“See, Creat? She knows stuff from being an English teacher.”
“Yeah, we talked about writing for a while, and she gave me some good ideas too.”
“Nice.”
“And she said I had to read Delta of Venus by Anaïs Nin.”
“What’s that?”
“Erotica, I guess. Something like old-timey Fifty Shades of Grey?” Creature holds his stomach and slows down.
“Are you all right?”
“Not feeling good today. It’s hurting.”
“We better get you home, then. Come on, man.”
It’s twilight as we walk down the street past Mr. Tyler’s front porch.
“Should we?” Creature says.
“No,” I whisper, trying to keep quiet. “We shouldn’t.”
“Come on, baby. Just a quick piss?”
“Another day,” I say. “You better get home and rest. You don’t look good.”
But Creature’s already sneaking up the front walk, looking left and right, his head ducked low. He steps up on the porch, and I follow him. I say, “Let’s go. Come on.”
“No,” Creature says, “I’m pissing. Right here. Right now.”
Creature puts up one finger, then two, then three, then pulls down his shorts and I turn my back and pull down my shorts too, start going on the rocking chair again. I make an S pattern back and forth all over that chair, smiling and pissing, ’cause it’s always funny to me. I have to press my lips together so I don’t laugh out loud, but still I’m shaking with laughter as I finish pissing.
I’m still shaking the drips off when the door opens. It’s so fast that I don’t even recognize what I’m seeing at first. But Mr. Tyler is there in that open door. He’s holding a shotgun, and he says, “Hands up, you little pieces of shit.”
Creature yells, “Run, baby!” and jumps off the top step.
I jump off after him, roll in the grass, wait for the sound of the shotgun blast in my ears, but it doesn’t come. I hop up and follow Creature as he hurdles the hedge, cuts at the next driveway, and runs down the street. We sprint for a block before we slow up.
Creature stops in front of me. Stumbles against the side of a truck. Holds his stomach. “Oh fuck,” he says. He has both of his hands there, down low.
“Creat, are you all right?”
“It hurts.” He’s leaning against the side of the truck.
We’re not too far from his house and I say, “We’ve gotta get you home. Get some ice on that.”
Creature’s gritting his teeth, holding his stomach, and breathing hard.
“Come on, Creat. Let’s go.” I get underneath his armpit to support him. He grips my shoulder with one hand, holds his stomach with the other.
When we get to his front door, Creature pulls his key out of his pocket and hands it to me. I fumble with the lock, get the key to slide in, and open the door. I flip on the hall light and help Creature down to his bedroom. Lower him onto his mattress. He lies there and I get two pillows under his head to prop him up.
“Do you have ice packs in your freezer?”
“Mhmm.” Creature nods.
“I’ll go grab a couple. Don’t move, okay?”
I go up to the kitchen and find the packs. Wrap them in a towel. Bring them back. Creature’s on his side, with the pillows under his shoulder and head. His knees are tucked up, both hands on his stomach, his face sweaty.
I feel like I’m trying to breathe through a wet cloth. “Creat?”
“Yep?”
I lean over and slide the ice packs between his hands and his stomach. Adjust them so they’re flat. I say, “We shouldn’t have pissed on his porch until you were healed up. I should’ve stopped you.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I didn’t think about him coming out. I never even considered that possibility.”
Creature breathes through his teeth. Grips the ice packs. “My fault. I went up first.” He closes his eyes and breathes shallow little breaths.
“How’s that feel with the ice on it?”
“Okay.”
“Do you think it will help?”
Creature holds the pack against his stomach, his eyes still closed. “I don’t know.”
“Do you think something bad happened in there? Something real bad?”
“I don’t know.”
I look at his face. His eyes are shut. His lips are peeled back and his teeth are showing. I can hear his breathing through his teeth. I touch his forehead and feel how wet it is, the sweat running. I say, “Do we need to go to the hospital?”
“No.” He keeps his eyes shut. “I’ll be okay.”
“I don’t know, Creat. Maybe we should just go to the hospital. Have someone look at you.”
“No,” he says. “I’m fine.”
There’s a chair next to his bed with two stacks of books on it. I move the books to the floor. Sit down. Lean forward and bite my fingernails. Feel the room turning like it’s on an axle. Watch Creature’s face.
He stays in that hunched-up position. Keeps his eyes closed. Doesn’t say anything, just breathes.
“Man, you gotta talk to me. Is it getting any better with the ice on it?”
“No.”
“So the ice isn’t making it any better?”
“No.”
I stand up. “We’re going to the hospital. We’ve got to.”
“Okay,” Creature says. He’s holding the ice with both hands. He’s on his side, his knees tucked up.
“Creat, where’s your mom?”
“Uh…” He breathes in and out. “What day is it?”
“Thursday.”
“Uh…,” he says. “Bingo.”
“That’s down at the center, right? Does she walk to it or drive?”
“Drive.”
“We gotta call an ambulance, then.”
“No,” Creature says. “An ambulance is crazy expensive. My mom won’t even be able to pay the last bill.”
“Okay, let me think….We need to get you there quick. I guess my grandpa could do it.”
Creature’s sweating a lot now, drizzling like in the fourth quarter of a basketball game.
“I’ll run to my grandparents’ house and my grandpa can drive us. We’ll be right back.”
I run down the street, switching to the far side as I pass Mr. Tyler’s. When I get to my house, I jump up on the porch and knock. I didn’t bring my key and Grandpa keeps the door locked. I bang on the door again.
I hear my grandpa’s voice inside. “Take it easy out there. Who is it?”
“It’s Travis, Grandpa. Let me in quick.”
He opens the door and I push in.
“Hold on,” he says. “Hold on.” He struggles to get out of my way.
In that small space by the door, he smells like a cloud of marijuana. “Grandpa, what the hell?”
“Whoa, Travis. Don’t you cuss at me.”
We’re face to face, shoulders squared, his marijuana reek heavy in the air. I have an urge to punch my grandpa, to knock him down and kick him against the door. “You’re high right now?”
“I don’t know what you’re—”
“Creature’s hurt. He messed up something in his stomach, and it’s bad.”
“His stomach?” Grandpa puts his hand out. Steadies himself against the wall.
“Yeah, where he had surgery. Like something’s torn up inside.”
“Hmm…” Grandpa nods. Too slow. He smoked too much.
“Grandpa, we need to hurry.”
“What?”
“We need to get him to the hospital. Can you drive? How much did you smoke?”
“Okay, okay, okay,” Grandpa says. “Okay.” He tries to turn around but he walks into the hall table, knocking a vase off and it shatters on the floor, the water splashing our shins. Grandpa looks down at the vase like it’s an animal he never knew existed. He says, “Oh my.”
“Grandpa…” I push past him. Go into the kitchen.
He follow
s me. “I’m not high, if you think—”
“I’m taking the car. I’m taking Creat to the hospital right now.”
Grandpa waves his hands in the air like he’s shooing away mosquitos. “I can drive us.”
“No. You can’t.”
I look next to the mail stack where Grandpa usually sets the car keys, but they aren’t there. I open the cupboard and check the nail for the spare set, but it isn’t hanging there either. “Where the…?” I pull out one of the junk drawers and dump it on the floor. Kick through the staples, pens, business cards, balls of tinfoil, finishing nails, pennies, and rubber bands. “Where are the keys, Grandpa?”
“Travis”—Grandpa’s in the kitchen doorway—“now you just listen to me.”
I pull out the next junk drawer and dump that on the floor as well. Broken watchbands, staplers, mini-screwdrivers, balls of string, electrical tape, box cutters, pencils, nuts and bolts, matches, lighters, shed keys, and house keys, but no car key sets. I push past Grandpa and walk out into the living room, look on the coffee table, the end tables, and the computer table. “Where are the…”
I feel in the crack of the recliner, then go to the couch and flip the cushions. One set of keys is there, under the middle cushion, and I grab that set. “Thank God…I gotta go now.”
I shove past Grandpa and get to the door. Open it and run out to the car. Get in on the driver’s side, turn the key, hear the engine catch, pop the car into reverse, and back up quick. But I don’t look in the rearview mirror, and I slam into a car across the street. My seat belt isn’t on, and I plant my face on the steering wheel as the car rebounds back into the street.
There’s blood on the wheel. I feel my face, a vertical split in my lower lip, my two teeth behind it loose. “Dammit.” I look in the mirror, blood running out of the gap, dripping off my chin.
I press my shirt against it, pop the car into drive, and get over to Creature’s house. His mom’s car still isn’t back, so I pull into the driveway, hop out, and run into the house.
Creature’s where I left him. He’s in the fetal position, curled around the ice packs.
“Creat,” I say, “you’re okay, man. You’re all right. I’m taking you to the hospital now.” I lean over and drip blood on him.
He says, “I’m just…”
“You’re fine, Creat. Come on, man. I gotta get you up.” I slide my arms underneath him. Feel the wet of his T-shirt. Struggle to lift him. He doesn’t help me at all, and when I pull him to his feet, he screams.
“I’m so sorry, Creat.” I’ve got my arms around him and his head’s on my shoulder and I can smell the weird smell, nervous body odor or something else, and I drag his feet as I pull him out of the room, all his weight in my arms, and he mumbles something but I can’t tell what he’s saying anymore.
My ribs feel like they’re twisting inside my back as I drag him down the hall, to the front door, and out onto the porch. “I’ve got you, man. I’ve got you.”
When I get Creature to my grandpa’s Buick, I hold him against the side of the car with my body and my one arm, open the passenger door with the other hand. Then I fold Creature in, his body seeming too tall to force inside that small space, but I have his weight working for me, and I let go and pop the seat back, let it recline, and I hold Creature’s head and shoulders as I push him into the car. “We’re okay,” I say. “We’re okay.”
I don’t go back to the porch to shut the house door. I leave it. I just hop in the car on the driver’s side, put the car in reverse, back up hard, and swerve this time to avoid the car behind us. Then I put the Buick in drive and take off.
I drive fast. Talk to Creature as I drive. “We’re gonna be there so soon, Creat, so soon, and you’re gonna be okay, man.” I speed down Green Acres to Crescent, keep driving east, gun it through the red light at Gilham, all the way to Coburg, slow and look both ways so I don’t get us crushed from the side, but then I run that red light too, punch it without ever coming close to stopping. I say, “I’m getting us there, man. You’re gonna be fine. You’re gonna be good. We just gotta get you to the hospital, right?” On the straightaway behind Shopko, I take a quick look at Creature and see his eyes closed, his head tilted forward at an awkward angle. “Wake up, Creat. Come on, man.”
I know that driving was a big mistake. I should’ve called an ambulance first thing, right when he got hurt. We shouldn’t have gone to his house. We shouldn’t have wasted time with ice. I shouldn’t have hesitated at all.
I’m thinking about all of that as lights flash in my mirror and I whip my head around to see a state trooper following me down Crescent. I look at the speedometer and it says 50-something and I keep driving. Rush the wide turn. Push the gas pedal down as I come out of the turn and the Buick goes over 60 into that straight.
The cop stays with me, right behind us, and I don’t stop when I get to the end of Crescent, just slow a little, then blow the stop sign turning right onto Game Farm. I say, “I’m getting us there, man. We’re gonna get there so quick, and you’re gonna be just fine, Creat.”
My shoulders are tensed and my arms are tight. I’m overgripping the steering wheel like I might just turn and rip it off. I take a deep breath and focus on driving fast.
Coming up to Beltline Road, the Oregon State Police headquarters to my right, I see cars in front of me at the light, five or six deep at each lane, but no one in the huge pull-through at the AMPM, the gas pumps under the lights, so I let off the pedal and swerve left into the parking lot, pull beneath the overhang, past the attendants, and roll to the edge of Beltline.
The lights are still flashing in my rearview mirror, that trooper still behind me, but there are no cars coming on the left side of the six-lane road, so I pull out and drive down the wrong side of the road until I can get my speed up again, then I look over my shoulder and swerve right, dip into the correct lane going east, and drop the gas pedal to the floor on the big, wide straightaway, with the blue HOSPITAL signs on both sides of the road now and the Buick growling as I go over 70 miles an hour. I say, “Almost there, Creat. We’re almost there, man. Just hold on.”
At the last blue H sign, I let off and slow up, brake a little and turn left, whipping the car through the S-turn, around the outer lots, then gun it to the emergency room, not the parking lot for the emergency room, but the entrance doors up front.
I jump out of the car. See the state trooper pull in sideways behind me. He jumps out of his driver’s door and yells something at me as I run around to the other side, but I ignore him. I pop the passenger door open, get my arms in, and start trying to work Creature out of the car. But Creature’s body is even heavier than before. He’s passed out and so difficult to move. I’m struggling with him, and he’s leaning in toward the driver’s side, away from me. Then the state trooper’s next to me, and he says, “Here, let me help you. Let me get in there too,” and I let him wedge into the space at the front of the open door, and he gets his arms under Creature’s legs and I reach under Creature’s armpit and get ahold of him around his body. Creature is slumped sideways still, but we’ve got him now and the trooper says, “One, two, three,” and we lift, and together we pull him out of the car, turn, and carry him into the hospital.
As soon as we’re through the entrance doors, I yell, “Help us! We need help right now!”
The state trooper yells, “We need a doctor!”
A nurse runs up and says, “Let’s get him on this gurney right here. What happened to him?”
I say, “He had surgery not too long ago, and I think something tore open.”
The nurse waves her arms at the desk for someone to come quick. “Now!” she says.
We lay Creature on the gurney. I say, “You’re gonna be okay, Creat. It’s gonna be okay, man. We’re at the hospital now.”
A nurse and an orderly are pushing the gurney down the hall, and the state trooper and I are jogging alongside it. Creature’s unconscious and his head looks too loose, his mouth open, his teet
h showing. We get to a set of double doors and it opens. A man in a security uniform steps out and stops us, puts a hand on each of us, my chest and the state trooper’s. He says, “I’m sorry, but you two will have to wait out here.”
I stand there at the double doors and it feels like right after I punched that kid in the basketball game. All three refs were walking toward me, and the kid was on the ground, and the crowd was silent, and I knew that things might never be the same.
WAITING AGAIN
I sit with the state trooper. He doesn’t say anything for a long time, then an orderly comes up and takes him over to the front desk. They talk for a minute. The trooper comes back and says, “Can I have your keys? I need to move both of our cars.”
I give them to him.
When he returns, he hands me the keys again, and sits back down next to me. He doesn’t say anything.
We wait.
I bite my fingernails and worry about Creature. I bite all of my nails too short and when I’m finished with the last one, I bite the skin on my index finger, next to the nail. Work the skin on the next finger. And the next. My stomach isn’t good. I feel like I’ve chugged a bottle of hot sauce. I stand up and walk around, then sit back down.
A nurse walks up to me. “Can I look at your lip?”
I’d forgotten about it. I look down at the blood on the front of my shirt. I look back at the nurse. Say, “No thanks.”
“That might need a couple of stitches.”
“I think it’ll be okay.” I go back to my seat and sit down.
The trooper says, “What did your friend need surgery for?”
I shake my head.
We sit and, after a while, the trooper leans forward, pats my knee, and stands up. He walks over to the nurse’s station and talks to them for a minute. Then he comes back and sits down next to me. He says, “I’m really sorry about Malik.”
I nod.
“What’s your name?” he says.
“Travis.”
“I’m Ben.” He sits back down and leans his head against the wall. We wait some more.
After 30 minutes or so, a tall man in blue scrubs comes through the double doors and walks up to us. He has a paper mask that’s pulled down and hanging around his neck. He wears glasses. He looks at us and says, “I’m Dr. Tiller. I’m a surgeon at this hospital, and I was in the room with Malik.” He looks at the floor. He says, “I’m sorry. We did all we could.”
This is the Part Where You Laugh Page 21
