Great. Now I Hate Hospitals
Darryl turned off the car in the middle of Free Bird’s guitar riff. The hospital loomed a half block from our spot in visitor parking. I wasn’t looking forward to the trek there, short as it was. Darryl seemed even more reluctant.
He pulled the car keys into his lap and fiddled with them while staring straight ahead at the hospital. “Coming?” I asked. He said nothing. “Poor choice of words.”
“I hate hospitals.” He brought his thumb up to his mouth and began chewing zealously at the nail.
“It’s a building with people. Nothing to be afraid of.”
“It’s the only place in the world where there’s a reminder about what being gay means.” He spit out a piece of nail, selecting another digit for oral attack. “You know that super old game show with like doors you get to choose?” He didn’t wait for a response. “It’s like that. Behind door one, we have people with AIDS. Behind door two, a bunch of babies and married people.” He looked at me. “Door three? That’s where Nurse Bitch is stationed, programmed to ask, ‘Are you a family member?’ You know what my favorite is?”
I was too tired to get into what being gay meant. I’d been avoiding this very conversation for weeks. “This is perfect timing for this discussion. No, really. It is. Perfect.”
“My favorite is the signs. You know the ‘give blood’ signs. Except we can’t give blood. Because we’re gay. And apparently, we’re all tainted. Like breeders don’t have HIV?”
“Know what else is in there?” I asked when he finally let me get a word in. “Peter. So take your fingers out of your mouth, get your perky ass out of the car and trail your pixie dust through those automatic doors. Okay, Tinkerbelle?”
“If you hadn’t said the ass bit, they’d have to reset your nose again.”
“They haven’t set my nose yet, and why do you think I led with the perky ass part? I can’t figure out why everyone unloads on me—everyone except the one person I want to. Christ, if Peter was this forthcoming, we’d probably be arguing a lot less.” I got out of the car and slammed the door, limping away without checking if Darryl was following.
He caught up with me a few seconds later. “Honey, I wouldn’t worry about Peter opening you up.” The gesture he made was so obscene, I barely kept my ass cheeks from clenching.
“Nice. Thanks for that.” I rolled my eyes.
He laid another lovely statement on me as the automatic doors opened. “You should know, Peter’s mother is an evangelical who thinks I’m going to hell because I suck dick.”
“I don’t think I count. I’ve only done it that one time.”
Good Doggy
Zhavra Dyachenko’s cheeks were flushed, and her mouth was rapidly moving. I couldn’t hear through the glass, which probably meant the doors were too thick—or she was whispering irately.
Across from her, Darryl flipped up his middle finger and shoved it close to her nose.
Between them both, Peter rested silently on his hospital bed. Though they definitely shared the same DNA—red hair, fair skin, pointed features—today it would be difficult to tell that Zhavra was his mother from Peter’s drawn face and sallow coloring.
“Would you like some coffee, Glass?”
I didn’t look at Officer Hutcherson. My attention was riveted to the ICU room, where Peter slept off his anesthesia. “Given up calling me ‘sir’?”
“I’m off duty.”
I couldn’t look away. If I did, Peter would die. I was suddenly sure of it. Even blinking seemed a betrayal. It was useless to try to stop the inevitable. Bodies don’t respond to superstitions. Bodies work on automation. My eyes watered from the strain. Finally, my lids ticked down, pushing the tears out.
“Were you there when he was brought out of surgery?” I asked.
“Haven’t left his side. As instructed. Canadian citizenry would only be interesting for a few days.”
My smile was feeble. “The doctors wouldn’t give information to a nonfamily member. Other than twenty-four to forty-eight hours. Did you hear anything?” Zhavra had been less than helpful.
I registered the sound of paper rustling and imagined Hutcherson was reading from his notebook. “Bullet went through bowel. They repaired the damage, but there’s a high risk of infection.” He paused. “Someone’d better go break them up before the blond pops her one.”
“Thanks. For everything. You should head home.”
“I have some paperwork to do at the station.” It was an offer more than a statement. The implied ‘if you need me’ eliciting a nod from me.