Eighteen
“You were sucker-punched. Fucking bastard hit you in the back of the neck.”
I stared at Nick with one eye. The other was still swollen shut.
The harsh fluorescent lights were blinding me, making me want to gouge my good eye from its socket.
It was a private room. With the door open, I could see the typical scenes that transpire in a hospital.
Nurses were running back and forth. There was a group that stood casually joking about shit and talking about their upcoming vacations.
Death could wait while they finished their break.
“Water...”
“Here.” I was a toddler again, being offered tiny sips from a straw. My coughing fit was short-lived. It hurt like hell to cough. It itches beneath the cervical collar and feels like an ancient torture device.
“Alex... where’s Alex?”
“She’s been here all night, buddy. She went downstairs to get coffee.”
Time stops the minute they wheel you into this place. I had no concept of time.
“Ma...”
“I called her. She’s okay. Don’t worry.”
The bed sheet was off-white from too many washings. It made me want to vomit imagining the last three thousand patients who have used it.
“Where’s Alex?”
Nick looked confused. Had he been in a fight? “I told you... I mean... she’ll be right back. Try to relax. The doctor should be here soon. You know Cable’s beside himself.”
Moving anything hurts, and I wish I could feel that pain in my legs. I don’t have legs.
“Cable...”
Fancy words ceased to exist.
“He thinks it’s his fault for putting you in the ring with a wannabe. Scarp’s disqualified. Possibly from the sport. He knew the rabbit punch was an illegal blow, but the scumbag didn’t care.”
Lyrics were running through my head, jumbled, and nonsensical.
“Do you hear music?”
“No, buddy.”
A woman’s scream filled my ears.
“Screaming?”
“Yeah. I think it’s coming from next door.”
“Is it Lex?”
“Who?”
My good eye was watering. I could see her outline as she came running in. Coffee painted the floor a dull brown.
“I’m here. I’m here.”
Her head met my chest. Her tears soaked my hospital gown. Her hair smelled of lavender.
“Lex.”
“He keeps calling you that,” Nick said. The concerned look on his face made me want to slap him.
Alex tamed my hair and kissed the top of my head as if she could kiss it all better. “My late husband used to call me Lex, but I never told anyone that.”
“I can hear you two.” I had to harness all my strength to be able to say five words.
“I’m so sorry, love. I was going out of my mind with worry,” she said, focusing her attention on the one in the Goddamn bed. “How are you feeling?”
“How are you feeling, Mr. Conti?”
A nurse came in and I didn’t notice. Or had the nurse asked me how I’m feeling? The cup she handed me held three pills. “For the pain,” she explained. “I’m just going to check your vitals. I hear you’ve been in a nasty fight.”
“I won,” I managed to say.
Alex and Nick were out of my line of vision. Twisting my head made the music grow louder. I found them standing a few feet away adopting the stance of a groomsman who crosses his hands in front of him. Or the stance of a mourner.
“Congratulations. Okay, all done, Mr. Conti. The doctor won’t be long.”
“Is everything normal?” Alex was back, sitting on the bed and holding my hand, squeezing it too hard.
“His blood pressure is a little low. I’ll let Dr. Pearson know.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry about the coffee.”
“Don’t give it a second thought. I’ll have someone take care of it.”
I closed my good eye and pictured the room the way it should be. It should be painted in vibrant colors and decorated with fashionable pieces. There should be paintings on the wall that invite hope. I should be resting beneath a fluffy comforter. The sheets should be flowery, or a cheerful orange.
“Exo... exorcism,” I said, opening my eye.
Alex placed her ear by mouth. “What, love?”
“It’s. Like. A fucking. Exorcism.”
Nick’s head looked too big for his body. “Try not to talk, buddy. You’ve had a pretty rough night.”
“What’s he saying?” My best girl was becoming friends with my best friend.
“The ER doc said he might have a concussion.”
“Why didn’t they tell me that!?”
“Shh... my head hurts.” But my legs don’t.
“A lot? Does it hurt a lot?”
“I’m alive.”
I remembered what Alex told me about Simon and his patient monitor. The Grim Reaper must have taken a detour since my monitor was on and driving me crazy.
“Good morning, folks. I’m Dr. Pearson.”
“Good morning, Doctor.”
“Good morning.”
What’s so fucking good about it? “The lights... off...”
“We can turn them off as soon as we’re done here. I’ll also have Nurse Stevens draw your blinds.”
“I got it,” Nick said.
The woman in white pulled the cover from my legs and poked, and prodded. “Let me know when you feel that.”
“Nothing.”
“Why doesn’t he feel anything, Doc?” I wondered why Nick wasn’t opening the bar instead of playing mother hen.
“I prefer doctor.”
“Sorry,” Nick said. “Why doesn’t he feel anything, doctor?”
“After initial tests, we’ve determined that Mr. Conti has a mild concussion. However...”
“Mild? For how long?”
“With rest, it should only be a few days, Miss...?”
“Adams. Alex, if you prefer. I’m Pip’s girlfriend. Is that why he’s acting a little strange?” She squeezed my hand harder, attempting to squeeze life into me.
Dr. Pearson had terrible bedside manners. “I think he’s acting completely normal for someone who’s been through the ringer. However, I’d like to run another series of tests.”
“What are they for?”
“To determine if he has a spinal cord injury, Miss Adams. I’ll schedule an MRI, along with a CT scan.”
The woman in white should be wearing black. She was the scourge of St. Anthony’s Hospital, delivering bad news as casually as a newscaster on her last day of the job.
“Oh, God... what kind of spinal cord injury? Are you saying he might not walk again!?”
“Anything is possible, Miss Adams. But let’s wait and see what the test results show before making assumptions.”
As we watched Dr. Pearson walk away without another word, her thorned tail was showing from beneath her doctor’s coat.
No one dared to ask the question that was dangling in the air because the words would taste putrid.
Nick paced, Alex gently wept. I kept repeating lyrics in my head, because if a good Catholic boy like me had to answer whether I would want to live, or die, if I had to exist without the use of my legs, the answer would send me straight to hell.