Chapter 9
I once saw a man who could swallow his entire shoe whole. He was always out on the street by the fountain in the square near my school. He would take off one of his ratty Nikes, hold it above his head to show the crowd he gathered and slowly insert it into his mouth.
After gracefully sucking in the aglet end of the shoestring like a strand of spaghetti, the man would have swarms of girls all flirting and telling him how talented he was. He'd say that it was only a shoe. It was nothing.
I was a firm believer in the idea that all men had a shoe, a trait that could reel in any girl. For some, it's obvious and they flaunt it and then others, it's hidden. Sometimes it's hidden really deep and no one ever finds it. Sort of like their mum threw it away because it smelled or something.
My shoe used to be football. Girls have a thing for guys who do sports. With long hair and a football uniform, I was flawless. Unless you stood me next to everyone else on the team, like Charlie, who had insane muscle and neatly trimmed hair and beards. But that's beside my point.
Once I was admitted to the hospital, I tossed that shoe aside (against my will). I always thought I'd find a new one but gave up and stopped caring. I was fine with socks, if you get my meaning.
The reason I thought back on the man with the shoe was Hal. The man didn't even have a sock to be proud of. He had two brain cells in his head; one was lost and the other was looking for it.
He was so stupid, so brainlessly dumb, that he nearly overdosed me on my meds, slid over the wooden chair thinking it was my wheelchair and held his People magazine upside-down as he stared at it. He was just lucky I knew how to take care of myself because if I relied on him, I would have died months ago.
After three bites of a gluten-free lunch that definitely was meant for another patient, I interrupted his hard thoughts to intrude on his personal business.
"Celebrities do look better upside-down don't they?"
Hal nearly threw the magazine with surprise. I hadn't talked much since he'd come in; only a rude greeting and a few complaints here and there. "I was... seeing if they did." He stuttered. Lying wasn't an easy task for him. His face flushed and eyes ran everywhere but on me.
I didn't bother pointing out that my question was rhetorical. I thought that was implied when I ended the sentence in the tone of a statement. "I'm guessing you're thinking about the alleged nurse who may or may not be dating you."
"Whatever I am thinking about, it doesn't concern you. I can't be bothered with you today."
"Oh, that's friendly. You're all out of sorts."
"It's just that you're the last person I would talk to about adult matters."
I rolled my eyes, shoving my tray away. I wasn't going to eat any more of whoever's it was. "Hal, your adult matters hardly count as that. Try me. I've got years of wisdom stored up that I need to use before I die."
His eyebrows fell and he gave me a very blank look. I hadn't seen a look so blank since I told my teacher in primary school that I didn't know my alphabet. I remember her blinking twice and silently turning to call my parents.
Hal blinked four times, unsure if I was pulling his leg or serious. I was honestly just bored, but couldn't very well state that or I'd lose out on winning Bev's car. His life story wouldn't bring me any fun other than spreading it to Tilisha and watch it get twisted and mangled into something juicy.
Hal leaned over me to collect my tray from my other side. Like my teacher, he wanted to walk away and not work things out with me. I wasn't letting him off so easily. I caught a whiff of him as he took my tray and shouted the popular exclamation "Ah ha!"
He tossed the tray with surprise, falling to the floor to clean up my (or whosever it was) leftovers.
"Charlotte. I would have never guessed. She's out of you league on every level."
"What? Wait. No. Huh? Gah. I-"
I hated blubbering. "Shut it. I know it's her. I smell her perfume on your scrubs. Nice try, Hallie but I remember Tilisha getting it for her last Christmas."
Hal scraped the dishes onto the tray slowly, avoiding looking up from the floor. He sat down, defeated on the cold tile. "I just... we didn't want... I mean-"
"You didn't want it to become public because you think you'll feel too pressured when the nurses keep asking you what you're doing for her and what romantic gifts you give. I don't care. I just wanted to know who it was. Now I need to tell Charlotte how she's making a huge mistake."
"No!" his face shot up, eyes and, well, everything else, begging. "I've been trying so hard. Don't you dare mess this up."
Through my tough thinking process, Charlotte came in. Hal's face went crayon red and he scrambled up onto his feet. Charlotte tried to smile encouragingly but the man didn't have much going for him and he spilled the tray again, blabbering to his supposed girlfriend.
Charlotte nodded along but was waiting to tell me whatever she was told to. I bounced my legs impatiently and finally yelled over Hal. "Just go! The janitor will take care of it."
His shoulders slumped. It was gluten-free food on the floor not a dragon. Slaying it wasn't going to earn him the admiration of the witnesses. Although apparently, he'd already won Charlotte. The thought was driving me mad. She deserved so much more of a man.
"Bev wants you in her office. She's decorating the ficus."
I looked between Hal and Charlotte a long time, trying to envision a semblance of relationship. There was nothing positive I could think of so I continued around the halls.
Bev was sifting through I small box labeled 'ficus décor'. Her glasses slipped mid-way down her nose and forehead creased with slight concentration. I sat in front of her, resting from my one minute walk. The ficus décor was old and crumpling. All the paint on the ornaments was chipping or fading.
"I'm really not up for Christmas anything right now."
Bev shrugged a shoulder. "Neither am I. But if I don't have it done by the end of November, the nurses will spread word that I hate Christmas."
She sort of did hate Christmas. Not the meaning or the holiday itself, just the memories her life threw at her around that time.
I was administered to the hospital about a month before Christmas so, as anyone would imagine, last year I had been very narked. Bev was about the only person who could tolerate me whatsoever and decorating her ficus was a way of calming us both down about the season. I was trapped in a hospital, she was remembering how seven years ago, she got news that her husband in the navy was dead.
I think I probably would have died if we hadn't spent six hours hanging ornaments. It had been a cross between a silent and drill sergeant sort of therapy session that would last the rest of my life.
Her office was small and neat. It always smelled like house plants and Lysol but she kept it warmer than the rest of the building. I closed the door, typically unnerved by silence but passed it off.
She handed me a box within the box of dull, round ornaments. She never had anything sparkling or glittery like mum always did. Then again, mum decorated an evergreen rather than a ficus.
"I get your car in five days."
Bev shook her head. "You'll complain about something before then."
"I haven't so far."
"Not to my face. That doesn't mean you haven't."
I wiped each orb off with a dust rag. She wouldn't stand for them to be dirty though she didn't bat an eye at chipped paint. "You can't change the rules just because you know I'm going to win."
She apparently still wasn't sure if the jokes still bothered me or not. They didn't if she or I were to make them. They weren't exactly jokes anyways. It was the truth. So I said what she was thinking. "Besides, even if I win, I won't live long enough to get my driver's license."
I was grinning but she wasn't. She snatched the cleaned orb I held, hanging it on the tree. "There's always a chance, David. You're not dead yet. There's time to figure something out."
"Since when were you on the sunny side?" I scoffed.
"Trust me, I'm still in the shade."
"Comforting." I was half sarcastic. I was comforted that she hadn't become an overnight pessimist but her confidence in my life-span wasn't reassuring.
"However, I'd rather keep trying. You should too."
"What do you think I'm doing?"
"Not eating, going out with your brother only to come back half-dead, not resting enough-"
"I got it."
"Is your family coming in for Christmas?"
"Maybe mum and Charlie." I knew little more than she did. Last year, my parents were at the beginning of their long, ugly divorce and Charlie was immersed in his first year at university. They did all come together bringing Nana and Grandpa Joe.
My mother's parents were an interesting lot. Nana has beaten my backside with various things over the years. She once ran Charlie and I out of our own house when she saw us playing with matches. The first time she saw me smoke, she threw glass dishes at me, screaming that I was disowned as her grandson. If only she would see everything Charlie has done...
Grandpa Joe was the kind of man who was incredibly old-fashioned. He wasn't over World Was II, still called cars 'automobiles' and smoked fat cigars. When he smoked, Nana didn't flinch.
Anyways, back to Christmas. I got a few gifts from some friends. Mostly cards but I didn't count on getting them from many people this year. Nana knitted me a beanie that I often wear. Grandpa got me a shoe-shining kit. Like I said, he was very old-fashioned. I sold it to the patient next door. Mum got me clothes, a book on not being depressed (that I never read) and a Reds blanket. I got a few films from dad and Charlie gave me his prized football signed by my friends from his old team.
My dad probably wouldn't come. He hadn't bothered to answer any recent messages Bev left or visit since we'd discovered I was worse off.
Bev sighed, temporarily giving up on the ficus. I kept cleaning ornaments, trying not to stare at the back of her head. She finally sat in her desk chair, watching me. I smiled at her after awhile. "What?"
She shook her head. For once, I had no idea what she was thinking so I prodded her again. She grinned. "I'd tell you if I wanted you to know."
"Fine. Whatever. I don't care anyways."
"You do care but I don't care that you do."
My mind drifted and I felt my smile fade. My mood darkened but I didn't say anything. I went back to my work and so did she. My nose had been stuffed up since I left Charlie's and head ached. It was way too easy to pick up infections. I cursed my vulnerability.
Sometimes I wondered if I was bipolar. Bev, who was in fact a doctor, told me I just had a nasty temper.
"You make yourself angrier than anyone else can make you." She said.
That wasn't entirely true. People could really get a rise out of me easily but my own mind was a constant curse when I was left alone. I exaggerated my angry expression for her.
Bev rested her face on her fist. It was rare to see her break her posture. Weirder than that, she made a second positive remark. "Your dad might come."
"That's not what I was thinking about but no he won't. I don't care though."
"Liar."
"I don't!" I argued, coughing some. I'd left my oxygen in my room, my nose raw from the tubes and wiping away snot. "What will one more time matter? I don't have anything to say. He doesn't either."
"You can think that way."
"Did someone put something in your drink?"
She scoffed lowly, shaking her head. "It's the ficus. I wasn't always the way I am."
I leaned back, watching the freezing rain outside. "Only a month and a half until Christmas is over."
"Not soon enough. The ficus can only hold five stones of ornaments for so long."
I let out a small laugh, tired beyond what I should have been considering the lack physical activity. Bev slid over a box of crackers that I wanted to reject. I hadn't wanted to eat anything and it was showing. My reflection scared me closer to death every morning. I did drink a protein shake in the mornings but sometimes, I only drank half.
"I expect you to gain at least a pound per week."
That wasn't going to happen but I slowly gnawed on a single cracker to satisfy her. She fed the ficus too but with water. The thing was as bad off as I was; sickly, drooping and shedding withered leaves. I thought about asking if Bev killed off all her patients but decided against it. If I learned one thing from her, it was to hold my tongue when I knew what I wanted to say was a bad idea.