He Bit Me

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There is a man- a grown man- pacing back and forth through the hall talking to his self, stopping ever so often to punch his self in the thigh. He’s out there, doing these things, and I can’t ask him why. I can hear a teenage girl out there as well. I can hear her complaining to a nurse about the quality of her lunch, and I can’t tell her to shut up. There’s a cute redhead out there too, alone and voluptuous, stunningly gorgeous, sitting by herself staring at a blank television screen, but I’m not aloud to talk to her. I’m not sure she could hear me even if I were.3

They’ve had me isolated-quarantined I’m sure-for two days now in what seems to be a makeshift, temporary chamber. They’ve sealed the only door with duct tape and cellophane, and have cut a small slit in the window. They use this slit to slide my one daily meal through to me. A nurse and an armed guard there to supervise, both in HAZ-MAT suits, jam the tray through right before a three man crew, also in HAZ-MATs, immediately seal the hole shut with some sort of industrial caulk; I can smell the chemicals in the glue long after they leave. 4

Memories of the last three days are becoming cloudy, but I know I’m in a hospital; I can remember most of how I got here. I have yet to see a doctor, though, and I don’t suspect that I ever will; I get the feeling that they are waiting for me to die…humanely. Or, if Ryan was right, they’re waiting for something much worse to happen to me… humanely or otherwise.5

I left the bar that night at I don’t know what time. The same bar we’ve (Ryan and I) have been drinking at since we moved to our neighborhood. Cool club, for sure, but quite a walk from our place. Ryan, though, out and about one day, exploring the neighborhood, stumbled upon a gated alleyway that runs between two nearby apartment buildings that we’ have been using as a shortcut ever since. 6

I say “gated” because a pack of Homeless had barricaded themselves in there, trying to keep whomever out. They scavenged whatever building material they can find and piled it up on each end to block off the entrances/exits. Lucky for us, though, bums make poor engineers and even worse security guards, and it was easy for Ryan and me to smash our way through their walls (usually drunk) whenever needed…no problem. But the night in question would be different. 7

After Last Call, I left the bar alone, and shouldn’t have. I should’ve called a cab, but I didn’t. Instead, I aimed my stumbling self towards the Hobo’s alley, mostly looking for fun, but probably looking for trouble. Normally the two can coexist, but not this night: this night, trouble had it in for me. 8

There was about twenty feet of chain link fencing stretched across the eight foot entrance of the alley. The Bums folded the thing over it’s self as many times as they needed to cover the space, and then secured it to the walls of the buildings with bailing wire. How they managed this, I’ll never know, but that’s not the point. The point is it took me nearly an hour (as drunk as I was) to get the damned thing removed, and the time it took me to do all this, was enough time to let the night’s excessive alcohol consumption to run its course.9

About three quarters the way through I felt my guts churning and rising; my mouth began to water and my limbs started to shake. I lurched and stumbled my way forward, desperately trying to make through the end of the alley. I knew the local residents would recognize by sight, and I knew there’s no effective way to defend one’s self while vomiting. I needed to get out of there, fast, but I didn’t make it. I stabilized my self against a wall and let loose with the Big Spit.10

Hugggh, Hugggh…ughhh. Hahaa… Oh! Damned God Jesus…save ME…you bastard.11

So there I was, heaving violently, my own gag reflex prying my vertebra loose, my back exposed an vulnerable to any would-be Hobo Avenger, my pickled brain and drunken senses turned into slobbering mush with paranoia and self pity. The place was silent, and unusual. Not a soul in sight. No barrel fires, no chatter, no nothing; eerie scene… for sure. And then… 12

Click clap, shhhcerp, click clap shhhcerp…in between heaves I heard a strange sound and yelled out: “Who’s there?” but I got no reply.13

Click clap, shhhcerp, click clap shhhcerp… “Go away bum, I’ll kick your asshurllll…….stay away man, I’m warning you!!! COUGH.”14

Click clap, shhhcerp, click clap shhhcerp… “C’mon buddy, I’m sorry about your fence. I’ll…hack, hack… put it back up.”15

The sound got closer. Click clap, shhhcerp, click clap shhhcerp…16

In between heaves, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the silhouette of some sort of hunchback coming toward me, moving closer in a sort of grotesque gallop. He pulsated forward with two hops on one foot, and would then drag his other leg back underneath him with both hands. Obviously crippled. I wanted to tell him something about me not wanting to fight a War Vet, but before I could spit the sentence out, the thing was on me and sinking his fangs deep into my forearm.17

It took me a while (as drunk as I was) to digest the situation, and by the time I did, the Hunchback had wrestled me to the ground. I screamed out: “Aghhow!!! Get off me you crazy bastard!!! Oghhh!!! He’s biting me!!! HELP!!!” I was pleading to no one. I started whacking the freak on the top of his head with hammer-fist after hammer-fist, doing more damage to the side of my hand than to his head. I landed a few blows to his kidneys, I think, and maybe a few kicks to his shin, but nothing seemed to work. I’m lousy in a fight period, and when I’ drunk, I’m downright pathetic.18

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I was getting desperate. Quasimodo pushed me up against a wall and started thrashing his head back and forth like a pit-bull, trying to rip my arm off, I guess. 20

I could feel the flesh begin to separate and the pain was incredible. Screeching like a banshee I grabbed my attacker by the back of his pants, lifted him up, and started spinning around like a Dervish. This surprise him, it seemed, because with every rotation I could feel his grip on my arm loosening. I felt this and I started to aim for the wall, slamming the Hunchback into the bricks with every turn as hard as I could. After four or five blows, his grip on my forearm let loose completely. I felt this and, timing my release perfectly, chucked the bastard ten yards back down the alley. I thought (as drunk as I was) that I had super-human strength; I can’t shot-put an eight pound ball ten yards, but I threw this dude the distance…easily. I threw my arms, one of them mangled, into the air for the Victory Formation as I ran off, surprised that there was no barricade at the other end for me to knock down. When I got home I wrapped an old shirt around my arm and immediately went to sleep.