tentatively untitled

I woke up just in time to run to the bathroom and vomit. I had been on the verge of getting sick for the past week. It had finally caught up to me. 1

I figured I had an hour or so to stay there until I'd get my daily call from Dad telling me it was time to get up for work. He'd been doing so ever since I moved out six years ago. 2

So there I was, lying on the bathroom floor. The small gray blinds were shifted downwards, allowing the fading moonlight to shine directly into my left eye and only my left eye. The rest of my body rested untouched by natural light. 3

I swayed in and out of dreams of sixth grade choir practice to a small office with piles of pending data entry. Soon I was driving down my city block in an old and unrecognizable car. A van right in front of me smashed into a small Pontiac filled with five obese people. I sat and watched in my seat as they tried to escape the crushed car. It must've been hard with their extra weight. Three were left in the car when it exploded. The two that escaped ran out naked with slashes across their bulging stomachs. 4

I woke up disgusted at my vivid and psychotic dream. I refused to go back to sleep, so I decided to run to the store to pick up some medication. I’m not sure if I really needed any medicine, but it was an excuse to get out of the house. 5

As I was stepping out of my car and into the parking lot of the store, I opened my car door just in time for a stray shopping cart to run into it, causing it to slam onto my left hand. Warm blood ran down to my elbow. I wasn't exactly in pain, more in shock at the misfortune.6

I walked into the grocery store, where Mariah Carey was singing over the loud speaker. Nobody seemed to notice the fact that my forearm was covered in blood. I went to the cleaning supply aisle, pulled out a roll of paper towels, and wrapped a few of them around my hand to stop the bleeding. 7

I took a seat on the tile and leaned against a pile of Kleenex boxes. My head was swaying to the pulsing of my hand as if it were a song. A few people walked down the aisle. Most of them acted as if it was a normal thing that someone was sitting in the middle of a grocery store with a bloody hand. People like to pretend that they aren't shocked by violent images. One man did stop and offer me a cigarette. I must've looked like I needed one. 8

So there I was, a twenty-seven-year-old who was swaying back and forth, sick, had vomit breath, a bloody hand, and a cigarette. It could have been the illness talking, but my life seemed to be slowly decaying into a vast sense of nothingness. I could feel my compassion for others withering into cynical thoughts filled with morbid hate. My health as a young adult could be compared to that of an old man's. I sat for what seemed to be forever, contemplating where my excitement for life and energy had gone. 9

My self-pity was interrupted by a voice over the intercom. It announced that there had been a fatal shooting in the parking lot. I wondered if my battered car had received a bullet hole, adding to its collection of battle-scars. 10

I sat for a second trying to feel bad, trying to pull some sort of emotion out of my lifeless body. All I could muster was a chuckle. I wanted to cry; I wanted to grieve, but I was already empty. So I gathered some of my energy, bought a bottle of coconut rum, and left the store.  I don’t think I ever did pay for the paper towels.11

The rum was to prepare myself for the emergency room, as I had convinced myself that the cut on my hand needed stitches.  I figured a shot or two would mellow me out enough so that nobody could piss me off too bad.  If I were smart, I would’ve gotten some mouthwash or something to take the smell off of my breath before I entered the hospital.12

I put my cigarette out in the ashtray near the entrance of the emergency room.  The paper towels over my hand weren’t holding much, so a few drops of blood were left behind on the butt.  I should’ve held the cigarette with my right hand, I suppose.  13

By the time I entered the waiting room, I had a good buzz going.  The lady at the front desk gasped when she saw my hand and said that I could fill out the necessary paperwork after I was treated.  The only thing I had to do was show proof of insurance.  14

There wasn’t much of a wait to be seen, probably because it was still early in the morning.  Most sane people were sleeping at this hour.  How long had it been since I had been able to sleep like that?  Two weeks, three weeks…a month?  Regardless, she led me to a room and said the doctor would be with me shortly.15

“How the hell did that happen?” the doctor asked as he entered the room.  If I had been sober, then I would’ve been weary of a doctor who speaks to his patients like that.  16

“I…umm…” I had to pause and straighten myself out.  The liquor had taken full effect now and I was having trouble concentrating.  “I slammed my hand in my car door.”  I don’t think he even heard me; he was already busy taking the blood-soaked paper towels from around my hands.  Once he found his way to the wound, he let out a sigh.17

“It’s nowhere near as bad as it looks.  It’s bleeding a lot…have you been elevating it?  I didn’t think so.  You’ll need some stitches.  Stay here while I go get the needle.”18

Now that I thought about it, I really hadn’t been elevating my hand.  After I wrapped it in paper towels in the grocery store, I had just laid it on the floor next to me.  Even after I lit the cigarette, I had always let it rest on something.  I guess I didn’t learn as much as I thought I did in seventh-grade health class.19

After what seemed like an hour, the doctor came back into the small room.  20

“Judging from your breath, you probably don’t need this, but I’m required to give it to you.”  As he was saying this, he gave me a shot of that was probably some sort of painkiller.  A month or two ago I probably would’ve broken his nose for such a smart-ass comment, but now I just didn’t care.  I simply sat in silence and watched the curved needle as it stitched my skin back together.21

“Against my better judgment, I’m going to prescribe you some Vicodin for the pain.  Try to remember not to take it with any more rum, ok?”22

I didn’t stop by the front desk to fill out any paperwork.  I don’t even think the receptionist noticed that I was leaving.  I did, however, grab the rest of my cigarette from the ashtray on my way out the door. There’s no sense in letting half of a cigarette go to waste.23

Walgreens was only a block or two away, so I decided to get my prescription filled while I was out.  Unfortunately, it was still too early in the morning, and the store didn’t open for another hour.  I didn’t feel like making another trip out of the house later, so I decided to wait the hour.  24

I must have fallen asleep, because when I woke up the sun was shining brightly overhead and it looked as if Walgreens had been open for at least a few hours.  I turned my key in the ignition to turn on the accessories and found out that it was 11:23 am, which meant that I had been sleeping for over 3 hours.  I knew I had been asleep, but I didn’t feel refreshed in the slightest.  I was ready for the Vicodin, though.  Both the rum and the anesthetic the doctor gave me had worn off, and my hand was really hurting.  25

When I walked up to the pharmacy to hand them my prescription, the pharmacist asked me what happened to my hand.  I didn’t feel like talking to him, so I just put the prescription on the counter and walked over to the chair to wait.  I was trying to pretend not to hear him, but I doubt I was very convincing.  26

“Sir, your prescription is ready.”  The sudden interruption startled me.  I had somehow managed to fall asleep again while I was waiting for the man to fill my prescription.  According to the clock on the wall, I had been waiting all of twenty minutes.27

“Vicodin is a pretty heavy sedative, so you should try not to drive after you’ve taken one of these.  Your insurance has covered the cost of the medication, so you’re ready to go.  Have a nice day, sir.”  The man’s enthusiasm disgusted me.28

I couldn’t even remember being at the hospital earlier that morning.  I had vague recollections, but it seemed so far away that the only way I knew for sure that I had been there was the black thread in my hand.  29

I completely ignored both the doctor and the pharmacist.  Not only did I take the Vicodin before I drove home, but I chased it down with the rum I had purchased earlier that morning.  I figured that I was going to die one day anyway, so there was no sense it taking unnecessary precautions.  I’d be home in about ten minutes anyway.30

I was about three blocks from my house when I started to feel woozy. My vision became blurred and there was a terrible ringing in my ears.  I blinked for what seemed like a second and all of a sudden there were car horns blaring and tires screeching on pavement and…31

* * *32

Rrrrrriiiiiinnnnnnngggggggg, rrrrriiiiiinnnnnnngggggggg.33

“Ah, crap.  Hello?”34

“Wake up, John, you have to get ready for work.”35