by K A Bryant
Where's the door. I need to get out of here.
"You won't last long. Not with that cough."
She's right. It started last night. Where am I running to? The hospital. Lou.
"Headache? I have something for it if you want. A good friend gives me stuff and talks to me when I'm lonely. If you don't want, it's all good, I'll save it."
“Yeah..alright, alright. Thanks."
"It's aspirin."
I recognize those chalky circles anywhere.
"No brand name, but they work even expired. Just take a few more. What's your story?"
She looks clean and has several large tote bags she bungled in. One deep blue plastic tote has a fluffy comforter inside. I'm not answering questions.
"Cool. I didn't want to talk at first either. Been on streets three years yesterday. Got hooked in high school. Dropped out and left home. The usual."
She's rambling as if she hasn't spoken to anyone in a while. Barely pausing as if she is accustomed to no one else speaking. She reminds me of Rachel. Just a few days ago, I didn't like being around people and avoided conversations as much as possible. But now, this alien voice acknowledging me is soothing. Her rambling fills an empty space. I run my hand through my damp oily hair trying to rub the headache away. My beard is clumped with dirt and my hands are filthy. Dirt under my fingernails and I have small cuts on the back of my knuckles from the fight.
It's the first time I take a moment to assess myself. My socks are soaked. Can't do anything about that and my sweatshirt is too. I ram my fists in my jean pockets. It's still there. Good. The little gold key.
"Yeah, behind the pharmacy when the companies come to get the expired ones, you can get what you need. The key is to not take much."
She pulls things out of her large tote bags like a tenant moving in adding touches to the room. A small fake vase of flowers like something won from a cheap street carnival. She puts it on a broken cabinet. A long poster, she rolls out and tacks to the wooden boards covering the cracks.
"...I can get most things you need. The key is, you gotta look clean. Don't stink, that's a dead give-away." She stops and looks at me. "No offense, the bathroom's there."
She points down the hall to a thin door at the end of the hall.
I'm surprised there's running water in the building. Half way up the hall, she rambles on.
"Keep your hair combed...alright, alright, I got you. I'm coming."
Approaching the bathroom door, I'm still listening to her and wondering who she is talking to. Her conversation is confusing.
There's an odor coming from the bathroom. I push the door. I'm not seeing this. Bloody bare footprints are on the floor. They were dark burgundy and dried. The bathtub is stained with blood pooled around the drain. Bloody hand prints are on the wall beside the tub as if someone braced their full weight on it.
She's still talking. What's going on? I back out of the bathroom slowly focusing on her chatter. She sounds like a mother comforting a child. I tip toe back into the room and see the large comforter opened neatly on the bed and she is holding what seems to be a doll over her left shoulder with a blanket over it. Inside, I hope it's a doll. She's bouncing and rocking it. The bundle in the blanket does not move. It is stiff.
"Is that better? Good, see, I told you we'd get the gas out. We have company, yes we do. I want you to meet my daughter Chemise. She's just three weeks old. I know, I look good for someone who just had a baby."
It can't be. Maybe it is alive. She walks eagerly toward me, leans it back gingerly showing the baby's face. I catch a glimpse and close my eyes. I put my fist in front of my nose and mouth. The stench.
A small round-faced infant with darkened eyes shut tightly and lips blue and slightly agape is bundled and swaddled in layers of blankets, making the face look even smaller. Lifeless, no color or sign of life. Its temples sunken in and skin wrinkled. This tiny body decomposing and the pungent odor of it rushes up my nose. I back out of the apartment hearing her yelling after me.
"No! You're my friend! Her father! Come back. You can't just leave me again!"
I run down the stairs and out of the building hoping to run long and hard enough to run the memory of what I just saw out of my mind.
I need to get to Lou. I need to get to Lou. Lou. That's what I have to focus on. Hospital. Lou is normal. Lou is a center of gravity. He may be home. No. The stroke. He's still in the hospital. What's happening to me? I can't think clearly. Were those really aspirin or is this just from not having eaten in two days?
'EMERGENCY ROOM'. Finally. I look like an emergency. Through the glass walls, I can see it's pretty full. Good. I need to get cleaned up. Lou can't see me like this. Are those... yes, Police officers near the door talking. I walk to a side brick wall where I don't see any video cameras. I can hear the chatter inside the emergency room and people complaining about how long they have been waiting. Think. I didn't come all this way for nothing.
"I'm going to kill you all! I have a bomb inside of me."
Perfect.
"Officers!" yells the registration nurse. Amusingly, she doesn't seem startled in the least as if this is an everyday occurrence.
Thank you, crazy person. The automatic doors slide open and I slip in, going straight for the stairwell. I'll use a bathroom on the second floor.
The water running down the drain is muddy. I got cut, right by my hairline. Didn't even feel it. I have to ditch the muddy sweatshirt. I shove it into the bin marked 'soiled robes'. My shirt is wet but it's not filthy. I can get away with it.
"Louis De'Marco, please."
"Three flights up, elevators right there."
That gum pops so loudly. She shouldn't do that to people.
"Thanks."
She picks up the phone. Why? It didn't ring. Her eyes are locked on me. I'll take the stairs.
I walk briskly as if a returning visitor knowing exactly where he's going. The doors to the rooms are all open. Beeping machines and clear tubes stream from IV poles. The smell of anesthesia. I inadvertently meet eyes of a few patients sitting listlessly in their beds waiting for their visitors who will never come. It's Christmas day.
Second to last room on the left. There it is. Directly across from a door marked "Employees Only." It looks like the forgotten room, so far from the nurse station, I wonder if Lou was placed there because his condition isn't severe enough to warrant a position directly in front of the nurse station, or was he so far gone that close proximity to it doesn't matter.
The paper sign with his name was hastily scrawled by a heavy black marker and stuffed crookedly into a silver metal frame. His door is open.
A pale printed curtain pulled across blocks everything except his feet covered by the white hospital blanket. A clear plastic bag on a bright green chair in the corner in front of the window shows his wallet and keys. Police and ambulance sirens are faint in the background.
I'm scared. I don't know why. I'm afraid of what he'll look like. Afraid of what he'll think of me. I stand at the foot of the bed. He doesn't know anyone is in the room. His eyes are closed. He looks so calm. His mouth slightly open. He's asleep. An excessive amount of tubes are coming out of him. His eyes are closed tightly, an oxygen mask strapped tightly to his face, and his machines beeping rhythmically. I didn't expect this.
I pictured him sitting there smiling saying, 'Hey, Cae'. My spirit feels broken. My head hangs at the gray tone in Lou's face. My heart sinks into my stomach. I did this. I broke his heart. I shouldn't have quit.
Lou's right arm is turned outward displaying an IV securely taped. The wrinkled pale blue hospital gown draped on him with blankets tucked around his waist. Hesitantly, I touch his hand. My head is bowed and try to fight the tears from swelling in my eyes.
"Hey, Cae."
What? I hear his voice and it all gushes out. I try to stop them. I am crying uncontrollably. I can't, everything I held in is pouring out in a river of tears of joy to just hear those words again. Those familiar words. T
hat familiar voice. I abandoned myself so long ago and Lou was the only one I could let the old Caleb breathe around.
I exhale, my forehead sunk to the back of his hand. I can't make him sad. I can't be selfish. Come on. Lighten it up.
"You trying to scare me to death?"
Lou shuts his eyes slowly, but where is that smile?
"No, son."
His voice is so weak. That bold deep raspy voice that bellowed over the kitchen noise is not there.
I can hear the oxygen going in. (Coughing) A dry wheezing cough, uncontrollable. Lou's face turns red and his chest trembles uncontrollably trying to catch his breath. Composing himself, Lou struggles a smile.
"They don't know what they're talking about." He clears his throat. "Caleb, it is...(wheezing for breath)...serious."
I lean in and place my left hand on Lou's arm. I hate what I feel. It is completely still and very cold.
"Pull those up for me, Caleb." Lou glancing down at the covers on his stomach. I look back at him puzzled.
"Can't move, Caleb. Little gift it left behind from the stroke. Listen to me, Caleb..." He glances toward the door seeing the drawn curtain he looks at the floor to see if there are any feet beneath it. There aren't any. Lou continues. "...there's something I have to tell you. I'm not going to make it-"
"Why are you talking like that? Stop it. Come on, don't do that-"
"-listen! There's no time."
"No time? What are you talking about? Did they give you something?" I ask.
"I got so much I want to tell you." Tears flow from his eyes into his ears. "First, there is one thing I didn't do, Caleb. I didn't get out and live. I made that office my life. Time moved on, but I didn't go anywhere, see anything. Caleb, I want you to live."
I swallow hard. He's speaking a little over a whisper and so am I. I pull my chair closer and lean both elbows on the bed and cup my hands with my thumbs lightly touching my lips.
"I'm good. Lou, two jobs lined up, should hear something tomorrow."
Lou turns his head looks at me closely. His eyes stop at the dirt around my neck.
"What's going on, Caleb? Tell me," Lou says, looking into my eyes.
"It's all good, really." I hate lying to him. "You just think about getting better."
I fiddle and pull the blanket up around his neck.
"Hear me, I don't have time...Caleb, please, the police (cough)... they came to the diner last night. They said they wanted to talk to you...(cough) they wanted to talk to you about Liz," Lou says in a whisper.
"I didn't do it, Lou. You know that's not me."
"I know. I know. There's something else-" Lou glances nervously at the still curtain again. With an urgency he shirks his head for me to come closer to him. "I've made a mistake. I'm sorry..."
A nurse appears. How long was she standing there? The metal rings clank from her rough shove of the curtain.
"Mr. De'Marco? Time for your medicine."
Her uniform freshly creased straight off the rack. Her blond streaky hair in a neat bun and stethoscope shining around her neck. Lou looks at her as the imposing force that she was. Lou doesn't finish his statement and clearly doesn't feel comfortable speaking in front of her.
She snatches the covers down revealing his arm and places two fingers on his wrist taking his pulse. Her actions, rough but she smiles as if that covers it.
"Doesn't the machine do that?"
I gesture to the beeping machine showing his pulse? She didn't like that. I don't care.
"I trust the old way. Machines can be wrong."
I withdraw, remembering she will be the one caring for Lou when I leave. In that split second. She doesn't like me and I don't like her. It's obvious. The old me and the new me doesn't mind clashing heads.
I look around her and make eye contact with Lou while she changes Lou's saline solution bag. There's anxiety in his eyes. Why? The question forms in my eyes. Lou shakes, blinks his eyes, signaling to me. I got it.
"Thank you," I say to her.
Surprised, she looks at me. "For what?" she replies.
"For taking care of him. I'm a little on edge, you know. Will he be alright?" I ask her.
"Time will tell. So who's this kind young man, Lou?"
Her smile looks rehearsed. She takes a pre-filled syringe and injects the contents into Lou's I.V. Lou immediately blinks slowly. Whatever she gave him affects him fast and hard. I don't know what he may say.
"I'm Jimmy, neighbor’s kid," I answer for Lou.
"My mom had a neighbor’s kid like that. So sweet, but kids today aren't like that, are they? Well, nice to meet you, Jack."
She smiles pulling off her blue latex gloves with a snap. She looks like a lioness that just swallowed her young.
"Jimmy."
"Sorry about that. Jimmy."
She's washing her hands in the small sink as if delaying leaving the room. Lou's speech is slurring.
"Like I was say-y-ing, I'll be fine. Love you, k-kid."
He's blinking slowly. Something is not right.
"Lou?" I say but he doesn't answer.
"Just a sedative. He needs his rest."
The nurse walks out of the room closing the door behind her.
"Lou. Lou. Can you hear me?"
The heart monitor begins to sound an alarming long beep. The jagged lines once spiking showing his heart beat falls flat.
I hear many feet running toward the room. A medical team rushes in with a cart that bangs the door open. The nurse is not one of them.
"CLEAR"
My mouth falls open as all of the color from the room fades. I drift out of the room. At least it feels that way. One of the staff leads me into the hall.
In seconds the defibrillator is engaged.
"CLEAR"
Lou's body jolts, rises, falls.
"Again. CLEAR"
It is violent. His chest rises slightly and falls.
"Calling it," says the doctor.
Lou is gone. I can't stay. I want to stay. But I can't. The doctor calls his time of death. I hear it from the hall. My breath comes back as they leave the room one by one. A nurse puts her hand on my shoulder. My back against the wall. A piece of me died.
"I'm sorry," the nurse says. "We did our best. He's gone."
"Where's the other nurse?" I ask her.
"Which nurse?"
"The blond one. She came in a minute ago! She gave him something!"
"I don't know... we're the only ones on the floor tonight-"
"-she said she was his nurse! She put medicine in his IV."
"I'm his assigned nurse." She points to the wipe away board in his room with her name written on it and taps her plastic name badge hanging from her neck with her picture and name on it. "Mr. De'Marco wasn't getting any medicine by I.V. or injection. Pills only. It's an emotional time, son. Maybe you thought-"
"-I'm not crazy!"
"Didn't say you were. Wait, you must mean Mrs. Harris, the head nurse. She comes in from time to time and does administer. If she felt he needed something, sleep aids, believe me, it was for the better. Mr. De'Marco was in much pain. Come with me, we have a family grief room. I'll get someone that can help you."
Leaving her standing there, I head for the stairwell. The whole hospital is spinning. That sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach hasn't risen yet. I want to run. I feel trapped.
I don't feel the snow falling on my long sleeve cotton shirt. I don't feel the cold. I don't feel. Where do I go? What does it matter? I'm wandering and I can feel it. My legs are moving just to be moving.
"Hey. Watch yourself!"
I bumped into something and it yells at me.
I know exactly where to go. Guaranteed to be open today too. I shove my fists into my jean pockets and walk as fast as I can. Visions of Lou laughing with me in his office flash in front of my face. I feel anger and rage mix as I shove people out of my way as I pass them. Reckless. That's what I feel. Reckless. It's enough. Everything is enough. It's now or
never or I will lose 'me' forever.
I pull the door to the liquor store open. The metal cow bell hanging from it rings. Tony looks up from behind the counter. He's making good money tonight. The store has at least ten people stocking up for their little Christmas gatherings in toasty houses with sparkling lights.
"Hey, Caleb, didn't expect you today... what are you doing?" says Leo.
I grab a big bottle of whiskey and walk toward the door.
"Hey! You can't just take that!"
"Get off me, Leo-"
I snatch my arm away but he's still holding onto my sleeve.
"No."
