After the Blur

June 6, 2016

The room was quiet. The absence of sound and life made it feel as if it were secluded from reality. My own little world, I thought to myself. The room was large. A desk worthy of praise and worship, a view to calm the nerves was covered with thick, colorful drapes, a plant whose name escaped my mind weeks ago sat in the corner. The black leather chairs in front of the desk caught the light in a way that reflected health. That could have just came with the profession. Paperwork and a few scattered utensils lay atop the powerful, handmade desk.

Glancing at the paperwork filled me with a loathing, and irritation. I decided to ignore it for the time being and eyed my coffee. The hot black liquid released a welcoming smoke. Slow steam perked up and vanished into the air, sending it's gift of a warm scent into the room. Closing my eyes, I bask in the aroma. My momentary bliss was interrupted.  The heavy wooden door broke the solemn silence, and a nurse stood in the threshold.

"Excuse me, Dr. Mayfield? A James Straton is here to see you," he informed. "I don't have an appointment until 2 o'clock this afternoon." "He's insisting you'll make an exception-," "He can't just walk in, he's supposed to wait in the waiting room!" "I told him that, but that has when I found him down the hall on his way here," he replied and countered every one of my arguments. There was no point in arguing, he was getting in today no matter what. "Bring him in," I sighed, obviously frustrated.

"Hey! How's my favorite doctor?" he asked excitedly as he entered the room. "What the hell are you doing?" I shot back, "You're supposed to call for an appointment you idiot," "Hey, no one told you to get all hostile on me. Besides it's really important," he pulled up his shirt's long sleeve and revealed an arm, wrapped with bloody gauss wrap. "Jesus! What did you do to yourself?!" I got up from my chair behind my solitude and grabbed his arm as gently as possible and unwrapped it. The cut was massive, not very deep, but deep enough to require a bundle of stitches. It had been 8-10 inches long and very dirty. "I'm not sure," he replied late, "I know it happened last night. Judging by how bad it stings, whatever cut me was very dull. Corrigated roofing probably,".

The fact that he's alive is a mystery. Not because of the injury, but because I'm used to seeing this from him. Ever since I met him I was only able to put him in one category: reckless. He enjoys the the insane adrenaline rush brought on by danger. Causing trouble was a hobby he did on the weekends; certain magnitudes were child's play. However, every time I raise questions about him, my mind flashes back to a time when we didn't know each other and I needed him more than I ever would.

February 7, 2007: this day was so vivid. The day I met James Straton. 

                ---___---___---___---

It was hot; I was tired and in pain. That day, I was convinced by a friend to try out for wrestling. I had intended it to be a joke. One bad move and it felt as if my left ankle completely twisted 180 degrees; others were sure it did. My right wrist had been dislocated and popped back into place within a fifteen minute period. Needless to say, I was in serious pain and had every intention to go to the hospital, but that can wait whispered a voice that parried every rational suggestion. I was exhausted, trying to throw someone twice your weight over your shoulder really takes it out of you. During my half-limping walk home, my thoughts waved towards my broken phone and my soft bed in a cold room. The thought of cool temperatures made me anxious in the hot, humid city night. Images of routes I can take, possible shortcuts, and the absent hope of someone I know (miraculously seeing me on the street) giving me a ride home argued amongst themselves to take their place in the center of my thoughts.

Shortcuts took the position. I decided to cut behind a very popular Mexican restaurant. The smell of rotting food and old grease made my stomach churn.