The life of an Indefinite Playerr

Chapter 24

Then a light drizzle fell against the hospital glass. Although constant, it was calming to my internal organs. The room was filled with the pungent scent of hospital disinfectant, the curtains were open, and the monitor next to me was beeping as usual while I had a mask that looked like a ventilator engraved on my face. My arm was hooked up to a drip when I softly shifted my head to the right. A woman wearing a white robe and having coloured hair entered and stood beside my bed as I felt the door swing open. She gave it a quick glance before approaching my feet and picking up what appeared to be a clipboard with something scribbled on it. She walked over to the monitor, examined it, and then turned to face me then shook her head.

"You have been taking meds correctly?" she asked. I couldn't respond but just shy away from the question, flickering my head to the other side. "Do you still want to live?"

She stretched her arm and removed the ventilator from my mouth, a fine film of moisture circled on my face. She took a damp cloth and wiped my face.

"Evening to you too, Tracy. How have you been?" I spoke.

"I'm Doctor Chapman to every patient I treat." Her face was serious and firm. She was so professional around me, which was a rare and awkward thing. Weird actually.

"O...ka...y. What happened? You look pissed." I began.

"Because I am pissed, Patrick. I almost lost my license because of you and your stupid father." She turned to look at the monitor, then she scribbled something again.

"I am sorry. What happened?"

"He served me with a fucking restraining order, then lodged a complaint about me, like what the fuck? Just a little misunderstanding between me and-"

"Tracy..." I said cutting her off. She looked really irritated by the whole of this situation. "I am sorry, I talked to him about it, and he said he will lift them. Has he?"

She grumbled and rolled her eyes. She then said, "the problem is, I was just concerned about you Patrick and only wanted what is best for you, to make you happy."

"I know...I know... and I am really sorry this happened to you." I apologised.

"It is okay. How are you holding up?" she asked in a soft, gentle and calm voice.

"I am fine and also thank you for the suit. I really loved it, though it was worn under bad circumstances."

"Don't mention it. I have your back anytime."

There was a quick silence in the ward, the I began "I am angry at you."

"Why?" she asked.

"You lied and told me I was a good kisser. I had to hear it from a random girl that I suck at kissing." I looked at her and studied her face. She blushed and looked away.

"I never said you were good at kissing; just said you are good at what you do. Still, I can teach you, if you want to though?"

"Oh c'mon. I already have a teacher." I cleared my throat and looked up to her again. "What does it mean to be wet?"

She chuckled, then wore a serious face, "It is what you did to me the other day."

"Details please."

"Okay, so basically it is when the vagina, wells and juices itself preparing for sex, it is when it basically reacting to you, like having an erection."

"Oh okay," I said realisation "so how do I do that to a girl?"

"You denied my tutoring lessons, so no I am not saying anything." She dragged a chair and sat next to me, intertwining her own her with the clipboard on her lap.

"Patrick, I have something to tell. I suggest you sit up straight." I did so as I laid my back on the continental blue pillow. "What is it?" I asked

"Patrick," she sighed, "You are not making it."

"Wha... Wha...What do you mean?" I hesitated. Tipping over your tongue shows afraid you are, and in this conversation, I was far more afraid than a sheep before its shearer, far more afraid than a convict before the jury, far more than a broke man held at gunpoint; I was very scared.

"You are getting worse, day by day and by the time it is November or December, we will be telling another story. I know I sound blunt, but for you survi... I mean accept the situation we have to be this blunt with you. I have requested that I become your front doctor over Moreno, so you be comfortable with your health and with coming here anytime for our assistance." 

Around me, it seemed to be hazy. I shed quiet tears. It's not that she informed me I was going to die; it's the tone she employed, which was uncommonly professional and calm. She was casual, and her tone had the stench of metal in it. It was as though she was simply breaking everything down to some other patient who she did not know. My hands began to sweat and tremble. I felt like I was drowning because I was so caught up in the present and my own thoughts.

"Now, now Patrick. Wipe those tears. Do not cry. This is not the time to be weak and sob to yourself, blaming yourself for everything happening, but it is time you made your life what you always wanted it to be. Go out there, break hearts, jump out of airplanes and shoot down wildebeests; just do anything that will make you happy. Don't cry okay." 

"You really blunt with feelings," I said. "Do you understand how I feel right now?"

"I don't, Patrick," she countered. "...and I never will. Only you know how you feel."

"Please leave."

"You shall get that if that is what you desire." She gently stood up, looked into my eyes, then tapped me on the shoulder. She gently exited the room while turning her back on me. As she moved down the hallway, her sneakers began to creak on the linoleum.