Curing the Uncommon Man-Cold (23 page)

“Well, better late than never.” Kevin took a closer look at his friend. “Phew! You smell like a street bum.” He tried not to inhale.

“Wasn’t expecting company.” Jason moved aside so his rescuer could enter.

In vivid contrast to all of Jason’s other offensive smells, Kevin noted that his breath was minty fresh.

“What made you decide to finally show up? Slow day at
Gee-keck
?” GCEC was the Greene County Electric Co-op where they both worked.

“I’m on the late shift this month. Remember?” Kevin looked around. “But hustle up, we gotta get you out of here.”

“What’s the rush? I’ve been here for nearly nine full days.”

“The rush is that your name’s plastered all over the Internet. Amanda and her booby friend have been making a sucker out of you.”

“I don’t doubt the sucker part at all, but what’s that got to do with the Internet?”

“You mean you really don’t know your story and name is all over cyberspace?”

“Like I told you before, they took away TV, computer, food… everything. I’ve been imprisoned and left to die.” His exaggeration skills had survived so far.

“Yeah, well, that’s over now. Your buddy Kevin is on… the… job. And we’re getting you out of here.” He quickly scanned the rooms again. “Uh, Amanda’s busty friend isn’t lurking around here, is she?”

“Not as far as I know. But go back to the Internet part.”

“Okay. One of them — I’d guess Christine — started a web thing… blog. Not sure when, but probably right after you moved in here. They’ve been yakking about how they’re doing this and causing that, just to blast you out of Amanda’s apartment.”

“Why didn’t they just ask me to leave?” His expression resembled a lost and lonely child.

“According to the blog, Amanda asked you several times, but you flat out refused. Is that just propaganda?”

“Oh, I don’t know… I’m weak from starvation. You got any food?”

“Food later. Escape now. Get your freakin’ pants on.”

“Can’t find ’em… or my car keys.”

Kevin surveyed the space. “Well, grab that tablecloth and wrap up. We’re outta here.”

“Hold on. Let me get my toothpaste.” Jason dashed to the hall bathroom.

Kevin watched as his friend removed a safety pin from his waistband and hurriedly wrapped the tablecloth into a Dorothy Lamour sarong. He looked like a cross-dressed street bum with no eye for color.

Jason inhaled deeply at his armpit and seemed satisfied that it smelled okay. He stopped at the kitchen and penciled something very brief, obviously for Amanda. Then he affixed the pin to the note. Jason grabbed up half a dozen containers of something odorous. “Potpourri,” he explained. As they passed the dumpster next to the wash house, he ceremoniously tossed them inside. It was reminiscent of the brash ensign throwing overboard the captain’s precious plant in the
Mister Roberts
movie. Jason clutched his friend’s elbow. “On the way to the nearest drive-through food place, tell me why the whole cyberspace knows I’ve been sick.”

“They know everything, buddy-boy. Abso-freakin’ everything. Hop in and I’ll brief you.”

Squinting at the sunlight, he resembled a dazed prisoner finally released from solitary on Devil’s Island. Jason looked even worse wrapped in Amanda’s floral tablecloth than he had in the saggy pajamas. Those were not his colors. He limped on his way to Kevin’s vehicle.

“You’ve been set up, Jase. From the day you walked in that apartment, every freakin’ thing’s been rigged.” Kevin explained the rest of what he knew and how he’d found out.

At first, Jason seemed unable to believe all the deprivation had been deliberate, but Kevin’s new information, added to what he already knew of Christine, apparently convinced him. Still, Jason obviously struggled with Amanda’s complicity. “Amanda must have been deceived nearly as much as I was.”

“Sorry, buddy, but she was totally in on it.” Kevin shook his head. “So, which drive-through do you want?”

Notwithstanding his emotional trauma, Jason was already drooling on the tablecloth. “Closest one.”

* * * *

At about 9:30 a.m., Amanda slowly regained consciousness in the hectic emergency room of Greene County Hospital. A youngish male doctor peered into her eyes, shone a small flashlight, and asked several questions. What day was it? How old was she? Name? Birth date?
Complicated stuff
. She’d have to get back with him later. She closed her eyes again.

Shortly, the doctor and a nurse got Amanda to sit up. Somebody rubbed her right hand. “Ow!”

“Good. Now tell me about your hand.”

Amanda was in a narrow space with curtains on either side. The front was open and people scurried back and forth. “Something… squeeze… hurts…” Slow and groggy.

“That’s a good start. Let’s go back to the other information.” The doctor ran through the series of questions again.

She answered most, several correctly, but missed two: Amanda messed up her birth date and guessed the day was Tuesday.

“No, today is Wednesday. Do you know the date?”

“
Your
date?” Amanda pointed to the nurse. “You’re dating Nurse Ratchit? She’s too old for you. I think I’m more your age.” Still groggily, but not as slowly.

In the adjacent stall, a man complained loudly about his underwear being confiscated. No explanation as to who took them, or why. Amanda’s temporary neighbor on the other side of the heavy drapes was an elderly woman who released loud and putrid flatulence.

“Pee-yuu! Did you do that?” Amanda was awake again.

“Next door, honey,” explained the nurse.

“You mean the man with no undies?”

“No, honey. Your other neighbor.” The nurse pointed.

“They oughtta change the feed for that horse.”

“I thought that pain medicine would keep her out even longer.” The nurse addressed the doctor.

“The ambulance crew evidently missed the concussion possibility and just treated her pain from the broken toes.”

“Toes? Who broke toes?” Amanda hadn’t yet taken inventory.

“What did they give her on the ride over here?” The doctor squinted at the chart quickly.

“The medics radioed in for permission to give her something for pain because it looked like it would take half an hour to extract her from the vehicle.” The nurse sighed as though she’d explained this before. “The E.R. doctor nearest the dispatcher gave the okay.”

“Bad order. Who was it?” He couldn’t find any notations in the chart.

“New guy.” The nurse rolled her eyes.

Part of Amanda’s brain dozed for a few moments, though she continued talking. She also moaned and responded, but not really in a lucid fashion.

A bit later: “…do I need to take off her bra?” Nurse’s voice.

Amanda zoned in on the tail of that question. She wondered what they were about to do.

“No, I think she might fight us.” The doctor.

“What are you doing to me?”

“Good, she’s awake again. Sit her back up.”

“The doctor is checking your ribs, honey. Sometimes the steering wheel can crack a rib or bruise it.”

“You don’t see under my bra without an expensive dinner first.”

“Awake and with a sense of humor.” Doctor.

“She might not be kidding.” The nurse nodded wisely.

Amanda pointed her forefinger at the nurse. The meaning of that gesture was unclear to any of the three present.

“No exterior signs of trauma on the ribcage. Have the films come back yet?”

“Backlogged, Doctor. One of the machines is down, so the tech has to walk the plates all the way over to pediatrics to develop them.”

“Wonderful.”

“You’ve got a nice bedroom voice… uh, manner.” Amanda’s throat was dry and the words needed more tongue movement to get out cleanly.

The nurse cleared her own throat. “I think that’s bedside manner.” She turned to the physician. “Normally, we’d walk her around a bit, wouldn’t we?”

“Typically, but she can’t hold weight on that foot. However, I don’t want her dropping off again, so help me keep her talking.” He looked around. “If the medics hadn’t given her that dosage, it would be fairly easy to establish concussion one way or the other.”

More from Amanda’s neighbor: “Why’d they take away my skivvies? Everybody else in here got to keep their skivvies!”

Amanda wondered about her own underwear. It had always been stressed as such a big deal to have clean underwear if you ended up in an accident. She knew she’d begun this morning with fresh panties and wondered vaguely if they’d remained clean after her wreck. She struggled to check with her uninjured left hand, but it felt tethered. After a difficult examination, she discovered the IV tubing which terminated in the back of her hand.

While the medical personnel were talking about keeping her awake, the non-talking part of Amanda’s brain drifted off once more.

A few minutes later, Amanda came to again as the nurse gently squeezed the fingers of her uninjured left hand.

“…I’m more worried about the concussion.” The doctor had been in the middle of explaining something. “The foot pain can wait.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you had to walk on this baby.” Amanda clutched toward the doctor’s forearm, but missed him completely. “I want a second opinion. Somebody who knows how to give pain meds. My foot hurts.”

“She’s evidently awake again.” The nurse. “That last talking nap was nearly fifteen minutes.”

Amanda remembered only two words of her most recent conversation with the doctor and nurse:
concussion
and
X-rays
. She was aware of three distinct, throbbing pains: head, right foot, and right wrist. Plus her body ached all over.

The doctor peered at her again and asked more questions. Evidently Amanda passed the test this time, because he gave the nurse permission to start splinting the injured toes.

Amanda was out of it again briefly, though she continued to talk for those ten minutes. Then she came to a third time. Her mouth felt like she’d been chewing unprocessed cotton. Her breath tasted funky and she wished she had a mint. “What happened?” Her eyes were clearing and Amanda finally got a good look at her attending physician.

“We hope to learn more about that from you,” said Doctor Handsome. “What do you remember?”

Amanda tried to squirm to a more comfortable position in the bed, but gave up with a heavy groan. “Uh, driving to the courthouse for a meeting. Running late. Trying to turn into the parking lot right behind a pickup truck… but then he stopped suddenly. I slammed on my brakes… that’s all I remember.”

“Well, the medics said another vehicle crashed into your rear. It seems you hit your head. Likely on the side window. And your right foot has trauma. Probably a few fractured metatarsals. There was some confusion — it looked to me like you’d had a concussion. But the medics evidently didn’t think so, because they gave you something fairly strong for your foot pain. That’s hampered my diagnosis here.”

“Did I have a concussion?”

“I thought possibly, but can’t be certain because those meds interfered with your responses.”

“My wrist hurts.”

He examined it again. “You’ve been talking a lot about that. I just see minor bruising… no appreciable swelling. Can you move it?”

“Hurts, but it moves.”

“Possibly you hooked your hand in the wheel and overextended the wrist. Watch it for a day, wrap it if you want to, and see what your regular physician decides to do. You’ll need to see him or her tomorrow. The nurse will book an appointment.”

“Where’s my car?”

The doctor shrugged and started to move away from her bed. “If you feel up to a visitor, there’s a friend outside waiting to see you.”

“What kind of friend?”

“Female, tanned. Can’t sit still.” He smiled.

“Christine. Yeah, send her in!” She’d thought maybe it was Jason, whom she did not want to see.
Not that he’d
come to the E.R. to check on me
anyway.

“Okay, I’m off my shift. Another doctor will check on you soon.”

“Wait. Am I going to stay here tonight?”

“Really don’t know. I was mainly following up on the concussion part. Another physician’s on duty now and she’ll decide about your foot. We’ve straightened and secured your toes with splints and bandages. The X-rays are slow coming back. I don’t think the damage is extensive enough to keep you. So they’ll probably put you in a boot and send you home. Can your friend drive you?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Okay, I’m off. Good luck with all that Jason stuff.”

“Huh?”

“You’ve been talking about Jason. I figured he’s your boyfriend.” He’d obviously noticed she wasn’t wearing a ring.

“What did I say?”

“I’m not a therapist.” He smiled like a television doctor. “But assuming you weren’t hallucinating during that chatter, I’d say you ought to give Jason something to eat and let him have his pants back.”

“Uh, how much did I tell you?”

“I don’t think you left out very much.” Doctor Handsome smiled again.
Nice teeth
. “Tell Jason I agree with him about the hemp and flax cereals… those should be on the farm animal aisle at Tractor Supply.”

“I’m really embarrassed, Doctor.”

“Don’t be. Even if you were kind of out of it, we needed to keep you talking — in the sense of the concussion possibility. And it was fairly enlightening as well.” He started to leave again. “By the way, what is a cushaw?”

“You don’t want to know. Believe me.”

“Okay.” He shrugged. “Bye.”

“Thanks, Doctor.”

He was already gone.

The man in the next stall evidently saw him pass and shouted, “Hey, Doc! Did you take my skivvies?”

The nurse watched him leave. “Honey, I’d hang on to your Jason. Or give him another chance… whatever the situation is. It was hard to make out exactly what Jason did. But it’s obvious you really love him.”

“What was I talking about?” Amanda was finally able to focus on the nurse’s nametag and realized it was Rachael, not Ratchit.

“In my experience, people in the hospital who are out of it — but able to speak — usually talk about regrets or about things they love. In some cases, that’s the same topic. I don’t think you want Jason to become a regret.”