish even the most basic thing his grandmother would have wanted, failed the moment he drowns himself in guilt yet continues anyway.
Dennis looks at the broken lighter in the attending’s hands. A screw loose, out of fuel and rusts in corners where Robby would thumb over when he’s anxious. He nods and smiles at the attending.
“I’ll fix it for you, Michael.”
Simple words sound like a promise, the very first promise that Robby hopes he can fulfill with the grace that is of Dennis Whitaker.
“How?” Robby asks, whimpering even. Like when he was a child and he’d whimper in his grandmother’s arms as he cried his eyes out while she soothed him with a lullaby. “Can it be fixed?”
“Of course, sweetie. A little cleaning, tightening of the screws and filling up the fuel will help this one in no time.” Dennis encourages the attending.
He knew of the history of the lighter. Hell, he even read the letter Robby’s grandmother left him and even visited her grave for the first time just a few months ago. Dennis smiles and crouches down beside Robby who sits down on the cold floor beside the potted plants they decided to do as a hobby together.
“Yes. Give it by the end of the week and we can have this brand new, okay?” Dennis softly says and kisses Robby on the cheek, smiling as the beard tickles his skin. “Honey, come on. I’ll tighten up the screw and have some fixing on the rusts. We can buy some fuel for it by the weekend, okay?”
Robby looks at him and nods, letting his head fall onto Dennis’ shoulders who becomes a warmth against the cold Pittsburgh air that is nothing compared to his hoodies. His fragile bones seem to kneel against all of the threats that have come his way but Dennis seems like the needed support to help him up—to fix him.
🕯️
By the end of the week, the lighter is as good as new.
Robby thanks his grandmother and his stars that Dennis Whitaker has come to his life and loved him as if he was new, made him new. He was still the brittle old man who crumbled in the dark yet Dennis was the saving grace—the morning sky that reminded Robby that it was another day to be courageous and provide grace to the people around him.
The lighter has been cared for meticulously by both men and ensured a routine, a new one, breaks into their bubble and has made them new, every day was an experience for the both of them. One after another, there was something new, something to look forward to.
And to Robby? There was something new to look forward to today. The sun is shining, the sky is clear, his heart is calm, his bones are strong.
And his hands are steady, as he places a quaint little box in his pocket, containing a ring that has been meticulously planned out with an engraved phrase of, “Dennis, I did do it for you.” — mirroring the wishes of his grandmother laid against his calm heart.