“Sorry…” Shit, I forgot her name already. “… Uh, kiddo. Went a little spacey there for a second.”
“Yeah, I could see the stars in your eyes, alright.” She winks at me real conspicuous, like she’s letting me in on a joke. I, of course, have no fucking clue what she’s hinting at. I’m not even sure how many vodka tonics I’ve had, and that’s never a good sign. When I start losing track of the V&Ts, crazy shit tends to happen.
But do I let that stop me?
Fuck no. I motion for our waitress and point at my near empty glass. “Hey, keep these coming, would ya?” I turn and point at Mongo over in the corner. “And put them on my comrade’s tab over there.”
The waitress looks at Mongo, who waits for a second before nodding his ascension. The waitress just shrugs and grabs my empty glass. I turn my attention back to what’s-her-face Gloria something-or-other. She’s been going on about something in my ear, but I haven’t heard a word.
I say to her, “So, Glenda, what do you like?”
She smiles and says, “It’s Misty, and I like lots of things. I like muscle shirts. I like sleeve tattoos. I like chocolate sauce. I like full frontal nudity. I like my German Shepherd.”
“Wow, that’s a lot of stuff you like, Missy.” The waitress returns with a fresh V&T and I take a long pull from my glass.
“What about Mexico? Do you like Mexico?”
Interlude 6
The Hospital
The hospital?
Why the fuck am I in the hospital?
I try to sit up and a blinding pain knifes through the center of my brain. I feel nauseous and panic for somewhere to puke. Someone in the room plunks a plastic tray in my hand and I fill it up with vodka, tonic water, and what looks and smells like recently consumed summer sausage. Where the fuck did I get summer sausage?
And why the fuck are the little puke trays in the hospital so goddamn little? Why would you give an upchucking patient a narrow, shallow plastic tray shaped like a smile? How about a big fucking bucket that I can bury my head in so I’m not sloshing vom all over everything? This stupid thing looks like you should be serving hotdogs in it, not catching ralph.
I lie back on the bed and close my eyes, but the room just spins worse that way so I open them up and try to figure out what’s going on.
I appear to be in an emergency room. I’m on a movable gurney bed thing in a very tight room with a drape for a door. My head hurts like hell, but it goes beyond the normal hangover headache. I touch the right side and feel a bandage there and massive pain when I poke it. Note to self: don’t poke your head bandage. It’s there for a reason, most likely to cover up a wound of some sort.
So how the hell did I end up in the hospital with a head wound? And where the fuck is Mongo? And there was someone else from last night, too. What was her name? Mary, I think. Or Sissy? Mimi? Fuck, I don’t know.
I sit up again, much slower this time to keep down the heave. A faint smell of ass in the air does not help. A nurse-type lady walks in as I’m swinging my legs over the side of the bed.
“Morning, sunshine!” she says way too fucking loud and cheery. “How’s our favorite drunk ass patient doing?”
“Ugh.”
She laughs and flips through a chart. I look at her nametag and then ask Sarah, “How long have I been in here?”
She flips to the first page of her stack and says, “Let’s see… you were a dump-and-run at four thirty-nine this morning.” She looks at her watch. “Which means you’ve been here for almost four hours.”
“Dump-and-run?”
Sarah sets my chart on the small desktop tucked in the corner of the room and looks me over. “Yeah, that’s what we call the drunks who get dropped outside the door by their friends who obviously don’t want to get in trouble, so they just dump ’em and then run off. Front desk security didn’t get a good look at your buddy, but a paramedic said she heard a stream of what sounded like angry Russian, and then there you were with a nasty cut on your head.”
Shit, what the hell happened? I can’t remember a thing since the bar. I don’t remember leaving anywhere. Was there a bar fight? Did I get hit with a bottle? That doesn’t seem familiar at all.
I can see stairs.
Did I fall down stairs?
And why do I still smell ass? Something in here definitely smells like a butt. I wonder if another patient in the ER has shit themselves, but Sarah sees me sniffing the air like I’m tracking foxes on a morning hunt. She solves the mystery for me by pointing at the tiny sink set in the wall next to the tiny desk.
“That smell is you,” she says. “Wash your hands and face really well with that antibacterial soap. Wouldn’t want anybody getting E. coli because of you, Senior.”
About an hour later, a really young doctor named Singh gives me a final check, waving his pen back and forth and up and down and holding it in my peripheral vision. He has me do a few simple balance tests, which I guess I pass because he signs my chart and tells me I don’t appear to have a concussion. He’s got dark circles under his eyes and that malnourished look of a resident nearing the end of a twenty-hour shift, which might explain why I’m being sent out the door so quickly. I don’t think Dr. Singh knows if he’s coming or going.
So now I’m standing in the lobby of the ER, wondering exactly where I am, where I’m going, where Mongo is, if he’s skipped town after dumping me in front of the hospital, what happened to last night’s challenge. Though by the smell of me, I have a feeling something went down, and that it got a little messy. Fuck, I don’t even want to think about it.
I’m about to head outside and find a bus stop when I hear, “Dennis?”
I look around but don’t see her until she’s standing right in front of me. Even then I don’t recognize her at first. The last time I saw her, she was wearing nothing but a thong and her hair was done up different. Right now her hair is pulled back in a ponytail, she’s wearing scrubs, and her face looks to be pretty much clear of any makeup at all. I’m struck by how naturally beautiful she is.
“Wow, Tricia?”
“Yeah, hi!” She turns and tells her other scrub-clad companions she’ll catch up with them in a little bit.
“What are you doing here?” she says to me.
“Um, I’m not sure.”
She looks at the bandage on my head. “Oh my gosh, are you OK? What happened?”
“Again, not really sure. I guess I took a tumble and hit my head last night. I honestly can’t really remember.”
“Jesus, do you have a concussion or anything?”
“Not according to the sleep-deprived kid who just released me.”
She shakes her head and pulls at my arm. “You have to watch out for those residents sometimes.”
“What are you doing here?” I look her up and down. “Are you a nurse or something?”
She shakes her head again. “No, I’m a radiology tech.”
“Oh. I thought you were still in school.”
“I graduated last May. This is my first job.” She pulls me toward a café on the far side of the hospital lobby. “You look like you could use some coffee, and I have a few minutes before my shift begins. Come on.”
After ten minutes of talking to Tricia, I’ve forgotten about my head. I’ve pretty much forgotten about everything. I’m kind of lost in her right now. I love hearing her talk. Her voice soothes my aching body and mind. Hearing about her life takes me away from what mine has become.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I haven’t stopped talking since we sat down.”
I smile and wave a hand at her. “No, I don’t want you to stop. It makes my head feel better.”