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“Oh, yeah.” He nods. “You’re going to love this, but I know if I’m with you, you’ll want to make sure I’m having a good time. You can’t help that part of you, and I want you to experience this without having to take care of me. That’s all it is. I swear.”

The accuracy of his observation hits me. He sees right through me, through all of my bullshit. Maybe instead of running away from that intimacy I should start running toward it.

He opens the car door and turns back to me. “Oh, and I have a chocolate and cocoa butter body wrap appointment back at the hotel spa.” The corners of his mouth turn up. I can tell he’s glad to see how excited I am. He gets in the car and I watch him disappear around the corner.

I turn back to the building and enter the museum through the tall arched passageway. I know exactly where I want to start. I take out my notebook from my bag and clutch it in my hand. I follow the signs to the exhibit, and when I enter the first room I stop cold in my tracks.

An original medieval manuscript sits in a rectangular vitrine. A spotlight shines on the worn yellow pages. I take a small step closer so I can examine the detail. I study the lines of the anatomical drawing and count the number of lobes in the liver. Five. I search for other errors and find the jawbone divided into two parts when there is only one.

For centuries Galen’s drawings were considered the authority for Western medicine. But he based his research on animals since the Roman Empire considered human dissection taboo. A pig’s liver has five lobes but a human’s liver only has four. The drawing is exquisitely done, carefully rendered and completely wrong.

I look up from the manuscript and turn to see images I recognize from various textbooks over the years mounted on the walls. But they aren’t reproductions. They are the actual woodcuts from centuries ago that created the modern understanding of the body that I study every day. During the Renaissance Andreas Vesalius wroteDe Humani Corporis Fabrica Libri Septembased on human cadavers and was able to correct the misinformation based on pigs, dogs and chimps that had been considered truth for centuries. There is an entire wall of images based on Vesalius with organs, skeletal outlines and circulatory systems on display.

I grab my notebook out of my bag and try to identify the areas of each image that I know and take note of the ones that need more studying. The exhibit displays dozens of images and each one contains an entire universe of new understanding and deeper knowledge. Correction after correction.

I sit down on a padded bench to massage the muscle between my thumb and index finger that’s sore from gripping my pen too tightly. I’ve lost track of time but my hand is telling me I need a break, so I sink into the seat.

From where I’m sitting the two sides of the exhibit are in view. One area contains drawings from the ancient world to the beginning of the fifteenth century based on Galen’s work. The other side displays Vesalius’ influence with accurate exactness. The ancient world’s elegant mistakes and the Renaissance’s careful corrections. Centuries of assumed truth, revised.

Medicine advances because someone is always willing to look again. To question what we thought we knew was true and try it a different way. To risk being wrong in the service of a greater right.

Advancements in healthcare thrill me, so why can’t I embrace changes within myself? I’ve been holding on to my ancient misconceptions about myself, about Brady, about what I think might be possible between us. Am I stuck in the dark ages, only seeing versions of myself I created a long time ago? Maybe it’s time to do what Brady is always asking, to step out of my comfort zone. Maybe what I’ve been doing needs to be revised. Less Galen, more Vesalius.

I walk out of the museum and the grey clouds that have been above us for days have suddenly given way to gentle sunshine. The poster for the exhibit I saw is mounted on the side of the building and for the first time I notice the name: “Revising Old Assumptions for New Possibilities.” Not a bad idea.

Chapter 29

Berlin

Brady

A wave of amber liquid sloshes over the rims of the three glass tankards I’m holding when I see what I know I can’t be seeing. It must be some hops-induced vision or the vibrations from the punk oom-pah band playing in the corner. It can’t be what it looks like.

The queer beer garden sprawls before me with couples in various form of closeness from animated conversation to full on making out. Stars punctuate the inky sky and a cool breeze winds its way through the weathered wooden tables, making the leaves of the chestnut trees above sway. A hand-made sign announces, “Frau Now Brown Cow Stunning and the Dirndlette’s Midnight Drag Spectacular.” The mixture of traditional and queer makes me feel a deep sense of belonging, but it’s not nearly enough to prepare me for what I see. I close my eyes hard and then reopen them, but the vision remains.

I’d left Hayes and Otto alone for five minutes to get some mustard for the pretzel we were sharing. I hoped I wouldn’t come back to find them at each other’s throats. They had been fighting over me since we landed and with our departure tomorrow, I thought one of them might challenge the other to a duel. I should be a better person and not enjoy it, but what kind of brat would I be if I didn’t get a small kick out of it? But as I get closer, I realize they aren’t arguing. They aren’t even talking. They’re laughing.

Otto throws back his head with a high-pitched laugh and Hayes’ mouth moves with some kind of exaggerated expression when I arrive at the table.

“What’s so funny?” I ask, holding a small plate with yellow glop and wanting to know if it was Otto who made Hayes laugh or the other way around.

“Hayes was just telling me the funniest story about when he was working at the garage.” I notice Otto suddenly has no problem pronouncing Hayes’ name correctly. I also notice that his hand lingers a bit longer than it should on Hayes’ hairy forearm.

I set down the three mugs of beer and the mustard. Hayes grabs his mug and downs half of it before continuing with his story. “And so, I’m covered in grease. I mean from head to toe. My coveralls are black.” Hayes has had two, maybe three beers but he’s not drunk. He’s just loose enough, I guess, to be telling this story to Otto in a way I haven’t seen before. “And then Carl comes in.” Hayes leaps up from his chair and wrinkles his face and sticks out his gut, doing an impersonation of the guy who runs the garage where he works. It’s funny but not mean-spirited, which is like Hayes, but the fact that he is doing an impersonation at all is totally unlike Hayes. What has gotten into him tonight? I look over at Otto, who is hanging on every word.

“Carl says, ‘Hayes, I don’t know what kind of doctor you think you’re going to be. You rebuilt the transmission for the wrong dang car.’”

Otto lets out a belly laugh. I laugh to be polite and also to make it look like I’m in on the joke. This is certainly not the duel over me I was expecting, and I can’t figure out if I’m relieved or disappointed.

Otto is laughing so hard he’s wiping tears from his cheeks. I look at Hayes. Is there something in his eyes that makes me think he likes the attention from Otto? Then Hayes puts his hand on Otto and I watch the two of them look at each other in a way that I don’t like. I’m jealous. That emotion is very clear in this moment. But I can’t tell if I’m jealous of the fact that Hayes is enjoying all of this attention from Otto or of the fact that Otto is getting Hayes to let down his guard and open up more. I always say that’s what I want Hayes to do. I want him to stop following the rules. I want him to be more open. Here he is doing it. I should be happy.

Hayes and Otto move on to a conversation about the German economy and something about foreign bonds which is way over my head. They both minored in Econ. I wait for a moment to jump in but their connection is so tight there isn’t much room. Then it’s Otto’s turn to make Hayes laugh and when he does, I can really feel my stomach roil. That’s my job. I put my hands to my face to see if my cheeks are as hot as I think they are.

Otto is pulling Hayes out of his shell. I remind myself again:this is what you wanted.But if this is what I wanted why am I looking around the beer garden for a reason to leave?

Maybe what I really mean is thatIwanted to be the one to help Hayes let down his guard. Maybe my desire was purely to put myself at the center of his world again. It had nothing to do with Hayes at all. That’s incredibly selfish, and I don’t like it. I cross my arms over my chest with a pout. I’m not usually scared of emotion but I don’t like the one I’m feeling right now.

I hold my arm out so they can both see me looking at my watch, hoping it will break whatever connection they have.