“I don’t want to get to one of these clichés, where ‘these motherfuckers are gonna pay,’” Shields says. “’Cause I think there are honest mistakes, but the medical profession can’t afford to be making these kind of mistakes.”
Despite his grief and the fact that he still cannot bring himself to take Lisa’s outgoing message off the voice mail, Shields says he believes “everything that goes on in your life is not all bad or all good. I am not a depressed person. My attitude toward life is that life is the reward. You will never get a better gift than life. It is your job to live it well.”
Lisa, he believes, was his fate, and was helping him to get in touch with himself and his own issues.
“I am kind of a loner. I grew up going to the movies and living a solitary life. I live in my head. I always felt like there were two me’s — me from here up, and me from here down.” He gestures from his neck up and then from his neck down.
“I mean, the one time I felt okay was when we could just lie down and I could hold her in my arms. I always knew there was someone out there for me, and when I met Lisa, I knew she was that someone. And now, with her death, I think, ‘Okay, that part of my life is complete. There will never be anyone [who] will come close to being able to fulfill that feeling.’”
Shields looks to the floor. The day’s light is fading and the room lamps have yet to be turned on. The room is shadowy.