Dog Days Page 5

  “Now let me take off this old bandage…” Fucking liar! “And see this lesion and the…” medical terms flew from Todd’s mouth as he caressed my ass, his other hand lying on my other butt cheek and, er, in between. Did he have to do that to make the bite more visible? I suppose so, I mean, he was a professional most of the time, but I was beginning to feel like Alice in Wonderland here.

  Lefty was saying something and Sol was saying something and I was going to scream in a minute…damn that hurt when he touched anywhere near it. I couldn’t see it but could picture the area, red, swollen, hard…. Sol smirked harder, had he read—misread—my mind?

  Then the doctor and his posse came in. I was whimpering by then. Doctor spoke (and everyone listened, like Moses…), “Thank you, Todd, I see you have the patient all ready for me.”

  I panicked; what did he mean, ready? Ready for what? I was so on edge I pushed myself upwards, launching my pillow and then myself backward, and almost went into orbit. I landed on my knees and felt stitches rip. There was a dead silence as I knelt there oozing blood, ass in the breeze (again) and hyperventilating, but gee whiz, not crying yet, so there’s that.

  Sol, startled, shrieked. Todd looked up at Sol and said, “Why Salome, how nice you look in that gown, even though it’s not your color.” ‘Salome’? Stage name? Lefty—left. I heard his guffaws hit as soon as he turned the corner out of the room. I pretended I ‘did this on purpose’, grabbed the bag of what turned out to be fresh doughnuts, and turned on my side, facing the window, my bare ass toward Solly/Salome, and stuffed a cream filled long john in my mouth. Todd left the room abruptly as I bit down and cream came out of my mouth. As soon as he joined Lefty in the hall, he started bellowing with laughter, too.

  The bastards. All of them. Cream ran down my chin, and I licked it up with my tongue, daring the doctor and his minions, whom I was now facing, to say a single word.

  But of course, the doctor had to have his say. “Here now, son, there’s no need for all that drama, it’s just a—oh my God,” he finished, walking around and getting a good look at my rear end. Good for you! I hope you like it. I bit harder into my delicious, gooey, creamy doughnut. Then he pinched my butt and I blew crumbs, cream and screams all over.

  Monday Again

  That was so bad, I decided I’d start Monday all over again. After everyone had gone and my sore butt was bandaged yet again, Sol appeared asleep, Todd and Lefty, for all I knew, were having it on in the broom closet, and I was left in peace with the doughnuts and the morning newspaper. And yes, there I was again. I read avidly, preening that I was famous and that Sol and those other pricks were not. Except on page two, written by someone else, there was a picture of me as a gawky fourteen-year-old with my stepfather standing behind me smiling. He was quoted extensively, telling the world about what a difficult child I had been and how I had broken my mother’s heart and health with my thieving, drug use, and blah blah blah. He left out the part about me abusing the neighbor’s cat, but I’m sure he would have if he’d ever had a creative thought in his life, other than flat out lies, that is. When had I ever meant enough to my mother to break her heart? As far as I knew, she didn’t even have a heart, as well as not having a brain.

  Me, a hero? Famous? I felt like a piece of mud that might be scraped off the bottom of someone’s shoe. The part of me that was angry wanted to do something drastic, like ‘I’ll kill myself, and then they’ll be sorry’, except I knew they wouldn’t. Still, the idea caught my attention—blood, there should be lots of blood, oh wait, I’d just done that scene, hadn’t I? Could I just walk out of here and disappear? No, jeez, son, think a minute! You’re better than that! Those people I called my parents were just two people, and so were Lefty and I—just two people. What’s the difference? My opinion versus my stepfather’s opinion? Think now, I told myself, distracting myself from my pain. Who’s more logical, a hateful half-hillbilly abusive drunk or a young, smart…It didn’t work. I was sinking, wondering if Mrs. White had ever come out with something seriously deep, other than just that happy crappy crap. I came up with nothing.

  There was a sound, and I looked up. Yesterday’s tech was there waiting to draw blood again. I gestured feebly to the newspaper. He shook his head, glanced at the article and said quietly, “Nobody believes that shit, man. He’s Howdy Doody to these people, and he’d be lunch meat to those dogs that tried to kill you and failed. The way I look at it—his loss. You just knuckle down and believe in yourself, because from what I’ve seen of you, you’re a gem. Now, got any more doughnuts or did you eat them all?”

  I pointed at the bag and wiped tears from my face when he looked away from me. The darkness inside me was slowly lighting up with sunshine, all because of his one simple comment.

  Hello, Grand Central Station…the tech left me feeling much better, and then with a tentative knock, shoving in a huge bouquet of roses in front of him, here came Sol’s ex-boyfriend. “Sweetie poo, here I am, with my usual heartfelt love and…” his voice dropped, “I’m sorry,” he almost whispered.

  Sol sat up, ran the back of his hand over his forehead dramatically, and replied, “Oh darling, I was just about to say the same thing.” Only when the ex turned to find a vase, Sol winked at me and flashed me a wink and a wicked grin. I rolled over and flashed him my ass.

  The next time I surfaced, I was hot and sweating and shaking. I thought it was because the sun was shining in and maybe it was on me, making me too hot. There were people talking behind my back, and beyond them I could hear Sol and his ex talking quietly together, with ‘bitch please this’ and ‘bitch please that’. I wanted Lefty. I tried to roll over but hands stopped me. My butt hurt but my back hurt higher up too. Naturally, I started to cry.

  I heard Todd’s voice. “Fun’s over, Aiden,” (no ‘sweetie pie’ now with others there), “This bite is infected and we’re doing a spinal on you. It will be over in a minute. I’m sorry you woke up to this.” Infected? Blood poisoning? Germs? Goo? Maybe it was that flesh eating bacteria. Maybe I was going to die. I didn’t want to die. I wanted Lefty. I didn’t want to be sick or scared or crying.

  Sol’s ex came over and hunkered down in front of me, taking my hand into his big paws. His deep brown eyes looked soulfully into mine, lit with fire and pity. He was a large man, with women’s large jeweled rings all over his hairy hands. I didn’t want to know if that was a bosom he had or just a very muscular chest. He endeared himself to me when, in a gruff voice he said, “You’ll be fine. Porca vacca, I’ll beat the crap out of those testa di cazzos!” Or something like that. I sort of knew what he meant; anyway, it made me feel better and safe. “I won’t let any porca puttana near you.” Then he started to swear. As he stood up his knees popped like shots; he groaned and added, “I’m Italian. Nobody messes with me or what’s mine.”

  Sol made a rude noise with his mouth.

  After a while, I was turned back onto my back with a pillow under one hip to keep me off my spine for a while, I guess. Another I.V. line was put into my arm. Antibiotics were added. I had been asked this and that about any allergies I had and was pretty sure I’d answered in English, ha-ha. I was, I feared, ‘loopy’.

  Lefty came in with a bag, but I hoped it wasn’t food; I never wanted to eat again. I needed to pee but was pretty sure I’d have to be given a ‘hand’ with that again, too. I wanted to kick my foot and rip all the sheets to shreds but figured I’d only hurt myself.

  And there was Lefty putting a stuffed cat into my arm. With my approval, he opened a ton of get well cards, read them to me, and set them in a pile. There was money in some of them. I hugged my cat. He sat beside me and took my hand. “There’s over two thousand dollars in a bank account for you already. You’re going to do just fine when you get out of here. All you need is a place to live and there are even offers of that, rooms, cabanas, etc. My place is tiny but it’s always available to you.” I could see a wistful look come over his face. I wondered how big his bed was.

  Sol’s ex came
over. “We got room at my place, too.”

  “Yes!” Sol shouted from behind him. “That would be so much fun!” Sol sounded like a kid instead of a…was he really an adult? “I have a big—bed,” Sol finished, batting his eyes.

  I knew he had a big—bed already. But the ex said, “No. He’d have his own room.” He turned to Lefty. “My name is Ross, aka Rosita Chaquita, but I’ve seen you at the pageants a few times; so you know that. You know we don’t run an all American Boy Scout kind of place, but Sol tells me that’s not an issue.” Everyone turned and stared at me. What?

  “Casa del Cazzi—that’s our place—is the second best LGBT resort on the island. We love to call it second best because the one over in Kihei, the Maui Sunseeker—you know, the one that was featured on that TV show—is the best by far, but second best also means we try ‘harder’. Ross rolled his eyes, and Lefty laughed. I was selfishly upset that I seemed to be left out, ignored. Sol came over and sat by me, taking my hand, playing with my fingers. I felt better.

  Ross went on, “We are never full unless it’s during the yearly Christmas ball. I want to do this for him. People have done things for me over the years, and it’s time I paid it back, or forward, like they say.” He and Lefty turned and looked at me again. I tried a feeble smile. I wanted ice cream all of a sudden.

  Then Lefty almost fell off the chair he had pulled over. “Oh my God,” he roared. “Casa del—ha-ha! I just got it!”

  My tentative smile evaporated. I was left out of the joke. See if I cared.

  Tuesday

  ‘Dear teacher; Aiden won’t be in school today; he has a fever; signed, Aiden’s mom.’ Well that was most of Monday. Aiden wasn’t anywhere. Oh sure, I knew where I was and what was going on; I just didn’t care, and it didn’t seem real anyway. Early on Tuesday, a new patient was moved in to where Sol had been. This guy was snoring his ass off, and I hated him already. And he smelled. He had an I.V. pole with all kinds of shit hanging off it, an oxygen tank, no flowers and only one visitor, and if he wasn’t a bum off the beach, I don’t know who would have been. The patient’s name was Bubba Gonzales. His friend looked stoned.

  I was barely awake, in a crabby mood and hungry, though there was no way in hell I would consider even looking at the breakfast tray. Mr. Visitor wandered over and looked at me pathetically. He had on brown shorts and a torn tee shirt that said, ‘Pirates’ on it. He had a Rastafarian head of whatever they are called—rattails? Deadfalls? Oh, dreadlocks, okay. Other than that, he could have been a pirate for all I knew. Did I mention I still had a fever?

  He stood there and stared at me, nodded at my tray and then lifted the lid off it. There was that globe of sticky rice with a runny egg next to it. I got ready to throw up, and reached my hand for the rice. If I was going to throw up I was also going to throw rice. I wanted the satisfaction of seeing it stick to the wall. As a matter of fact, I now desperately wanted to know if any of it would fall off and slide down the wall. But I didn’t get the chance. Mr. Pirate Shirt asked, “Are you going to eat that?” and when my face apparently turned green and I began to hiss curses, he whipped the tray away and took it back over to set on his friend’s tray table instead. And then he sat on the side of the bed and ate all that crap. I couldn’t watch; so I wrenched myself over onto my side, facing away from the ghastly sight. I spent the next half hour having a splendid pity party for myself for being alone and hungry.

  After that time, I heard footsteps approaching my bed. Mr. Pirate Shirt said, “What happened to your ass?”

  Damn gowns. Damn fever. Fever fever fever. I think I threw up. I know someone changed my sheets while I was still in the bed. I think I dreamed of the Filipino aides coming in screaming youwoknow! Someone tried to grab my dick. I kicked out and peed. Fuck them. And then, I was told later, I had a seizure, so apparently all my bad behavior up until then was attributed to that. Everything so far, and some other stuff, was all nightmare fodder to me until sometime later in the afternoon, when I surfaced again.

  An owl was staring at me, a man-sized owl with huge round—oh, those were glasses. Two tufted ears turned out to be headphones. He was one of the ugliest men I’d ever seen in my life. Behind him I saw Mr. Pirate Shirt eyeing the lunch tray on my tray table, guarded by Owl Man. It was like watching a wolf stalk a bird. I giggled and said, “The owl and the wolf man went to sea in a beautiful green boat full of pee…no wait, that’s not…”

  Wolf-pirateman said, “Are you gonna eat that?”

  The owl did not hear him through his headphones. His lips were moving beneath his beak. Wolfman took the tray. I glared at him. Owlman sang (loudly and off key): “There’s a whore in Wailea who’s older than God, and her whiskers fall down to her tits, with one single bump of her ponderous rump she can grind your poor pecker to bits. Tra la, tra la.” Suddenly my unconscious roommate’s hungry and homeless-looking friend didn’t seem so weird anymore.

  See, I told myself, I have to stop judging people.

  I looked at him and shook my head. “I have a fever,” I said primly. (So fuck you.)

  “Your babysitter is a twit,” he replied. He stood there, eating sticky rice with his fingers. He nodded his head. “When you get out of here—if you need anything, just tell me. Asses kicked, dogs shot, people beat up—just ask at Kanaha for Slimy Jim.”

  Whoa, I guess my days of not making friends easily were over. I went off into a daydream of being a pirate and pushing people, well having my hireling, Slimy Jim, push people overboard. This was very pleasant, but why did I have a babysitter on the ship?

  Then Slimy was offering me something out of a bottle he had in his pocket and next thing I knew a nurse came in and told us we’d have to stop singing, it was bothering the other patients. She said to me, “You’re drunk, aren’t you?” And I smiled. And hiccupped. And she said, “Oh, that will sit well with your doctor; and you on antibiotics. You’re in trouble, mister. And you,” here she turned to my very best friend, “Get out.” She ripped the headphones off my babysitter. “And you’re fired.” Apparently I’d been so sick they’d had a patient-sitter come in to make sure I didn’t die. Well I didn’t, so he wasn’t all that bad.

  I came up again to the smell of supper. Oh God! My head and my stomach were churning. Someone held the barf bowl out for me, and later washed my face and held me. I think it was my mother…Ugh no! But then in came Todd and Sol and two topless dancers and a male stripper and a gorilla. Was I dreaming? And the last thing I heard was, “Thank you Jesus, his fever’s broken. Now maybe the whole ward can get some rest.”

  Wednesday

  By Wednesday morning, I was well enough to be obnoxious again. I was no longer lost in a fog of fever and pain meds (so really, had no more excuse). Gradually the antibiotic worked its magic, and I grew aware of how sick I’d really been. What with the doctor gouging around in my ass, Sol not being there, Lefty hovering over me like a mother hen, Todd winking and trying to cheer me up whenever he cathed me…and an occasional arrgh from across the room—I was more than ready to get the hell out of Dodge, if you know what I mean. I wanted to go home, wherever home was going to be—preferably somewhere sane without homeless roommates and pirates and—what the hell? Pirates? I looked at Captain Slimy Jim; his shirt said “Charter Harder!”

  So in honor of Feeling Better I spent the morning crying with pain, snuffling with self-pity, grumping and grousing in order to make everyone else aware of how miserable I had been and still was. I kicked the covers off, kicked the foot of the bed, refused to eat, and was rude to the nurses. As far as I could tell nobody was doing anything for me, people were in the hallway laughing when I needed something, and everyone else was having a good time, eating nice food, not that I cared, fuck them. All in all, pretty much the same as yesterday only now it was on purpose with no excuses.

  Nobody came to see me, (Lefty had been in and out all day yesterday and was at the moment I thought this, in the bathroom); Sol had deserted me for no reason (Sol had gotten well enough t
o go home and from there sent cards and food and toys); Todd hated me and thought I was ugly (Tuesday he spent an hour after he could have gone home, sitting with me, giving me a bed bath, and massaging my back while I was completely out of it and thought he was a pirate). The Filipinos wanted to kill me (they told the doctor I was in no shape to go for a walk now, and I think they lied and said I had made when I hadn’t.) And after all that, on Wednesday evening when I realized what an ass I’d been being, Lefty told me it was because of the fever and I hadn’t really been as bad as I thought, anyhow. That was a lie, but I loved him for it. Of course I had no idea why everyone was going around singing about a whore in Wailea, either.

  Lefty told me that I was going to go to the Casa del ha ha, Cazzi (I had no idea what that meant, banana maybe) if that was okay with me…and that he’d be there to go with me to my new home. And he read my mind and assured me that he would be over to visit me as often as he could, and would help me finish school, enroll in college, get a job, or whatever it was I wanted to do. He reminded me that I was not just a hero, but a legend, and I had it in me to do whatever I wanted, to achieve any goals I set, and that I had people who loved me and would help me find my way.

  Of course I cried; wouldn’t you have?

  After a while, after he’d left, I dug deep into myself and looked into the pit that I used to be in—that I used to be (as recently as this morning, unfortunately)—a place where bad judgment ruled, other’s opinions mattered more than my own, and where I, too, was beginning to be bitter and hateful and look at others and judge them as less-than myself. I smiled ruefully and shut the door on that part of my life once and for all (I hoped.) I was grateful to see that I no longer was that person. I slept well, all night long, with no bad dreams at all. How much had been due to my fever and how much due to my past, or my own personality flaws, I would never know, but I did know that I could—and would—move on. As it was, considering my past behavior, I was grateful that my new friends did not think that my ‘struggle’ was all there was to me.