First Sign of the Badger
Page 5
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In the basement of a high-rise hospital, Matthew makes arrangements with a special clerk as the old man stares at the linoleum floor surrounded by sedated yellow and pumpkin orange. He finds a cruel joke in the fact that it’s identical to the home he’d been forced to live in, and doesn’t think he’d know the difference if he woke up there.
The special clerk gives the option, “Priest or no priest.”
Matthew leans on the counter to get a private word with the help. “How much is the priest?”
“He’s free.”
The good news makes Matthew smile. “Oh, good. Hey Dad, would you like a priest?”
The old man laughs, “I don’t think an exorcism can help us now.”
“Are you sure? It’s free, and it’s the way to do this. You know, it’s tradition.”
The old man laughs again, “Tradition is important I suppose. I’m not even religious, shithead.”
“Stop acting like this. Come on.”
The old man can only look at the dumbass he’s unleashed on the world.
“That’s a no. He’s not a Baptist.”
“Okay. Just sign here and we’ll take care of everything.”
The special clerk hits a buzzer as Matthew checks his watch for the day’s date and scribbles his name. Large men arrive through double-doors with a woman that could have the word bitch tattooed across her face and it wouldn’t make a difference.
The handlers use the old man’s arms like a dog-collar and the nurse uses her best comfort, “Don’t worry. It’s painless. It’ll all be taken care of soon.”
The orderlies lead the old man out of the doors into a room free of shadows from sterilizing florescent lights.
“Bye, Dad. I love you,” concludes Matthew.
The special clerk hands Matthew a printed check. “Here you go, sixty-six dollars.”
Matthew isn’t happy. “He’s sixty-seven.”
The special clerk rechecks his math over the deafening grinding of a machine from the back.
“You didn’t strap him down right! That’s the third time this week. Look at this mess. There’s blood everywhere,” scolds the nurse.
The special clerk looks up at the next of kin, who’s anxiously awaiting the addition of the extra dollar. The destructive noise ceases just before the special clerk, not yet adjusted to the silence, screams, “Sorry, I have trouble borrowing!”
MIRRORS DON'T LOOK ALIKE