by Bromberg, K
“Oh,” she said. “Um, you’re right.”
Anxiety shot through me. “No! I want her there. She can explain some things.”
“It’s not like I had anything to do with this, Amy. There’s nothing I can explain that you can’t.”
The idea of being alone with Alex in an exam room, getting a pelvic exam and having to describe why that phone was in there was just too much. Even the humiliation of having a friend in the room was better than having no one.
Had I just thought of Darla as a friend?
Alex watched our exchange with a detached curiosity. “It’s the patient’s call,” he said softly.
“In. Just don’t text me!” I hissed as Darla scooted in the tiny room.
Alex closed the door and leaned against a small counter with a sink and various medical instruments. He motioned for me to hop on the exam table. This time I really did need Darla’s help; I had never tried to get on a pelvic exam table without really opening my legs, and it turned out I wasn’t good at it.
By the time I was actually sitting on the thin white paper that covered the cheap vinyl, Alex’s face had morphed from gorgeously friendly to professionally curious. I had to think of him as a doctor. A savior.
The guy who would excavate my hoo-ha to get the hidden treasure.
“You’re obviously in pelvic pain. Why don’t you tell me what happened,” Alex urged, crossing his arms over his chest in a non-defensive gesture.
Silence.
Darla cleared her throat.
My eyes filled with tears.
When had my life turned into a demented episode of The Mindy Project?
Saying the words aloud was just... I couldn’t. Once the words were out this was all true. Until I said it to the doctor it was just something stupid and private and ridiculous, a cosmic joke. But actually saying that I had—
“Her phone is stuck in her vagina,” Darla blurted out.
Couldn’t be stuffed back in, could it?
Darla had made it true.
I had to give Alex credit. He tried. He really, really tried to remain neutral and professional, but those beautiful eyebrows shot up under the stray wave of brown hair that covered his forehead.
“I’m sorry, could you clarify?” His eyes bored into mine as he pointedly ignored Darla.
“Her phone—”
He cut her off with a reflexive hand, palm facing her, never taking his eyes off me. “I am talking to Amy.”
Nose out of joint, she made a sour face but stayed quiet. I couldn’t see her—my peripheral vision went to hell with the stress of what I was about to say.
“Darla is right,” I choked out.
“Your. Phone. Is. In. Your. Vagina?” he asked, each word a sentence, the tone of his voice even and unyielding. No hint of laughter or teasing in his eyes, face or body—thank God. Because I couldn’t handle that.
“Yes.”
He swallowed so hard I could see his Adam’s apple bob, but his face remained placid. “I see. And you’re certain?”
Darla snorted. “I think women know when an entire phone is shoved up in there, unless you have a vagina that’s so big sex is like throwing a hot dog down a hallway.”
Alex turned away, grabbed her upper arm firmly but professionally, and whispered furiously, “You are not being helpful.”
“I’ve been plenty helpful!”
“Making jokes at her expense is not helpful.”
“C’mon. It’s funny and you know it.”
“Not to her.”
Alex was my new best friend. Darla was back off the list.
He turned back to me and bent at the knees to look me eye to eye. “I understand why you wanted to keep this private. I have to ask some questions, though.”
I nodded.
“How, exactly, did the phone get inside your vagina?”
“She tripped and fell. Oops! Happens all the time. Last week it was the cable remote,” Darla snickered.
“Shut up!” I said through gritted teeth, returning my eyes to Alex. “Do you know what a vibrator app is?”
“You mean an app like on the phone? There’s an app for that?”
Darla groaned. Alex didn’t seem to realize he’d made an accidental joke.
We both ignored her. “Yes,” I answered simply. “And I was using it, and...” With splayed hands, palms up, I gestured to my pelvis.
“Some women search all their lives for their G-spot,” Darla chimed in. “Amy was looking for her 4G spot.”
Both Alex and I pointedly ignored her.
“You were using the app to turn the phone into a vibrator and shoved it inside your vagina,” he said simply, nodding as if this were as plausible as saying, “You were walking your dog and tripped and tore your ACL.”
“No! No! It wasn’t like that.”
“How was it not exactly like that?” Darla argued.
“Shut up.”
“I can make her leave the room,” Alex said coolly.
I was contemplating that very idea now as the words were out and the truth circulated in the air. His way of handling this was so rational and kind that whatever fears I’d had were—
Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Twitching suddenly, I slid half off the exam table and almost fell on Alex, who deftly moved to catch and stabilize me.
“Was that—”
“Not me!” Darla held her empty hands high in the air. “Not me!”
I Wasted My Only Answered Prayer played from my crotch.
The doctor, bless him, finally cracked a smile. Darla joined him, and then finally so did I.
“It’s like picking up a radio station with your fillings,” Darla joked.
He quickly regained composure and took a deep breath. “Step One is simple: Darla needs to leave. Step Two: I’ll insert a speculum and we’ll easily wiggle the phone out. Step Three is an exam to make certain there aren’t any lacerations.”
Having it logically laid out helped.
“I do need to ask you to do paperwork for the visit, but I think I can have that done after we’re finished, and we’ll just list something vague on the medical coding, Amy. I don’t think there’s an ICD-10 code for ‘phone in vagina.’”
“People must come in with worse,” Darla said.
“No comment.”
“This is the worst thing you’ve seen in a vagina?” I squeaked.
“Oh, no—I just meant I wasn’t going to give Darla any lurid tales to take back to Trevor and Joe and share,” he assured me as he shooed Darla out.
“Quick comment,” Darla said as the door literally shut on her, Alex putting obvious muscle into it. “When you put the speculum in, be careful you don’t ruin the phone. Don’t want to compromise Amy’s chances for an upgrade.”
If I could have thrown something at her I would have.
Once he’d locked the door behind her, I asked, “Have you ever seen a phone in... there? Like this?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I can’t say that I have.”
Mercifully, I had an excuse to lie back and close my eyes then.
The procedure was remarkably easy. Note to self: buy a speculum to keep at home for emergencies. Alex removed the phone in less than five minutes, as if he’d done this a thousand times before.
“Bet that was the easiest birth ever,” I joked.
“It was the most interesting,” he said, a kind smile on his face. I could see why Darla had called him. Nice guy, smart guy.
Non-judgmental. I needed non-judgmental right now.
Alex left the phone on a piece of paper towel by the sink as I sat up, my legs still draped under the exam sheet. “You can wash that in the sink and tuck it in your pocket and no one’s the wiser. You do have a few small tears and raw spots inside, with a little bleeding at the cervix. You must have been in quite a lot of pain.”
A lump in my throat threatened what shred of equilibrium I had. I just nodded.
“I’m sorry it hurt so much. I’m just going
to put ‘bleeding’ down on the paperwork for the reason you’re here. Which is the truth. Some of it, at least.”
“Thank you.”
“Nice meeting you, Amy, even if the circumstances weren’t ideal.”
“Nice meeting you too, Alex, and I really can’t thank you enough.”
And with that, he was out the door. As I slid one leg into my pants I heard a deep, booming, joyful laugh from the hallway. I had to give him credit.
He’d held it together longer than most people could have.
Washing the phone was no big deal and yes—it worked fine. No worse the wear for being my womb fruit.
I found Darla leaning against the corridor wall just outside the room.
“Can you hear me now?” she yelled. She’d clearly been waiting to use that one.
“Shut up,” I groaned, rolling my eyes.
She reached for her phone, then stopped. “Can’t do that anymore, can I.”
“You are a psycho hose beast.”
“I am your psycho hose beast who just saved you, sister.”
“I hate you.”
She threw an arm around my shoulders and whispered in my ear. “You hate that I am the one who figured this out.”
The paperwork was easy to complete, and walking without a phone pressed against my taint was a remarkably freeing feeling. After grabbing scones and coffee at a shop in the lobby, we walked outside and hailed a cab.
“Just think – dating will be so much easier now.”
“Huh?”
“You just have to say, ‘Siri, find my clitoris’ and the guy will – ”
I punched her – lightly – in the shoulder as she laughed, a cab responding to my raised hand.
This time I paid.
And she was right—I didn’t hate her.
Right now she and Dr. Alex were my favorite people.
Aside from Sam, that is. A quick check of my phone showed three messages from him. All were just little check-ins, the kind of text you send when you’re in a relationship.
How’s it going?
Miss you. :)
Call me. You free soon?
Little check-ins that had bzzzzzed me to a new level of horror, but that turned out to be so banal, so ordinary, that the juxtaposition against what I’d just experienced seemed surreal.
Everything seemed surreal.
Because it was becoming more real.
And there’s no app for that.
Chapter 7
Sam
As I walked toward the apartment, beaten and bruised from eight hours of moving couches and end tables and boxes, I had $150 cash in my pocket (the owners tipped us—a nice bonus) and the new job lined up for tonight, so life was good.
Amy hadn’t answered my texts all day, so I jumped when my phone rang. Maybe this was her?
Nope. Trevor. “Hey, you got any ideas for a new permanent bass player? That new guy sucked.”
“It’s hard to join an existing band,” I said diplomatically. The problem, as we both knew, was really that he wasn’t Joe. Nobody would be as good with us as Joe. And we didn’t need anybody dragging us down—but saying the new guy sucked was taking it a bit too far. “I don’t have any ideas, though,” I admitted.
“That’s cool,” Trevor said, sighing. “I’ll give Tyler another chance. He definitely picked up some attention from the chicks in the crowd.”
“That means Darla thought he was hot.”
“Shut it.” Trevor barked. I’d hit a nerve. And then it was his turn as he asked, “What’s going on with Amy?”
Aha, I thought, that’s why he’s calling. Because who calls another person instead of texting? Calling was so 1990s. “I don’t know,” I confessed. “I have no idea. I just know that Darla called me this morning and asked for Amy’s address, and I haven’t heard a word since.”
“Huh. Well, wherever she is, and whatever she’s doing, I think Darla’s with her,” Trevor said.
“You can’t find Darla?”
“No,” he said, quickly. “She’s been texting me, but I just wanted to figure out what’s going on.”
“Is something wrong, do you think?” I asked.
Trevor’s voice was calm and soothing, not that I needed it. “No, man. I’m sure everything is fine. It’s not like they’re out fucking chickens.”
“Amy hasn’t answered my texts all day. Can you ask Darla what’s up?”
“Already did. She said she’s on her way home right now. No mention of Amy.”
“I hope she’s okay,” I mused.
“Something bad go down between you?”
I cleared my throat and lowered my voice. “No. Actually, something good went down between us.”
Silence. And then a burst of knowing laughter. “Gotcha. Nice. About time, dickhead.”
“I’m a late bloomer.”
He chuckled. I heard a series of clicks and swipes in the background, then Darla’s voice. The phone went muffled and then Trevor came back. “Darla said Amy should be at her apartment now, but she’s not feeling well, so give her some space.”
Confusion set in. “If she’s not feeling well, why shouldn’t I see her?”
More muffled voices. “Darla said do whatever you want, but just know Amy’s under the weather.”
“Under the weather?”
“Whatever, dude. Just repeating what she tells me.”
“’K. Thanks. I’m at the front door right now so see you in a few seconds.”
“Darla,” he shouted right into the phone so I could hear it, “hide the sex swing and the cuffs!”
“Asshole.” But it made me laugh. We both clicked out and I immediately checked my texts. Nothing.
Not well.
Under the weather.
Give her some space.
Was this chickspeak I didn’t understand? Code of some kind I couldn’t read that meant I needed to back off? Or maybe she’s actually not feeling well, I told myself, and I should quit worrying.
I walked in the door to find Darla in a black leather coat, like something out of The Matrix, and Trevor in his underwear, He had a lacrosse ball shoved in his mouth like a ball gag. Darla held her palm flat against his cottoned ass and pretended I wasn’t there.
“You left your dirty socks on the hamper lid. Ten smacks!”
“Mmmmfff mfff mff mff,” Trevor said.
“Guys, cut it out,” I said, smacking Trevor’s ass as I walked toward the bathroom to shower. My slap had more oomph to it than hers; the lacrosse ball shot across the room and hit the neck of Joe’s bass, toppling it over. Encased in its black cover, it was fine.
Peals of laughter from Darla filled the air. “Told you he wouldn’t be fazed.”
“I’ve seen it too many times. Except, when Darla does it to Joe, there’s always a strap on. You can’t top that, Trev,” I yelled as I shut the bathroom door.
“I never did—” was all of Darla’s protest that I heard before the sound of the shower cranking on drowned her out. I stripped down and ducked under the hot water.
Shower, dinner, and a two hour nap—with earplugs—and I’d be ready to report to my first bachelorette party tonight. That was my focus now.
And a text from Amy wouldn’t hurt.
Amy
After a good, thorough scrubbing, my phone had proven to be as hearty as my vagina. Darla had so helpfully made that claim, and now I couldn’t help but think about it as the phone rang and I put it to my ear. No caller ID flashed, so this could be anyone from a telemarketer to my mom, calling from her office.
“Amy,” Evan said, breathless. Shit. My brother was the last voice I needed to hear right now. All I wanted to do was to answer Sam’s texts and talk.
“Hi, Evan,” I said. This was not going to be good. The only time Evan ever called me was when he was in trouble.
“Amy, I have to hurry,” he said, his voice hushed and urgent. “I need you to come and bail me out.”
“Whose house are you at and where’s the car?
” I sighed.
“Not like that. For real. I mean it, I need you to bail me out.”
My voice felt like it had razor blades in it. “Where do I need to come and pick you up?”
“Middlesex County Jail,” he said.
“Middlesex County Jail?” I repeated.
“Look, there’s this really scary guy standing here and I only have one more minute. They’re giving me the warning. You need to come and bail me out. It looks like my bond is—”
“Bond? What’s a bond?”
Click. Conversation over.
I imagined him in a holding cell with an old payphone and three burly guys standing around him, ready to reenact that famous scene from Pulp Fiction. No matter how weary I was, and sick of Evan dominating everything in our family, I wasn’t going to abandon him.
I also knew that I couldn’t call Mom.
I’d never had to bail Evan out of jail before. Show up to a huge house party with vandalism and a bunch of drunk teenagers with Evan in a police car? Sure. Twice, they’d been nice enough to release him to me.
Evan had been warned by the local cops if it happened again he’d be arrested. Had he finally crossed the line? What if it was something worse? How bad was this? What the hell had he done? And what was a bond? How do you bail someone out?
My mind started to race, and my pulse followed suit.
Who do you call when your baby brother is in jail and you need to get him out? Calling Mom was out. Our grandparents didn’t live in the area. No dad. No family. No friends who knew anything about this kind of activity.
And then it hit me: I did know one person who might have an inkling about how this all worked.
Darla.
Sam
We were watching a rerun of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, which was new to Darla. Her cackling at something Charlie and Glen did was great to watch. It was always interesting to see something familiar to me through another person’s eyes as they experienced it for the first time.
Joe was visiting his mom and dad. Darla and Trevor had spent the day visiting his brother, Rick, and now Darla was cuddled next to Trevor, laughing her head off.
I felt an emptiness in the space next to me on the couch and wondered how much longer I could wait before texting Amy again without looking like a stalker douchebag.
