by Mark McCann
“We were a bit foolish, had had a bit too much to drink,” he said suddenly, his voice a path of dust and gravel that took me away from my desperate thoughts. “We went to a bar we hadn’t been to before, some guys were… out of line with Candy, and so they were out of line with me,” he finalized his statement with a nod of his head, straight down and back.
My throat was beginning to hurt now. I wasn’t sure what my head was doing with what it knew or what it didn’t, but I knew it was mostly in the negative. I started the car and headed in the direction of my parents' house – his house. In me, where only a moment ago there had been nothing I knew the words to; I was now spilling over with sentiment. “You should have called me before anything happened,” I said, suddenly and foolishly hurt that he hadn’t. “You stuck up for her, that’s right, I mean, like, that’s good,” I said, shaking my head at myself. “Good job, I mean I think that’s awesome, but, really, you should have called me, right then,” I glanced over at him when I could. He stared at me with those eyes that had known me my entire life. “You know I would have come,” I said, “I would have come right away, and I would have called people on my way.” I sounded like I was trying hard to reassure one of us, to maybe patch the road between us.
He was tired and looked about ready to fall asleep.
“Thank you and I know,” he said, “but it didn’t work out like that, it just, I don’t know, one minute Candy and I are laughing about something, the next minute I had punched one of the bastards and was swinging a chair at the others.” He spoke with great care, like it would ease me gently into a position of better understanding.
He looked at me then and shrugged; it was what it was. I nodded in agreement.
“We’re quite irrational when we get scared of something, not just anything, but something we don’t understand, aren’t we,” I said weakly, knowing just where and how deep this statement went. “Just, next time, call me, okay, please, like, shit, Dad, I don’t know if you’re Leaving Las Vegas on me or just going Old School.”
He looked at me like I was just making up a language. “I don’t believe I’m familiar with that expression,” he said with what must have been the smallest laugh in his inventory, which he followed with an only slightly greater look of wonder.
“It’s not an expression, Dad,” I said, “It’s more of an analogy. Seems easier than saying ‘Are you trying to kill yourself or relive your youth…’ never mind,” I said and looked away from him, suddenly afraid of what his answer might be.
“Do you use film titles for that kind of thing a lot?” he asked. I looked at him, unsure if the question was serious or sarcastic. I shook my head, no, but answered, “Well, maybe once I think. I said to Katie that I was going to ‘Casablanca her ass.’ I don’t think I was trying to say that, but that’s what it ended up sounding like. We were drunk,” I paused and rubbed the stubble on my chin like it helped me to remember, though it did nothing of the sort. “She came back with something about ‘Shaw-shanking my ass,’ so I quickly steered the conversation toward something else for everyone’s sake.” He seemed amused by that, and that made me smile.
When we arrived at his house I parked in the driveway. “What about Candy,” I asked, “she okay?” He laughed softly.
“Yeah, she’s fine; her sister picked her up from the bar. They didn’t bring her in. Me, well, I was swinging a chair when they arrived. I think they were afraid to cut me loose just cause of how worked up I was.”
“Well, no shit,” I said agreeing with him, and them, and maybe the whole situation.
“She may look and dress, and do whatever else a woman does,” he said shaking his head, “but she still fights like a man, and now that, that is a sight to be seen.” He shook his head and shuddered.
“Yeah,” I half asked, half agreed, “no thanks, I think I’m good. Did she lose a fingernail… or two… or… a boob?” We were quiet for a moment longer before we looked at each other and laughed.
Chapter 18 … Three Days
For three days I went from the bed to the phone to call in sick to work, then back to bed, and eventually to the couch, and, once again, back to bed. I had missed my entire week of work. It wasn’t much of a feat, since it is only three days, but I hadn’t been in any shape for one twelve hour day, never mind three of them. When I wasn’t burning up, I was freezing. My throat hurt like I’d swallowed something corrosive and my body ached. I’d had nothing to eat but soup, and half a packet of instant oatmeal. I figured it was the flu, as it seemed to finally fade enough that I felt somewhat back to normal, minus still being exhausted and some aches that were holding on like it was all they had. I had noticed the glands in my neck were fairly swollen as well, with the right one being the worse of the two, but I figured that would go away eventually too.
It was mostly with work in mind when I called my doctor, only to be told he was away on vacation for another week and a half. Without giving it much thought, I said that was fine and if need be I’d of course call back and see his replacement. I figured I would just go to the walk-in clinic, see a doctor there, and get a note so work wouldn’t have any ammo to use against me for their attendance policy. To have been sick and have to go where everyone else was still sick just to get something that confirmed, yes, I’d been sick, well, it struck me the same way it sounded.
I cringed upon entering the clinic. It was obvious I was about to waste someone’s valuable time. Nearly every seat was taken and I seemed to be the only healthy soul among them. I went up to the receptionist and gave her my spiel, which ended on my basic need for a note. Had I come when I was in bed, nothing would have been different, except I’d have been there suffering like the others. Oh, I have the flu, thanks, rest, fluids, I’m old enough to know this, well then you chaperone me when I go to work.
My throat was still sore, and glands swollen. It was best to have myself looked over anyway, or so I told myself as I sat amidst coughing, sniffling, and a whole host of other… who knew what. For an hour and a half I took shallow breaths, held tightly to what luck I had, and hoped it would be enough. My hands were in my lap as I sat looking around the room, while in my head singing, Gonna get what you got, gonna get what you got, gonna get what you got, fuck you. Gonna get what you got, gonna get what you got, gonna get what you got, what happened to your face? Not gonna get what you got, not gonna get what you got, not gonna get what you got, unless the doctor hits me with a chair, HOLY EFFING CRAP!
The wait hadn’t been as bad as I had expected. I had grown very tired, physically and mentally, and now found myself being chastised by the doctor that stood but not a foot away from me. The waiting room apparently was not enough; I now had to go through this. Oh, how I had had enough. She was treating me like I’d run out of cool places to hang out and this was just last on the list. I am so sorry, lady, for not having come here first, did you see that guy’s face? What’s he doing here? Shouldn’t he be at the hospital?
I began squinting, to try to look at it that way. She grazed over the surface of what I had said ailed me. But she seemed to have a superiority complex or I had an inferiority one. I reckoned it to be her as I really didn’t care or have any concerns attached anywhere near anything we were discussing. Could the receptionist not have forewarned me that this might be a problem?
She had made me believe it was well without issue, maybe even routine. Certainly I would not have held it against her had she informed me that one of the doctor’s was, well, I don’t believe she’d have used the word, bitch, but… mean or uncooperative, at the very least. Oh, okay, thank you for the heads up, yes, good advice, again, thank you, I will pretend I’m dying and that parts of me are broken or just plum missing.
The doctor looked at me hard. I kept thinking I hadn’t done anything but seek help from someone who I thought by occupation was supposed to do just that. All I had done was fall ill and feel like crap as a result. She said my throat looked a little red. That was all she had for me. After all I had explained; all
she saw was a sore throat, that and someone she could rip on without end. What about my glands? I remembered. She checked like I’d asked too much of her, and she looked at me like I was worse than boring, then agreed they were ‘just a little swollen,’ so nothing of interest. Tell me something, I thought, was it possibly a virus, viral infection, or the flu. But no, I didn’t deserve possibilities. I knew it wasn’t a cold. I shrugged, I was tired and my head wasn’t my friend.
I was far too tired and frustrated to continue. I shook my head, then winced and regretted it. “Wow,” I said slowly and loudly in the middle of her saying whatever it was she was saying in a belittling tone, “You, you are a remarkable doctor and it really shows that you are here to help and make a much-needed difference.” I nodded and stared back hard at the confusion in her eyes.
I was pretty sure I probably looked how I felt: tired and angry. Before she could speak, I continued, “It’s amazing,” I said as loud as I could without actually shouting, “How the more you speak, the fewer symptoms I have. It’s as though you think I’m either an idiot or I’m pretending to be sick, though, personally, I don’t think I could be one without being the other. And, you know, I don’t care, I’m not here to prove I was sick, I don’t need you to believe me, not if it’s going to come down to what type of people we are. I wanted you to look at my throat and to give me a note that says I was here. I came and saw you; that should be enough. I have your attention now, right? So there, I sought and received medical attention, an insulting physician with a flaring ego should still count; I’m sure. Hell, write whatever you want on that note, draw a picture of your own butt for all I care, that’s what I’m paying for: your signature because it starts with doctor, and probably the date. Now, oh, what’s wrong with your face? You look surprised; did you really expect me to simply entertain this crap? I mean, what, how dare I call you on the condescending behaviour you’re subjecting me to, right? And against you! You’re a doctor, which we’ve established here already, but if you want, you could remind me by writing it on a piece of paper. All right, doctor you! Yeah, all that information in your head,” I paused, “Information!” I said the word again but awkwardly this time like it had appeared in the room in the corner and didn’t belong there. She tried to speak but I continued speaking over her, “People come to see you for that very reason, and it suddenly appears as a small reason, as it’s only information, granted a lot of it, that just so happens to be useful at times, in one tiny, and yet huge, place,” I said with my finger pointed at her head. “In fact, wait, yes, that’s the only reason I’m here, that’s the only reason any of us are here. And I believe I started this respectfully and politely, while you, well, you tried to be discreet, yes, no, maybe so, about insulting me, but I’m not here to take that. So, here’s something you obviously need more of because that is not a pedestal you’re standing on: it’s my face, so FUCK YOU!” I got up, and put my coat on. “I’ll take the hit at work for being sick, I don’t care, but, hey, if I can play along with others I sometimes do. You could have humoured me as though I was humouring you, if that is what you believe, but, no, not your style, you’re too big for that aren’t you. I tried, I tried to ride it out, you know, to let your ego do its little dance, but forget it, enough is enough.” I paused with my hand on the door handle, “You know what; your head isn’t quite the accomplishment you think it is; it’s atop a truly ugly person. You do know it’s not a miracle to remember and understand a lot of what you read, right, because that’s all you’re doing. Hell, I’m big enough to commend you on that, but I’m not going to; I just told you off, I think that’d be a little weird at this point.” I made a face that suggested it smelled awful in there.
I turned and walked out, knowing my accuracy would easily have been well off the mark in terms of details about doctors, of which I had none, but, like any heated argument, it was about the point I was trying to make. An employee of some sort stood outside the door frozen in the middle of deciding what to do. As I passed her I said calmly, “I’m glad I came, I feel much better.”
Chapter 19 … Buh
My head was down as I shoved my wallet into my back pocket on my way out of the bank. When I looked up, a friend, Charlie, was standing there smiling at me.
“Hey buddy, what’s up?” he said and shook my hand.
“Charlie buddy, what’s going on?” I asked and smiled, “Been a while, man, how are you?”
“Good, good, man, busy and shit, you know. I saw you head in; thought I’d come over and say hello. Just picked up an ottoman Steph ordered. I think we finally got the basement finished now for real this time. You guys’ll have to come for a visit soon,” he paused and motioned behind me; we moved farther from the door to be sure we weren’t in anyone’s way.
“Man,” he continued with a laugh, “was just out last night with Frankie, and we ran into your old man.”
Something inside me twitched and I wondered if Charlie noticed.
“Oh, yeah,” I said, aware of just how wide open life had become, as I found myself suddenly recalling those Choose Your Own Adventure books. I quickly dismissed the recollection and was back to panic mode. I tried to have a blank expression, but was pretty sure I was wincing as though I knew he was about to hit me.
“Yeah… man,” he continued, “weirdest thing,” his words were coming out longer and slower and I was beginning to think that maybe I would have to hit him. If it was hard enough maybe I could just walk away. It almost felt like a good idea and then it felt like a really good idea, maybe even great, and about the only way to change the subject. I liked Charlie. We’d been friends for a long time, but I just didn’t have it in me to explain the situation. Hitting him seemed like the easiest way out. One can’t explain what they themselves don’t understand. Just punch him, just swing, he can understand why later, much later, conveniently later. I couldn’t bring myself to do it though and I wondered what was happening to allow me so much time to have considered that so well.
“Yeah,” he started again, finally, “and your uncle, we think.”
“Fuck. What do you mean, you think?” I asked, deflating fast. The gloves were off, and my fists were up, but I was slouching and already defeated. I felt like I’d suddenly lost my identity, like Charlie’s little one-sided conversation had stripped me of everything I knew: sense, reason, and any feeling of any kind. Here you go: nothing but a baffling black bag of ‘What the fuck,’ enjoy. Maybe now he could just hit me, I thought. Would that be an odd request? Tell him I didn’t care, wasn’t any of my business, and, please, punch my face.
“Uh, yeah, well, dude was like dressed like a woman. He was, like, big and, you know, looked like your uncle, your uncle Don.” He laughed like it was a good joke. “They must have been going somewhere, for a party or something, pretty weird, eh?”
I stared. I only knew I was still standing because Charlie’s face hadn’t floated away.
“What?”
I didn’t have anything else. I said it again but this time it was to the empty space between us instead of him, as I found myself turning.
“What?”
Just so he didn’t think I was saying the same thing to him; I continued to turn various degrees farther away from him. I couldn’t help myself, and continued to say, ‘What,’ like I was finding the word everywhere.
“What?”
It felt like as soon as my mind had gotten away from the bundle of confusion surrounding my dad, something like this came along to reattach all the strings I’d thought I’d just successfully severed. I hadn’t noticed but I’d been circling the street corner, with Charlie hesitantly waiting almost for an opportune moment to reach in and pull me out.
He went to speak, but I cut him off with a, “What,” as if I was predicting I wouldn’t understand.
I stopped and faced him again and shook my head in case he thought I might have something else to say. I pulled down on my bottom eyelids with both hands, and then blinked against the dry air. “What?” It was
my favourite thing to say. I could have gone all day with what. WHAT?
“I take it you don’t know what it was about either,” he said grinning. He laughed and shook his head like he didn’t believe it himself. He was looking at me now like it was going to come to me, like I was going to empty the baffling black bag at his feet. I wanted to laugh too but that reaction was in a parallel universe and just not the reaction for me to have here and now, no matter how hard I tried.
“My uncle Donnie? Uncle Donnie: the one that looks like an entire bike gang but without other members or bikes; that Uncle Donnie?” No matter how mistaken I wanted him to be, we both knew he wasn’t. One could not confuse that man with another. Charlie had just been kind and added cushion to soften a very hard fact. My head went back like he’d just tapped my forehead with the palm of his hand and the essence of God. I opened my mouth, shut it, and then tried again. “Honestly,” I began as though I was going to get into the fact that I didn’t know what was going on with my dad except that maybe he was cheating on a transsexual with my uncle, the drag queen, something which was news to me; the cheating and the drag queen part, never mind the nuclear war against the laws of nature part. But I didn’t, I pulled up, stopped short, it didn’t seem like a thing to blurt out on a street corner or on a planet. “It beats me; it really beats the fuck out of me, like it is beating me and beating me. No shit left,” I said with a blank stare that I could tell scared him a little. “Those old people and their crazy parties, they sure know how to whoop it up. Ha ha, whoop, who the hell even whooping talks like that.” I was laughing and had maybe even gone insane from such strange knowledge.
