In which we learn about dark clouds, their ever-present silver linings, and to say, “Oh, Chicken” a lot.
I’ve done some really stupid things in the 25 years I’ve been on this Earth. I’ve overcome some seemingly insurmountable obstacles, and been through a ridiculous amount of pain. I’ve seen things nobody should see, and let’s not get into the things I’ve put into my mouth. But very rarely do I get as nervous as I am tonight; over something as simple as a blind date.
His name is Willie and I met him through one of those Brooklyn chats on AOHell. He seems like a really nice guy. He’s fun and sweet and is a bit of a geek like me. He doesn’t live terribly far away from where I grew up; which is funny. We talk about the lamest things, and have a blast. He’s two years younger than me, and still lives with his mother. He tells me he’s horny all the time, and I flirt with him a lot, saying I’ll be right over, which usually gets a hearty laugh out of him. I didn’t take any of it seriously, so when he asked me to meet him, I almost said no; but then I thought of what might happen after the date if he’s really as horny as he says. My cock leapt to attention, I looked down at my lap and said, “Yes, Master.”
Seriously though, I really don’t know what possessed me; I’ve never met anyone through the internet before. It’s just been so long since I’ve had a decent lay that I’m beginning to give second glances to my household appliances. It’s been several months since I’ve seen Marlo, he never did come back for his wifebeater. Probably because I washed it and now that it’s white again, he doesn’t want it. Though more likely, he talked to his damn priest, and was disgusted by what we’d done. The last person I slept with was this Polish girl at a Karaoke bar on my sister’s birthday. This girl and I were both so drunk and horny, we went downstairs and rutted like animals together in the supply closet. I don’t even remember her name, but that was in December. It’s now early March, and I get a chubby with a good gust of wind.
Our date is in forty-five minutes, and I can hardly wait. We’re meeting at a local diner that we’ve both been to before, so there’s no confusion. I’d spent nearly an hour going through my clothes like a chick. Should I be casual? Sporty? Clean-cut? James Bond... with a ponytail? I’ve got no inclination as to what Willie looks for in a man, so I finally decide to go with being myself, only neater. Khakis, boots and a button-down shirt. I’m clean-shaven but for a small goatee and I let my hair out for effect. I even splash on some nice cologne, which I only do on special occasions. I get some sarcastic catcalls when I leave my building from all the lowlife thugs grouped outside. They know me as the crazy white boy on the first floor with the fire axe. I like that reputation, because nobody really messes with me. In fact, some of them genuinely like me; and they’re so used to seeing me dressed in ripped jeans, thick dog chain and a giant hoodie that they feel compelled to give me shit. I just laugh and wave them away. Before I turn the corner, I’m approached by one of the tenants who attempts to sell me a copy of the special magnetic key needed to get into our building. I tell her I live there, and what she’s doing is really fucked up. She shrugs and walks away from me. I’m convinced she’s supporting some sort of drug habit to be this retarded and desperate.
I make my way to the diner and there’s a tubby kid with stained, tattered jeans and a Thor t-shirt on under a wool jacket. His hair is a wild wreath of light brown curls. He’s too busy playing his gameboy to notice me walking into the waiting area. Oh dear, gods, PLEASE let this not be Willie. Unfortunately, we’re the only two shmucks sitting in here, and eventually, he does look up at me. His face isn’t all that bad. I mean, in a certain way, he’s kinda cute. Our eyes meet and he squints at me through wire-rimmed glasses. “Hey, is your name Doug?”
Suddenly, this wave of anxiety washes over me. Every nerve in my body tells me to say no and walk out; but I remember what a nice, sweet guy he was online, and I figure at least maybe I’d get some good conversation out of him. At best, he’s some closet queer that’s so desperate to lose his virginity that he’d suck me off in the men’s room. Plus, if I left, I’d be disgustingly superficial, and go home and feel really, really bad. “Yeah, you’re Willie?” I force a smirk and wave to him.
His face brightens and I decide that he’s more than a little cute. “Oh, hey. Nice to meet you.” He grabs his bookbag and starts to get up, motioning me to follow. “C’mon, let’s go eat.”
We go in through the glass doors into the dining area. “Two please.” I tell the hostess. We’re seated and he immediately picks up his menu. I stare at him for a moment and think of all the other things I could be doing right now; most of which involved my cock in my hand and internet porn. “So...Willie,” I awkwardly break the ice. “I see you like Thor.”
He nods, finally taking his eyes off the menu. “Yeah, he’s a god. That’s fucking cool.”
“Yeah, I know, I’m a big comic nut. So uh, what do you like to do besides read comics?” It’s a question I’ll live to regret.
“Oh, I like to collect miniatures. And go shoe shopping with my mom. And play Magic. I love collecting Magic cards. Do you like Magic?”
Ugh, dear gods. “I was into it for about five minutes; then decided it was too much money to keep up with all the different sets they were spewing out.”
“Oh, I love Magic. I brought some of my cards to show you.” He picks up the heavy-looking backpack and begins opening it. I catch a brief glimpse of a giant binder inside.
“Nonono, Willie, it’s okay, I really don’t want to--”
“These are mostly from the Portal series...” He explains, cutting me off. He goes on to slap the giant tomb onto the table, dropping his fork on the floor. Despite my protests, he goes over every one of these fucking cards with me, including his tons of mana; like anyone cares. I can understand going on about something you know due to nervousness, but this is beyond belief.
In between all this, we order. In fact, when it’s my turn to order, he speaks over me to tell me about one of his Serra Angels. I try many times to change the subject to no avail. When the waitress comes back with our food, she gives me a smirk, as if to say, “sucks to be you”. Willie had ordered a twin burger deluxe with cheese fries and potato salad, and eats every last bite with the fork he’d dropped onto the floor. I watch him eat in astonishment, glad at least, for the silence. But every once in a while between bites, he prattles on about some trade he made to get a certain card.
I think about excusing myself to the bathroom and leaving him with the bill. I also think that maybe if I could steer the conversation to something more arousing, I might get laid tonight, and this whole ordeal could’ve been worth it. This awful image sneaks into my mind of him still praddling on about Magic cards while I fuck him, and I shake it off. He asked me to meet him here for a reason, and I doubt it was merely to show me his retarded card collection. “Willie, can I ask you something?” I cut him off nice and loud, and he’s rendered silent for a moment.
“Okay.” He looks a bit surprised.
I lean over towards him with a mischievous grin. “Have you ever had alcohol before?”
His eyes suddenly widen. “Uh, oh no. My mom says alcohol is no good for me, it’ll turn my liver into a raisin.”
This makes me genuinely chuckle for the first time tonight. “Oh, chicken.”
“Oh, what?” He squints.
“Ah, sorry. It’s just something I picked up. I’m trying not to curse so much, and ‘oh, chicken’ is considerably less lame than ‘oh, fudge’.”
“Oh, I get it. Haha.”
“Yeah, so anyway, your liver won’t turn into a raisin, not if you only have a little. Just enough to get you nice and loose. It’s really fun, and it tastes good.” Gawds, I sound like I’m trying to sell him Ecstacy. “Besides, after all the cholesterol you just ate, a little booze would thin your blood and keep you from having a heart attack.”
“Really? Wow, you know a lot about this stuff.” He grins. “Do you have any drinks at your house?” There ‘ya go- he just hinted that we go back to my house! This guy so wants to suck me off.
“I have some in my fridge. I’d be glad to have you join me for one or two. But no more talk about Magic, okay?” I point at him almost angrily.
He laughs. “Okay.” And actually puts the binder away. Whew, I’m beginning to have faith in this date after all.
After that, we talk about other, more interesting things, and I even get a few words in edgewise. We go dutch on the bill, thankfully, and we take the trip to my apartment. When we transfer, Willie admits that he’s never been on this bus before, and after a while begins to get antsy when he realizes we’re the only two white guys left on it. When we get off, he takes a good look around at all the discount stores, West Indian bakeries, dollar vans and liquor shops.
“Where are we?” He suddenly grabs my arm in fear. I quickly shake him off. I have a hard enough time walking around here with a reputation as an axe-wielding psycho, if these hoodlums got the inkling that I was into men, we’d never make it inside the building.
“Crown Heights. I’m right around the corner.”My tone is low and my pace is quick.
“You LIVE here?” He trails behind me, trying to keep up.
“Well, it’s better than living on the street.” Which is true, because I’ve spent time there, and this is considerably better.
“I dunno, man. I’d be too scared to be shot to live in a place like this.”
“Grow up, it’s a neighborhood, just like any other. These guys are no worse than the crowd of wanna-be mobster goombas that chill outside of Bensonhurst convenience stores. If you don’t act like a scared little girl, they won’t mess with you.” He doesn’t answer, he merely gives me with wide-eyed puppy dog look. Unfortunately, we’re met by the same bunch of thugs that were loitering outside the building as when I left. They give us strange looks. “Yo, dude.” I nod to one of them. “This is my cousin.” He doesn’t look a thing like me, but they buy it and we’re able to avoid suspicion for now.
We get to the door and that same girl comes out and offers to sell us the magnetic key. I again remind her that I live here, and that she’s putting everyone, even herself in grave danger. She shrugs, her vapid expression not changing in the slightest, and walks away. “What the hell? Doug, this is creepy, I wanna go home.”
“Relax, we’ll be inside in a moment.” This had better be one hell of a blowjob, that’s all I have to say. We walk down the hallway and nobody is around to see me unlock my door and guide him inside. This is a good thing, I didn’t feel like giving any more explanations. I give him the two-cent tour of my room and half a closet with plastic and cardboard cabinets, a filthy twin mattress on the floor and a cheap computer resting on an even cheaper wooden desk. Even the chair is made of plastic. There are plastic milk crates that I use for a dining table, and a fridge just big enough for three days’ worth of food and a four bottles of malt liquor. The windows are barred up and there’s a big, red axe hanging on the wall by where I sleep. I must look like a total serial killer.
The only place to sit is on the mattress, so I try to get him comfortable and bring him a bottle of Bacardi Triple-Black. There’s no TV, and I’m not exactly gonna let him go on my computer, so we sit down uncomfortably close, and I’m watching him struggle with the cap of his bottle. I make the simple act of reaching over to undo it for him seem almost erotic, but not quite. He gives me this long, lingering look that I can’t put words to. Instead of getting turned on by how close we are, that strange anxiousness I felt at the restaurant comes back for some reason. I take a nice strong swig of my drink, and watch him take a small taste of his.
“Well?” I smirk at him.
He eyes the bottle indecisively. “It’s okay, I guess. Kinda tastes like soda, but not.”
“Keep tasting; it grows on you.” I wink at him with a smile, then take another swig. He doesn’t smile back, he merely gives me the same look that I couldn’t put words to before. “I can’t believe you never drank before. Haven’t any of your girlfriends ever bought you a drink?”
“I’ve never had a girlfriend.”He takes a long drink.
“Well, that’s a shame. You’re a good-looking guy.”
His brows wrinkle, his eyes fixing on mine with a glare so intense, it crawls down my spine. “Why would you say something like that?”
My mouth opens but no sound comes out, I merely stare wide-eyed back at him for a moment. That anxiety I’ve been feeling all night has been like a wave in the middle of the ocean; stirred by a tremor, it starts out small in the subconscious, building up momentum on it’s way inland before crashing onto the shores of active thought as a Tsunami. A revelation. This kid is creeping me the fuck out. I’m not wholly sure what it is; it may be mental, it may be chemical, but I’m suddenly painfully aware of what a mistake it was letting him into my house. “I...I was just making a casual observation.”I blurt out, turning away from him, suddenly so uncomfortable that I’m ready to crawl out of my own skin.
Those intense eyes narrow in anger. “You...” He glances at the bottle and back to me. “...Filthy pervert! You’re some kind of faggot, aren’t you?? Tryin’ to get me drunk and have your way with me!!” He stands up, backpack in one hand, bottle in the other.
I put my bottle down, stand before him with both hands up. “Hey, Willie, it’s not like that at all, relax!”
“BASTARD!” He snarls, and in a sudden outburst of rage, swings the bottle at my head. There’s a loud smash as it connects with my skull; glass shards and malt liquor explode on contact and blossom into the air like fireworks. Though my eyes are closed from the shock and pain, I feel my body twist away from the force of the blow, but by the time my body hits the floor, I’m already unconscious.
___
I must’ve only been lying here for a short time, because suddenly, I’m aware of noise; talking, loud and authoritive. Somebody pulling my eyelids open and shining light inside. I become aware of the unbearable throbbing in my skull, and lull my battered head to it’s good side. I’m now aware of more voices, distant, as if talking over radios, like the police have. “Mister Levine.” I hear a voice say. The one eye I can see something out of shows a large, dark man in a FDNY EMT uniform standing over me, checking my nose and mouth with my blood smeared on his latex gloves. “Mister Levine, can you hear me? Can you understand what I’m saying?”
“Urrgghh..” I gargle uselessly, unable able to move, barely able to blink.
“Okay, good.” His tone is sharp, loud and alert. I know I should be telling them who hit me, that he couldn’t have gotten far, but I cannot will my mouth to work. The man elevates my head and it’s agony. “I need you to stay conscious, okay, buddy? Stay with me. Can you tell me what happened here?”
“I’cuh....cun....” I simply cannot speak through the pain. C’mon, Doug, you pansy. You’ve been jumped, you’ve been stabbed, you’ve been mugged, and you’ve leapt through second-story windows. You’ve been in countless fights, and had your old man pummel you to silly putty for years. You’ve been through hell and back, and you’re going to let some prissy momma’s boy with a glass bottle tag you out? You really wanna go down like that?
They put me on a gurney and wheel me out the apartment door. All the neighbors are outside in their pajamas, rollers and flip-flops, staring at me. I wonder which one had the decency to call 911 on my behalf? I also wonder how long it’ll take for my apartment to get looted after the ambulance leaves?
I don’t realize I’d been crying until the cool night air stings my wet cheeks. They load me into the back of the bus as if I was a piece of furniture being carted by a couple’a Mexicans into the back of a U-Haul. The trip to the hospital is disastrous; I know we hit traffic because the siren’s blaring, cutting right through my skull, and we don’t seem to be going anywhere. The two EMTs are arguing about something. The driver is cursing, swearing and bashing his fists on the steering wheel. I’m getting so motion sick on top of everything and the guy who initially woke me begins cursing too, when I begin choking and coughing on my own bile. He turns my head towards him so I could vomit up my dinner all over the floor. I feel the pain in my stomach, like my ribs are pushing into my lungs. It reverberates up my spine and into my head. I don’t know how I manage to survive the trip, but after what seems like hours, we eventually make it to the hospital.
I learn from the EMT, in between ruining their nice Hunter Orange gurney, that the two closest hospitals nearest me were on Diversion, (meaning they were no longer accepting patients) so they took me to Kings County Hospital. Now I’d never been here before, but I’ve heard all kinds of horror stories about this place. I was told never, ever to step foot in this hospital, not even for a papercut. The doctors here have permanently maimed and even killed people from botching the simplest of procedures . However, seeing as how they’re the only place willing to take me, and as frightened for my life as I am about being here, my situation leaves me with little alternative.
They take me in immediately and check me over, and decide I needed to be sutured up. Then they wipe me clean, put some temporary gauze over my head and leave me in patient purgatory while they go and get the supplies. And there I wait; shaking, whimpering and sobbing in agony, alone. After a long while, I become aware that the still gaping wound has caused me to bleed through my bandages, and I try to weakly call out for anyone I see passing by for help. The few people who look my way, say they’ll be with me in a few moments, and don’t come back. I realize I’m never going to get the help I need here, so I muster all the strength and stubbornness (and stupidity) that’s within me and attempt to get up off the stretcher I’m lying in. Instead, I crash unceremoniously to the cold linoleum floor. The bad news is that now I hurt even more. The good news is that I got everybody’s attention, and several nurses and orderlies now run to my aid. I’m dazed, and don’t respond to their questions. I hear somebody make a comment about the wound in my head needing to be closed. (Gee, why didn’t I think of that?) And so that’s when they finally decide to get the stitches and close me up.
Unbelievable.
First, they take a needle the size of a telephone pole and aim it towards my temple. I’ve always had an irrational fear of needles, so this causes me to completely freak out. It takes four nurses, an orderly and the maintenance guy from across the hall to hold me down to the table while the doctor injects the Novocaine into my skull. Then he has to refill it and do it again for some reason. By now, I’m screaming and kicking, tears are streaming down my face, and I’m in full “fight for my life” mode. The stitching is almost as bad. Even with two shots, I’m not fully numb and I can still feel a lot of it. At one point, I hear the doctor say, “Oh shit, fucking guy and his squirming!”, which is never a good sign.
Just goes to show you: whether you graduate Med School at the top five per cent of your class, or by the skin of your teeth, you still get that diploma on your wall. Unfortunately, people in hospitals like me never find out until it’s too late.
Ages and agonies later, I find myself back in patient purgatory with the curtain drawn around me, dazed, throbbing and half blind from being mummified with gauze. I’m unconsciously rocking side to side like a lunatic, probably caused by trauma to my body. Nobody checks on me for hours. I’m not sure if I manage to get any sleep or not, but time doesn’t really phase me; I just sit there in silence. A part of me understands that this is punishment for me being stupid and not listening to my gut. Or maybe agreeing to meet him in the first place. Look at where I found him- is it any wonder he’s a psycho?
Later on, I have what might be a dream or a delusion. I’ve hidden this glowing stone in my skull so these men with guns won’t find it. I’m running around this wooded area with an M-16 in my hands as they circle around the trees looking for me. This stone is getting heavier and I’m walking all funny because my head is tilted down. The rock needs sustenance to live, so it eats my hair. Pretty soon I look like one of those underground mutants from Beneath the Planet of the Apes, or the Alien from that Twilight Zone episode: “To Serve Man”. At one point in the dream, I’m hiding behind the thin trunk of a Birch tree and one of the armed men circles around me and points a gun to my bulbous head. I can make out his face perfectly. “We need to get that out of you,” He says, his big, blue-grey eyes glinting with concern. “It’s gonna kill you worse than my gun.”
“I’m not here.” I state cryptically.
“This is cursed land.” He tells me, pointing out the small circle of strange glyphs I’m standing on. “If you don’t leave soon, you become one of us.”
“I’m already cursed.” I point to my head.
He shakes his head and sighs sadly. “Baby, you have no idea.”
And the next thing I know, everybody’s running, including me. I’m shooting the armed guys left and right, from near and far. I turn a corner and run right into a crowd of hippies having a party. I begin shooting at them and they give me looks like, “How could you?” I jolt awake, still lying in bed, freezing and burning hot all at once. I actually feel worse than when I came in.
That’s when one of the nurses graces me with her presence. She takes my blood pressure and temperature. She gets this worried look on her face and asks me what I came in for. I barely sound out, “head wound”. She tells me she’s gonna get the doctor and runs off. I guess this means I have a pretty bad fever, probably from my new wound getting infected. Only in this hospital could let a thing like that happen. When the doctor comes in to unwind my gauze and admire his shoddy work, I weakly tell him I wanna go to another hospital. He outright laughs at me and tells me it’s not that bad.
“You fuckers....”I breathe, now getting all flustered with anger. “...Run a chop shop here. I want out. Take me ...to real goddamn hospital!”
“Nurse, this boy is obviously suffering from fever-induced anxiety. Make sure he gets some--”
“Asshole!” I growl, forcing myself to sit up, despite the dizzying pain. “I’m of sound mind, and I know my rights! Either get me to another hospital or I’ll sue the scum out of this place and you personally!” At that moment, I hear the shocked utterances of people surrounding my little curtained cubicle. His face wrinkles in embarrassment. He glances out past the curtain and turns back to me.
“Fine,” He rudely points in my face. “You want to go to another hospital? You got it, but don’t blame me if you take a turn for the worse!”
“Couldn’t be any worse than the so-called treatment I’ve received at this dump. Now call me an ambulance!” I glare lividly at him with my good eye. The other had apparently swollen shut as if I’d been punched. He tosses my yellowed gauze into my lap and storms out. The nurses follow him like they were his groupies. I do my best to re-apply it in the several long minutes I’m alone.
A bit after that, one of the hospital’s Social Workers comes to visit me. Would he really call an ambulance? No, the young man must be crazy, so send a Social Worker to deal with him instead. Typical. She’s an older, plump, pleasant-looking lady with short salt and pepper hair and the biggest, glossiest lips I’d ever seen. She seems very nice; she sits down beside me, taking my hand as if she were an old friend. It lowers my defenses a lot, and I can tell she’s been doing this a long time. I tell her the story in hopes that she’ll do the right thing and get me out of here, but she tries to tell me that Hospital Medicaid won’t pay if I don’t fill out forms before I leave, which I know to be bullshit. I nod and yes her to death, acting all polite, and ask her to go get me the forms. “But before you go,” I plead with her. “Could you help me to the bathroom? I’ve been sitting here for hours, none of the nurses have been much help, and I don’t wanna go in a bottle.” She gives me this genuinely caring smile and agrees. So she helps me up and walking is very hard; but I force myself to get the hang of it. She leaves me by the bathroom door to go back to her office for the papers. I do what I have to do and make my way over to the nurse’s station.
“Hi, I’m sorry to bother you, but can I borrow the phone for a minute? I need to notify my family that I’m here.”
“Oh, no problem.” A young nurse grins at me. “What’s the number, I’ll dial it for you.” I give her my sister’s cell phone number and she hands me the receiver.
“Hello?” She sounds like she just woke up.
“Saskia? It’s Doug.”
“Doug, what the hell, are you calling from Kings County Hospital?”
“Somebody attacked me with a glass bottle, I need you to come down here, it’s very important.”
“Oh my God, are you okay?? Why would you even step foot in that place?”
“Not my choice, Sas, they brought me here.
“Doug, are you okay??”
“Nah, they fucked me up. They sewed up my head wrong and now it’s all infected.” I suddenly burst into tears, finally being able to speak to someone I trust. “They won’t let me leave, nobody gives a shit. I have a fever and I can’t see and I think they’re trying to kill me.”
“Hang on tight, bro. I’ll call out from work, and me and Mom’ll be right there.”
Best news I’ve heard all damn day. The intense relief breaks me down into hysterics; I just manage to squeeze out a “thank you” and give the receiver back. The nurse looks sympathetically at me, and when I look like I’m about to fall down, she comes around the desk and helps me back into bed. I ask her to keep the curtain open for me.
The Social Worker comes back to give me the papers and a few Tylenol. She even sits with me for a few minutes, but eventually has to go, and asks that before I leave, to have the papers filled out and returned to her office. I agree, not really planning to follow through, but thank her for being more of a help to me than anyone else on staff. I’m alone for only a few minute more, when true to their word, my Mother and kid sister walk in looking around for me. They must’ve flown here. I call out to them several times before they see me.
“Damn, Douggo, you look like crap.” My baby sister, Sas is a Jewish-American Princess. Stunning, curvaceous and fair, she got most of the looks and charm of the family, and uses it to her advantage whenever possible. But however petty, immature and materialistic she can be, she has a stronger sense of family and forgiveness than I ever could, and obviously, when I need her, she comes running.
“Ohh, my poor baby!” My Mother dramatically outstretches her arms, waddling over to my bed. My Mom is a big teddy bear from the old generation. Never yells, never curses, and never has a bad thing to say about anybody. She’d give you the shirt off her back and the last scrap of food from her plate. She’s an Americanized Babushka, with short black hair and green speckled eyes. The problem is, she doesn’t believe in standing up for oneself; she respects a doctor’s decision, no matter how bad the doctor is. But she did go to nursing school, so when I tell her and Sas the story, (I’ve been “out” to my family for years- they’re the only two that are okay with it) my Mom helps me undo the already loose and lop-sided bandage. Saskia turns her head in disgust and makes the appropriate noises.
“Oh Gosh.” Mom tsks. “That doesn’t look too good, you need some antibiotics. Have they given you anything for the pain? Let me go find the doctor.”
“No, Mom, he’s the one who botched this. You guys need to get me out of this hospital.”
“Seriously, Mommy.” Sas adds, still turned around. “This place is a dump.”
“Oh, bubby, stop getting yourself all excited. Maybe we can get you a different doctor....oh Gosh, these stitches look terribly sloppy. Were you squirming again? I know how you can be with needles.”
“Probably.” Sas snorts.
“There’s gotta be a way to get me transferred to a hospital that’s not on Diversion.” I think for a minute and remember that I have a job. “Shit! Sas, can you use your cell to call my job and tell then where I am? I don’t wanna get fired.”
“Hey, no problem, I’m outtie. I’m hungry anyway, let’s see what I can find in the vending machine.”
Mom turns to Sas, her hand still on mine. “Ohh, get me some corn chips please? Thank you.”
“If they have.”
She turns back to me. “Bubby, when was the last time you ate something?” My mom feels my forehead, tsks again, then knits her brow in concern.
“Right before this happened. Around 9:30 last night, I guess. But then I threw up when they took me in the ambulance. Mom, I’m not gonna get any better here, I have to leave.”
She does her best to redo the bandages. “Well, they can’t let you go in the state you’re in. Let me go talk to the nurses, and try to get you some antibiotics. Wait right here.” It hurts to watch her leave, but I know she’s trying to light a candle under these clowns’ asses so they do right by me.
Saskia comes back first, says the deed is done, and offers me some party mix. I see an apple juice in her hand and I suddenly want it. She says I could have it, but to save a gulp for her. Mom comes back talking to one of the nurses that had looked at me bleeding and walked away. They talk and laugh as if they’ve known each other for years. Mom has that effect on people; anyone who meets her, instantly loves her. The nurse comes over to take my temperature. She undoes the gauze to check my wound and suddenly she can get off her ass and get me a cold compress and an antibiotic piggyback for my IV. Miracle of miracles. I guess you really do catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.
Fast forward two hours later, I’m feeling worlds better; they gave me new gauze, lots of painkillers and the swelling’s gone down considerably. I can walk better, and I even got my appetite back. The fever breaks and I begin sweating like a geyser. Sas goes and gets me some chicken rice soup from a Chinese food place to encourage the sweating. Then tells me about one of the orderlies she saw on her way in who was really hot.
The nurse comes back to check on me but I have a feeling it was just so she can talk more with my Mom. They start swapping embarrassing stories about when their kids were young, and my Mom has the audacity to tell this woman about the time I swallowed all the ink from a pen, and she had to call poison control for me. Sas laughs hysterical. “And when I was a baby, he tried to flush me down the toilet.” She so thoughtfully adds.
“C’mon, I was four!” I gripe, now red-faced. The nurse giggles at us.
“Oh, he was so jealous of his little sister.” Mom chortles. “He even tried to throw her out the bedroom window but thankfully, she landed on the awning immediately below, so my husband had to climb up to get her.”
“HAAWW! Oh, Lawd!” The nurse screams with laughter. “You so lucky, Ah’d have beaten you if you was mah child.” Everybody laughs but me. I just want to knock her teeth out for that comment. And I wonder, when she sees her children bleeding, does she walk away from that too?
Another cold compress later, I’d filled out all the forms and my Mom went to bring them to the Social Services Department, leaving Sas and I alone. We see the hot orderly she’d mentioned earlier. A bit older than me, perhaps, with light brown hair and blue-grey eyes. Oddly enough, he looks familiar, but I can’t place him. “Isn’t he a hottie? Do you think he’s taken?”
“Sas, you’re with Pablo. Besides, that guy’s got a tattoo of a dolphin and butterfly on his arm. He’s so gay.”
“Maybe he’s just sensitive.” She teases. “If he’s gay, you go for him then.”
“Oh sure, I look fabulous right now. He won’t be able to resist me.” I smirk at her.
“Haha! True dat, bro. You’re a mess.”
“Pssht, thanks.”
He stops by my row of curtain cubicles, emptying out each trash can into a giant wheeled pail. “Omigawd, he’s coming this way!” She squeals. “How’s my hair?”
“A lot better than mine. Am I still sweating?”
“A little. But you look a whole lot better than when we first got here.” She suddenly whispers. “Doug, he’s right next door.”
I can’t help but smile at her excitement. “Really? Go get his digits, killer.”
I hear the patient next to me, an elderly man who’d burned himself, talking to the orderly about getting the nurse with a bedpan. “No problem, hunny!” The orderly replies, in the most flamboyant voice I’ve ever heard.
“Ho-ho-ho-mygawd!” Sas cackles into her hands, her amber brown eyes wide. “He’s so gay!”
“Told ya so.” I whisper back with a smirk. He motions to one of the nurses, then comes up to grab my basket. No wait, that sounded wrong. My waste basket. I mean my garbage pail. Augh, you know what I mean.
“Hi.” Saskia grins wide enough at him to be suspicious.
“Hey, how are you, sweetie?” He smiles back to her, then looks at me. I wave shyly. “Aww, what happened to your boyfriend?”
“He’s my big brother.” She turns to me and frowns dramatically. “Poor thing was brutalized by a homophobe, that small-minded bastard.”
I gasp, turning to her. “Sas!” I can’t believe she just blew up my spot like that!
His adorable face contorts in a mixture of sympathy and anger. “Oh, good Lord, that’s awful!” He comes up to me and puts his gloved hand on my leg. “People like that don’t deserve to live! Are you alright, baby? Do you need anything?” How embarrassing.
I croak out in humiliation and bury my face in my hands. My sister laughs. “His name’s Doug, he’s really shy. And this traumatic experience hasn’t helped cure that at all.”
“Tsk, I know...I know.” He pouts at me, patting my leg. “It’s okay though, I’m Sean, and I’m a really nice guy.”
“You seem like it.” She coos. “What are you doing working in this dump?”
He rolls his eyes and flicks his wrist theatrically at her. “Omigawd, gurl, you have no idea! But it’s close to home and it pays pretty good...but still, I’m lookin’ to get out of here, you know?”
“And do what?” My voice is painfully timid. Maybe this plan of Sas’ could work; problem is, my shyness is genuine. I keep staring at his face; his plush lips, cute little upturned nose, little studs in his ears, and most of all, those big, bright blue-grey eyes. Where do I know him from? This is gonna drive me crazy.
He grins at me, and I see his eye teeth are abnormally long, but not in that “I got this professionally filed to look like a vampire” type of way. It’s natural and rather sexy. “I’m going to Nursing School at night, I want to be an RN. What about you, baby, what is it that you do?”
“I...” My voice is back to being a pathetic croak. “I work in a lousy retail job.” I shrug, staring at my hands in my lap nervously. “I unload truck, stock merchandise, make bails, ring customers, et cetera. It’s only until I hit the lottery.” I crack a smirk and I hear him snicker.
“Oh, he’s so cute!” Sean squeals, grabbing his chest. “Baby, I could just eat you up.”
“You should see him without the bandages on.” Sas chimes in.
“C’mon, stop embarrassing me.” I moan, hiding my face again.
“Aw, I’ll tell you what. I need to make my rounds, but if you’re still here at ten when my shift ends, we’ll talk some more, okay?” He starts walking back towards his pail, waving goodbye to us limply.
“Okay, buh bye!” She grins back at him.
“Bye.” I wave. We both watch him for a few minutes longer until he’s out of hearing range.
“Omigawd, he’s so cute for you!” She squeals into my ear.
“Sas, he’s a fruitcake. I don’t usually go for prissy men like that.”
“But he’s hot! And he likes you.”
“Yeah, okay, so he’s hot, so what? He’s still a screaming queen, and that’s a huge turn-off. If I wanted someone who acted like a woman, I’d date a woman.”
“So? No one’s sayin’ you should marry the guy. Just, y’know, get yer groove thang on. Haha.” She does a little hip motion to illustrate. Yeah, back up just one second here. Wasn’t my need to get my dick wet the sole reason I ended up in this nightmare? Whatever happened to that mentality? Maybe it was beaten outta you, a distant voice answers. Or maybe you let that psycho, Willie make you afraid.
Hm, maybe. However, an experience like this would make most people afraid. Not you, the voice echoes. You’re supposed to be stronger than that.
Well, fast-forwarding some more, the dumbshit doctors scratched their asses, and boinked their heads together a bit and decided that since I had such a terrible infection, they wanted to keep me overnight for observation. (A.k.a. “Since you’re here, you’ll help us milk Medicaid for more money, because this hospital sucks such big fat hairy donkey cock, we constantly fuck up and keep getting sued. So instead of better training our staff, we’re gonna be under-handed scumbuckets and steal taxpayer dollars. Fun for the whole family!”)
Oh yeah, that’s just what I need is to waste more time in this butcher shop instead of going to a real doctor and getting these stitches taken out and done right. So my next call is to my family doctor, who’s actually my mother’s doctor. He’s as old as the hills, and he’s associated with Victory, which is the third worst hospital in Brooklyn, with Coney Island being the second. However, he’s such a great doctor that I’d trust him with my life; and considering I loathe and mistrust most other doctors, that’s saying a lot. So I get this guy on the phone and I tell him the story. (Tweaked a bit, saying I had gotten into a fight with someone in my building) I tell him how the residents here muxed me up and now it’s all infected. He “oy vey”s me to death, but promises to help. Since it’s so late, he tells me he’ll come check it out tomorrow during visiting hours. I thank him up and down, grateful for the light at the end of the tunnel. But there’s still an entire night I have to make it through.
They officially admit me, putting me near the window in a room with some old guy who’s practically a vegetable. According to the nurses, he’s been in here forever, never gets any visitors and doesn’t seem to talk or respond, he just stares off into space, once in a while mumbling or turning over. His Medicare and AARP pays all his bills, so they keep him here as a cash cow. Brilliant.
My Mom helps me get changed into that dumpy little gown while my sister chats away on her cell in the hallway. Once I’m tucked in bed and somewhat comfortable, it’s just about time for visiting hours to end. They say their “I love you”s and their “We’ll be back tomorrow to take you home” speeches. They leave, and I’m alone again. This time, I’m not in so much pain anymore, so I try to get some rest.
I believe that dreams aren’t just messages from a confused subconscious based on what you’ve been doing that day. They’re live, tangible, wild things that follow you during your waking hours; nudging you quietly, and wait until you close your eyes and tuck your blanket under your chin in just the right way before clicking back to the forefront of your memory.
Omigawd! Blue-grey eyes, cursed land– I remember now! I glance at my watch, sitting on the end table to see 8:48pm. I can’t believe I dreamt of him mere hours before meeting him, that’s insane. On the other hand, I wonder how he’s going to find me now that I’m up here and not down there. Oh well. If it’s meant to be, it’ll be. If not, at least I can get some sleep. This whole experience has left me feeling like a deflated souffle’. I take a deep breath and close my eyes.
Now I dream of pillars: giant and impressive, yet discolored, cracked and devoured by time, barely holding together. I’m walking in between them, looking up in awe, yet afraid to touch one lest it crumble. There’s a subtle gale carrying dust and sand. I know that’s what’s been eating away at these vigorous monoliths, but there’s no way to stop it from happening. The sky is grey and imposing, threatening rain. I feel miserable, helpless, and weak. I’m awakened by the hiss of someone sitting on the nearby seat, deflating the cushion. I open my good eye and to my surprise, It’s Sean; somehow he found me. He’s changed from his work uniform to street clothes and a sideways Yankee cap. He sees me look at him and displays this grin, shyly biting his lower lip. He’s so unbearably cute.
“Hi.” I smile back at him, waving a bit.
“Hey, baby. How you feelin’?”
“Much better now. How’d you find me?”
“I caught the last name off your bracelet. I just looked you up before I clocked out.” He shrugs, still grinning ear to ear.
“I feel honored. I wish I could take you out for pizza or something.” I motion to the bed, then the IV.
“Naah, it’s cool. Maybe in a few days when you’re feelin’ up to it.”
“Well, tomorrow, my doctor is coming to take a look at the botch job these quacks did with my head stitching. I’m just afraid I’ll have this huge scar that’ll make me look like Frankenstein’s Monster or some shit.”
Sean laughs, and it’s melodic “Aw, baby, I’m sure you’ll look great. I love your hair, it’s so long.” He gets up, stretching his arm out to feel it. “May I?”
“Yeah, sure.” I sit up a bit and shift over so he can sit down on the side of the bed and thread his fingers through my hair. I stare longingly into his eyes. He stares back into my one eye. Thank gawds the swollen, bruised one is all bandaged up.
“How long did it take you to grow this out?”
“Hm, since I was twelve, I guess. So that’s thirteen years. And if it grew out anywhere near as fast as my beard, it would be down to the floor already.”
He chuckles again. “Your sister said you were shy. Did you trick me?”
“Not really, I make lame jokes when I’m nervous. Then again, I also make lame jokes when I’m happy, sad, angry, depressed, contemplative....” This causes him to laugh again. “No really, I like it that way, so no one can ever tell when I’m nervous.”
We both laugh, then sit for a while in silence, just glaring at each other with these dumb grins on our faces. “So what really happened to you?” He asks suddenly. I shrug and give him the run-down, and he sits and listens intently. Then, he gives me this diva face, puts his hands up and goes, “Baby, you need to stop meetin’ people over the internet. They say they mens, but they ain’t nuthin’ but little boys playin’ on they mommy’s computer.”
“I get what you mean, but what else can I do, go down to a leather bar on Christopher Street and get butt-raped in the bathroom?”
“Well, if you’re into that kinda’ thing...” He gives me a wry look.
“Hardy-har. Only when I’ve been bad, I guess.”
He giggles, playfully pushing me in the chest. “Oh, you know I’m just playin’ wit’choo!” It was barely a love tap, but the sudden motion acts like a dagger to my head wound, and I shut my eye tight, suddenly feeling a mix of agony and nausea wash over me. “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry. You okay?”
“Augghh...be...alright...” My voice cracks, one hand over my wound, the other in the air to try and equalize myself. He grabs it and holds it.
“It’s okay, I got you.” His arms wrap tight around me, and he even plants a kiss on my cheek. I just wish I were well enough to properly enjoy it.
“If this...” I’m breathing hard now, and beginning to sweat again. “...were any other hospital, and they did a decent job... of stitching me up, I wouldn’t be in half the pain I’m in now.”
“I know, and I’m so sorry. I don’t know why they brought you here.”
“‘Cause apparently, the two closest hospitals nearest me were on Diversion.” I rest my head on his shoulder. Gods, he smells so nice. Is that the antimicrobial soap they use, or is it just him?
“Two hospitals, both on Diversion? That makes no kinda sense, baby. Who told you that, the EMTs?”
“Yeah.” I mutter, my fingertips gliding up and down his back. “Did they lie to me?”
“Uh-huh.” He half nods- half nuzzles into me. It’s so nice, that I slowly forget I’m in pain. “That kinda thing happens when disasters hit, so now it should be fine. But you know, sometimes hospitals give EMTs extra money on the side if they bring patients to that hospital. If you can remember who picked you up, or what the licence number of the bus was, you can report them and maybe even get a reward.”
“No luck, I’m afraid. I wasn’t even on the planet when they took me for that ride. I can’t believe those crooks. They could’ve killed me. You’re the only good thing about this whole place, you know that?”
“Tsk. Awwww.” His grip on me tightens. “You’re the sweetest patient I’ve ever met. And if you weren’t hurt, I’d be riding you like the Lone Ranger, baby.”
“Oh, chicken.” I bust out laughing at that, and he joins me.
We give each other that longing glare again, this time, I lean in, take his cap off and kiss him, oh-so-gently. He’s so afraid to hurt me, that he stays perfectly still and merely lets me. When the kiss breaks, he smacks his lips together thoughtfully and says, “You’re right, you do taste a bit like chicken.”
“Yup, good ole’ Chinese chicken soup.” I mirthfully point out. “Better than hospital slop any day of the week.”
“Our food isn’t that bad.”
“Well, you’re used to it.” I grin doltishly at him, and we kiss again. My fingertips glide along the contours of his face, trace the shell of his ear, then rake my nails sensuously through his silky, light brown locks. His hand roams underneath my gown, feeling up my bare back. Our free hands are clutched to each other’s shoulders, as if someone were about to race into the room to tear us apart. Despite all the distress I’ve been through today, his delicate caresses are getting me hard as a rock, and I’m caustically reminded of what first got me into this mess. But at the moment....what a fine mess it is.
Our kissing deepens and intensifies, and yet manages to retain a delicate, soothing nature. He tilts his head to the side and pushes his tongue past my wanting lips. His big, warm hand strokes up and down my back; the lower he gets, the harder he pulls me into him. I release his shoulder in favor of reaching under his shirt with both hands, feeling up his back, kneading my fingertips into the soft, hot flesh, then grazing my nails down his flanks.
“Ohhh, baby...” He groans, pulling away for a moment, arching his back into my touch.
“Oh yeah.” I go to kiss him again but he pulls away.
“No...” He’s literally panting. “You’re driving me nuts, honey, we need to stop.”
“I know...I know....” We look down at each other’s erections, huffing breathlessly, unable to let go of one another. “I’m so sorry. I wish I were better.” It’s like my emotions aren’t sure where to go at this moment, and I’m suddenly overwhelmed with the need to either fuck, or throw a temper tantrum.
“It’s okay, baby.” He pulls me into a gentle hug, stroking my back in a less sexual fashion. It still makes me leave a small precum stain on my gown.
“Ohhmigawd, if you don’t want to, you need to stop touching me.” I plead into his ear.
He immediately pulls away from me, both hands up defensively. “You’re right, I’m sorry.” He backs away, stumbling over himself to sit back down in the chair. We sit in our respective places, staring lustfully at each other, panting like dogs.
I shake my head and squint at him. “Sean, what are you even doing here? You’re such a good-looking guy, you can have anyone right now.” He rolls his eyes with a dramatic sigh, like he knows what’s coming out of my mouth next. “No, I’m serious. You can walk into any bar, any club and have any guy you wanted, and you’re wasting your time with me. Look at me, I look like a Lovecraftian horror that Jim Henson made into a Muppet!”
“Well, I have to say, that’s the most creative ‘I can’t have sex so I need to funnel all this pent-up aggression into self-loathing’ speech I’ve ever heard. Kudos, baby, kudos. Can we move on now?”
His comment renders me speechless.
“Good.” He purses his lips and bobs his head around like a true queen. “Now I’m going to adjust my hard-on, give you my cell number, kiss you goodnight and go home. ‘Cause my roommate made Lasagna tonight.” (Yay, no living with mommy!) He fixes himself, and I want nothing more than to crawl on my hands and knees to him and worship that mouth-watering piece of meat with my tongue. “And you, “He points to me as I stare slack-jawed at his crotch. “...Wipe your chin, baby; this will be all yours once you’re better.” He writes his number down on a piece of paper for me and leaves it by the phone. “But you gotta concentrate on getting better so we can go back to my place and I can resume rockin’ your world. Kay?”
“Sir, yes, Sir.” I playfully salute him as he gets up.
“Haha.” He salutes back, and says in a masculine voice I’m not ready for, “As you were, soldier.”
“Oh, chicken!” I think even my swollen eye popped open for that one. He merely laughs, blows a kiss and walks out.
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