The constant beeping noises were irritating. They became more frequent as I wondered where they were coming from. Whose annoying alarm was trying to disturb my sleep?
"Oh, thank God."
The first words I heard as my eyes fluttered open were from an unknown voice. I looked up. A rather young male doctor was looking down at me. I wanted to speak but my mouth felt dry and I could feel that there was something on top of it, almost like it was clamping it shut. I tried to make sense of my surroundings. I was in a hospital. The beeps were from a cardiac monitor whose leads were attached to my chest. There was an infusion bag draining its contents into my arm. I couldn't remember coming here. And from how I felt, I didn't think I was sick.
"How are you feeling?" The doctor looked a little too young, like a teenager. He couldn't be older than me. Then again, maybe he had Jeremy Syndrome and was actually thirty.
"Fine" I croaked. I felt thirsty. I reached up and pulled a gas mask off my mouth. "Water."
The doctor looked at me for a few seconds before my request registered. He fumbled with some notes as he walked off, hopefully to get me a drink. I tried to sit up and immediately felt woozy. I lay back and did my best to absorb my environment. I was in a rather busy hospital unit. Everyone seemed in a rush and either walked fast or jogged.The other patients I managed to see where unconscious and hooked up to several machines. They reminded me of Jason as I had seen over a week ago. I wondered if we were in the same hospital. Nurses scurried to a patient whose heart monitor had begun to make rapid ominous beeping noises. Several doctors and nurses ran in his direction.
"Clear!"
I heard a loud thump and I tried to see through the crowd of medics that had surrounded the guy. They were doing the cool shock thing that I always saw on TV. Defib, yeah that's it. Except that their eyes lacked the dramatic excitement. This was just a boring routine for them. I sighed to myself as the young doctor returned with a bottle of water. He offered it to me and I drank eagerly. I felt a little better. I tried to recall how I had gotten here. I was dying; that was my last conscious thought. But somehow, I hadn't died. My sesame allergy had struck again. I remembered the first time it had happened. I was merely a child and only too happy to stuff anything that looked like food in mouth. And then I felt the same things: swollen tongue, breathing difficulty, dizziness, all that. It was probably from a burger. Or maybe a breadstick I couldn't even remember what I had eaten or how I had survived that time. But I knew I had an allergy to sesame. My mother fussed over me enough afterwards to have that fact ingrained in my skull.
"Michael!"
I spun to the side and Swash rushed into the room. I saw the lines of worry all over his face, now easing with relief.
"Sir, you're not allowed in here," the doctor said meekly. Maybe he was intimidated by Swash's size; he was really small.
"I'm sorry, just needed to see him."
"What happened?" I was curious as to how he had handled it. I had no idea what happened.
"You were brought in with anaphylactic shock," the doctor replied. "Luckily, he brought you in time. You were in a stuporous state and almost in respiratory failure. You lost consciousness shortly after you arrived."
"I feel fine now."
"Which means that the epinephrine and diphenhydramine have done their job" he said smiling. "We got you stabilized almost four hours ago but somehow you remained unconscious. He," the doctor nodded to Swash "thought you were in a coma. We just played the waiting game." He smiled, seeming proud of his superior intellect or sense of judgment. I smiled back. I was just happy to be alive.
"So, when can I go home?"
"Hopefully, soon. All your vitals seem normal. We just need to do a quick physical exam to prove that you're not in any physical danger and haven't had any minor neurological damage, and you'll be good to go. Your speech seems perfect, so...mark off cranial nerves ten and twelve..."
He muttered the last part, but I still managed to pick it. I lay back in bed, looking at Swash who had stayed mute but otherwise looked happy. The doctor left with the writing board and a few nurses came over. Swash just stood there, watching everything. For some reason, nobody told him to leave. I got unhooked from the infusion bag and cardiac monitor and the same doctor came back to perform my examination. I did a bunch of things, from reply whether I had felt stuff on my face to say how many fingers I could see to stick out and waggle my tongue. A lot of it felt very childish. Swash just looked on, smiling. I answered a few questions to prove that my brain was still functional. I think he called it an AMT or something. Once the exam was over, the doctor turned to Swash.
"Are you with him?"
"Hmm?"
"Are you related to him?"
"No, but I brought him here." Swash said flatly.
"Okay, I'll need you to come with me. We have some paper work for you to fill out. I'll suggest, for the future, that you have some EpiPen lying around. Just in case."
Swash made a low grunt and left the room with the doctor. The man on the other side had become unstable again. A collective sigh filled the room.
"Clear!"
I left the hospital a few hours later. It was a little sunny outside, something I couldn't tell from the interior lighting of the ICU. But it was cold. October winds weren't a joke. I shuddered and wrapped my arms around myself, annoyed I didn't have a jacket. Swash probably left mine at home in a rush to get here so I couldn't blame him. I sat in the passenger's seat of the car and Swash got in through the other side. He inserted the keys into the ignition slot but didn't start up. Instead he turned on the heater before turning around to face me.
"I'm so sorry, I had no idea," Swash began apologize.
"Meh," I brushed it off. "I'm alive. What happened in the house? I don't remember much."
"You fell on the ground and I called 911. I had no idea what to do. She said I should make sure you were breathing. The ambulance came later and they started doing some stuff. You were groaning at some times and quiet others and I thought you were going into a coma or something." In essence, typical post-allergy reaction. Nothing fantastic.
"What did they call you for just now??" I remembered him being taken away and having to sit for more than an hour doing nothing but watch other people not die.
"I had to settle your bills. How come you don't have health insurance?"
"Haven’t paid premiums in ages. Seemed like such a waste of money."
"Seriously, Michael, you can't just live in this modern age without something so basic and so vital."
"Sorry," I muttered. "I hope I didn't cost you another fortune."
"It's fine. I'm just glad you're okay. Bradley was crying when you left. He'll be glad to see you're alright."
"Quite a bit of role reversal," I joked.
"Too soon," he muttered and smiled a bit.
He started up the car and we headed home. It was around 11, as I could tell from the sun's rays filtering down from the cloudy grey sky. I was really hungry. My stomach growled as if on cue. Swash looked at me.
"Hey, I didn't finish dinner, remember?"
"I know. Sorry. I'll keep sesame out of all future dishes."
There was a way he said the 'future' like I was going to be eating in his house for a long time. Or maybe that was just me reading too much into a simple word. I was going to be with him for the next two days, at least. Maybe that's what he meant.
"So, when are you going to see him?" Swash asked suddenly. He looked sullen, like the question had left a bad taste in his mouth.
"Who?" I initially had no idea what he was talking about as my thoughts had been somewhere else. Then it clicked. Malone. I had promised to go see him today. That would explain Swash's expression.
"Oh. Probably sometime this evening. I have to call him first." Swash actually looked jealous. I couldn't blame him. Even I was beginning to feel like a bad investment. He had done so much for me and I had done very little in return. But there was little I could do. This was the situation we found ourselves in. Life often works like that. We don't get what we want all the time. I mean, look at me. I would never have said, as a child, that I wanted to grow up to be a whore in Boystown. But here we are. So I guess he had to suck it up and face reality. The rest of the trip was silent, occasionally punctuated with my stomach growling. I began to feel some excited anticipation and I knew it was from the joy of getting to see Bradley again. We went into the apartment, and it was quiet. I walked to Bradley's room, beginning to feel weak. It was empty.
"I took him over to Rita's." Swash called out from the hall.
"Okay," I sighed. I guess my happy reunion was going to be postponed.
"Get some rest. I'll make some grub."
I went to the magic couch and lay down. I felt sleepy. That was either from the hunger or the couch working its usualy magic. Swash was doing stuff in the kitchen and all I could hear were the hissing sounds of food being cooked. I caught a whiff of eggs. My stomach growled even louder. I thought I heard the beeping of a keypad but I wasn't sure if my senses were still functioning properly.
"Hi Rita. He's okay. We just got back. Oh, really. Tell him it's alright now. Now? Okay then. I'm waiting."
Swash hung up. He took the food off the fire and I heard a loud ding. Toast and eggs were my meal of the morning. Well, it wasn't gourmet, but I couldn't care less at his point. Swash appeared from the side of the couch with the plate. I sat up to look at the contents. Of course, it couldn't be that normal. The toast had melted cheese oozing from the insides. The eggs had chopped bits of stuff in them. I could recognize sausage slices. I smiled at Swash.
"You can never follow standard recipes, can you?"
He smiled. I took the plate from him and wanted to start eating, then felt the heat from the bottom of the plate. I nearly dropped it. He should have warned me. I got off the couch quickly and dropped it on the dining table so I could cool my hand. Swash laughed lightly and I glared at him. I sat on a chair and began to eat. Swash sat on the other side and looked at me. It felt a little weird, eating and having him watch me but I was too hungry to be bothered. After a few minutes, the lobby doorbell buzzed. Swash got up and pressed the 'open' button without bothering to find out who was down there. I finished my toast just as the doorbell rang. Swash opened and Bradley ran into the room towards me. Rita followed, looking worried. She brightened up as soon as she saw me.
"Michael!" Bradley's little hands slapped my knees. I shifted focus to him. He was looking into my eyes and smiling. I smiled back. This was his idea of a hug. I preferred it, to be honest.
"Thank God you're alright." Rita said as she got to the table. She looked like she was afraid to touch me, like I was going to break or something. I looked into her eyes and gave her a 'Bradley-hug'. She smiled appreciatively. I noticed a little face peer from behind her.
"Emily, say hello" Rita commanded her daughter.
"Hello." She was incredibly shy. Swash crouched in front of her, looking her straight in the eye. I thought she was going to faint from the nerves. He smiled and she managed to smile back.
"Hello Emily. I'm Swash."
She remained quiet but nodded that she had heard him. He put out his hand and she shook it. It seemed she wasn't going to say anything more, so Swash went back to his seat at the table. He kept staring at me, but I pretended not to notice. Bradley sat on the chair beside me. Rita decided to sit with us and joined Swash in staring at me. Emily stood for a while before going to sit on the couch.
"So, how are preparations coming along?" I wanted to start some conversation to break the awkward stare-at-Michael-like-he's-Jesus silence.
"Huh? Oh, just fine. How are you?" She looked very concerned, like she had heard I had cancer.
"Seriously, it was just an allergic reaction."
"You stopped breathing," Bradley said. "Did it hurt?"
"No. Okay, a little. It was really hard to breathe."
"Will I get an...allergic reaction like you?" He looked terrified. I hadn't stopped to consider what the situation must have looked like to him. No doubt it was one of the most frightening things he'd ever seen; my choking and swelling and rolling on the floor. Then again, he watched National Geographic. He could be used to scary stuff.
"I can't say, Brad. Maybe you wouldn't. Maybe you're allergic to something and you haven't found it yet."
"I don't want to be allergic..." he sobbed. Swash looked at me sternly. Rita looked a little uncomfortable.
"It's okay Brad," Swash said. "You're not allergic to anything." He tried to comfort his son but Bradley looked to me as if to confirm. I was the one who had experienced it so maybe he thought I was the god of the phenomenon. I smiled at him.
"Don't worry about it. You're not allergic to anything. Yet." I couldn't resist the impulse to add the last part. No matter the situation, I couldn't bring myself to lie to him. He trusted me. I didn't want to assure him of something I wasn't sure of. Bradley looked glum, but he had stopped crying.
"I'm allergic to broccoli." Everyone turned to the new voice. Emily had decided to join the conversation.
"There's a difference between being allergic and simply not liking something, Em." Rita looked at her daughter and laughed lightly.
"But it makes my mouth go icky. Please Mum; can I be allergic to broccoli?"
Everyone laughed. Even Bradley managed a smile. With a lighter mood, conversation flowed freely. Even Emily chipped in every once-in-a-while. We never seemed to run out of things to talk about. Rita told us about the upcoming party and said a little about herself and her work. Swash and I both avoided the topic of work, for obvious reasons. Rita was divorced; her ex had been a successful business man with a thing for exotic models. Guys like that probably only really liked her for her looks. He was currently working in Europe and never visited. Emily had no memories of him, and that made it easier to move on. Bradley left the table to keep Emily company. They talked for a bit and went to watch TV. Swash entertained us with stories from college. I mainly listened and laughed. No one needed to know my story.
"It's a real shame though, you being gay," Rita breathed at Swash.
"Why?"
"I thought I'd finally met a decent single guy who loved kids. Has anyone ever told you how hot you are?"
"Yes, but thank you." Swash smiled and blushed. He made a quick glance at me. I felt a little something in my chest. Jealousy? No, it couldn't be. I couldn't be jealous, I already had a-
"Crap!" I looked at the clock. 17:45.
"What is it?" Rita asked.
"I'm supposed to meet Malone this evening."
"Who's Mal-?"
"His boyfriend." Swash answered for me. Rita looked at me with surprise and only said an 'oh'. I could understand her expression. She probably thought Swash and I were on our way to becoming something more serious. I couldn't blame her though. I excused myself from the table and went to the guest room to get my phone. I searched everywhere but I couldn't find it. I went back into the living room to check on the couch. Maybe I had dropped it there yesterday. I wasn't there either.
"Looking for something?" Swash raised his eyebrows at me.
"Obviously. Can you call my phone?"
He did and I listened for a ring. I heard nothing.
"It says your phone is off." I sighed. This was going to be impossible. I looked back at the clock. 18:09. If I didn't move my ass soon, I'd spend the better part of my visitation time stuck in traffic. Saturday nights were almost as rambunctious as Fridays.
"It's okay. I'll just leave without it."
"Michael, are you going again?" Bradley was looking at me. Emily was still staring at the TV. I could tell she had never watched NatGeo in her life, because she was dramatically expressive about what she saw.
"I'll be back tomorrow, promise. I can't miss your birthday now, can I?"
Bradley seemed content with that. He smiled and went back to watching TV. Emily shrieked and hugged Bradley when they showed a close-up of a chameleon eating a dragonfly. I stifled a laugh and turned back to the adults.
"Sorry to run out on you guys. It was great having you around, Rita. I'll try to visit one of these days, once I get your address."
She smiled and nodded. Swash looked a little upset but gave me a fake smile. I grabbed my keys and left.
My mind was fuzzing with worry as the cab crept through traffic towards Portage Park. I hadn't called Malone, something I now regretted fully as I inched ever closer to his house. He could be anywhere. Hell, he could even be waiting for me at my apartment. But his place was the only logical place I could think to go to. The cab got out of city traffic and the trip was less interrupted. I remembered my decision to wait a month before moving in with Mal. Had I told him? You haven't. I was quite sure I had texted him. No, you got out your phone but you never typed anything. Oh yeah, that was when Bradley woke up and said he was hungry. Thanks, Michael. You're going insane; you just thanked yourself for accessing your own memories. Maybe if you were less of an asshole, I won't act like you're someone else. I guess that's who you really are. By the way, cab driver is turning around so listen up.
"What was the house number again?"
I directed him to Malone's, happy that I had memorized the number the last time I left. I grew anxious. The neighborhood was harder to recognize in darkness and street lighting, but I managed to make out the necessary landmarks. I looked for Malone's car. It wasn't parked outside the house. Which could mean it's either in the garage or he's not home. I spotted a Harley Davidson motorbike parked in front of the house. If there was a visitor, then he was likely home. But who could be visiting on a motorbike? As far as I was concerned, only two groups of people used such: hard asses and douchebags. Most times, they were the same.
"Take me to the next house."
"But this is the house," the driver said, a mix of confused and irritated.
"I got the number wrong. It's the next house."
The driver went past Malone's house and I looked back. There was a man at the door, ringing the door bell. I got off in front of the next house, which was across a small lane and about thirty yards away from Malone's. I walked cautiously towards the house, my heart pumping. I didn't know what I was so scared of. The man had not turned around, so I didn't know what he looked like. He had a leather jacket on and rider jeans. He was big, but I could't tell if that was his true size or some visual effect created by the jacket. I kept walking quietly towards the house, and now I was nearing the edge of the front wall. Malone's door opened and the lights from inside the house illuminated the man's face. I took in the features of the stranger in the brief moment before Malone appeared at the doorway and blocked the lights. They talked briefly before Malone allowed him in, then he stuck his head out of the door as if to look for someone else. I jumped to the side of the house and pressed myself flat against the wall. I could feel my racing heartbeat pounding through my skull and pulsing at the end of my fingers. The man had been a little difficult to recognize thanks to the shadows thrown across his face, but his face registered. He looked different from the last time I saw him.
Probably because he didn't have a jack knife pressed to my throat.
Fuck.