Adoption (II) (563 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 2 on 7 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by r0fl (View user info) at 2006-04-13 01:41:21 EDT
Part I: http://www.ubersite.com/m/85912
I only remember bits and pieces.
The two guys, big guys, in collared blue shirts, patches on their right sleeves decorated with a snake and cross or something.
I remember traveling to the hospital. What hospital? Fucked if I know. They showed me the crash photos when I could sit up and converse. It was unreal.
So there I sat, the incessant tones of the monitors annoying the Jesus outta me. I had an electrode or wire hooked to everythin' but my balls. Thank the Big Guy for that at least.
I apparently escaped with minor injuries: broken arm, couple ribs, and punctured right lung. Some people would say the lung thing wasn't that minor. If you're sitting in a bed, eating cafeteria food and watching T.V., it's not that bad.
I was lying in that bed for weeks, recuperating. If I could've moved over at the moment, I could've counted the etch marks I made on the wall for the reruns of Springer I watched.
The plethora of drugs they had given me sedated me good, better than I ever had been in high school or that bullshit community college up in Southern State Community. I slept... too much.
When my "altrazolan" or whatever drug they called it was low or not working, I still had those weird dreams. 'Cept the cowboy wasn't in 'em all the time.
Sometimes, this panhandler and me stood on the street corner in some big city. I always tried to look up at the buildings and recognize it, but I never could.
One thing I could always remember about this panhandler dude, he smelled awful. Like old spoiled dairy or some shit.
I offered him back to my place a couple of times, but I quickly remembered I didn't know where I was, and it didn't really do much good. He didn't seem to mind though. His plaid shirt; more wrinkled than the corners of his eyes, spoke volumes to the experiences this guy had. The crows' feet on his face told me of tribulations I had yet only dreamed of.
I wouldn't trade my life, which was definitely not 'cushy,' for him peddling the corners with a styrofoam Dunkin' Donuts cup. The worn cuffs of his faded blue jeans further emphasized whatever I was thinkin'. His haphazard facial hair further agreed.
I wish they had drugs for all that dream stuff, because I barely made it through any of them - hobo or cowboy - without wakin' up in a cold sweat.
By the time I got out, the leaves began to turn. That's not sayin' much though, because it was about that time in autumn. Now that I think of it, I don't even know how long I was in there. Too much Springer, I guess.
The cabbie brought me back home, feigning interest in the latest altercation in the Middle East. Lookin' at him, I knew he was from there, or his Daddy was. He nodded to my statements, but really didn't give a shit, as long as I gave him a reasonable tip. He didn't get one. Ha.
I keyed the lock to my apartment, using the porcelain dish again near tee door for my keys. I walked into the kitchen, pouring me a glass of filtered water. The milk and just about everything else had spoiled. Water doesn't go bad, does it?
I still have dreams about him, little Raymond. His blond hair, his lisp, his innocent eyes. Something wasn't really right about him, and I either couldn't place it or was mad at myself for not seeing it sooner.
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Another night; another dream. The panhandler and me were hanging out at this café.
He ordered some tea and toast, I just ordered coffee. I wondered how long it's been since his last hot meal, but dismissed it. Does it really matter anymore?
He argued that there was a basic balance, good and evil in the world. Burton (as I later recalled as his name) told me of this balance, and that the balance had tipped to evil, and the world suffered and would continue to suffer because of it.
I told him he was straight up, fuckin' crazy. He laughed a hearty laugh, dismissing my seemingly vain attempt at agreeing with him. His dunked the Lipton tea bag up and down, spooning it and placing it in the saucer where the mug itself rested.
I scoffed at Burt and stirred my coffee with one of those little wooden sticks - the ones suitable only for stirring your coffee while you're attempting to pretend you're paying attention. My breathing being labored as the hospitalization caught up with me, and I felt lightheaded.
But mainly, I agreed.
And I awoke. To the damn alarm.
It wriggled me away from the dreams, which I was partly grateful. The clock beeped and blinked 7:59; and I pumped a fist at the Big Guy and trudged to the shower. The sliver of light blue Irish Spring left on the soap dish would suffice... I wasn't going to impress anyone today. My thoughts drifted as the water oozing from the nozzle cleansed me, calmed me. I was still at ease.
It felt as if today wasn't going to be an ordinary day.
I turned the faucet counter-clockwise stopping the flow, and slid away the shower curtain.
The mirror was slightly fogged and I wiped it dry with the towel in hand. My bony shoulders poked through my skin, my collarbone begging me to not protrude any longer. "Would it kill ya for some Wendy's once in awhile?" I heard it beg.
I wiped the window clear, and checked my teeth for food stuck in between 'em. I didn't brush the night before.
I quickly dried off, put on my pants and buttoned up my shirt. In the middle of tying my tie, I heard a knock at the door. My head turned toward my alarm clock, now reading 8:25.
My eyes focused on the floor, directly below the door, wondering who the fuck would knock on my door at 8:30 in the morning.
My steps followed each other, one ahead of the next. I descended the staircase, my hand tracing the banister, cautious but ever so curious. My right hand grasped the knob, while simultaneously peering through the peephole. Through the concave lens, I saw three people:
A young woman probably mid-twenties seemed closest to the door, aparently she knocked. Her black eyeliner and piercings immediately turned me off, but it was 8:30 in the morning, and there was a time and place for everything, I suppose.
She was accompanied by another young boy, almost little Raymond's age, with jet-black hair and obese. His face puffed out in defiance of gravity, and (I'm not going to lie) I actually chuckled.
The third was a man almost my age, with a clean-shaven face and a look of concern. His pupils dilated, looking worried; definitely not voted class optimist in high school, if he graduated.
I unhooked the chain-link latch; my last-defense, and let these three strangers in.
"We need to talk," the young woman explained.
The young boy's Reebok Classics, as well as the woman's Steve Marten's and the man's Adidas sandals plodded across my hallway toward my kitchen.
I let them all in, and put on a pot of coffee.
We all sat down, a combination of concern and confusion on our faces.
User Reviews
Submitted by r0fl (user info) at 2006-04-14 22:56:26 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
This post bombed, hard.
Submitted by Berty (user info) at 2006-04-13 06:31:24 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-04-13 01:58:55 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Cool, good to see you continue this at last, anyway.
Check out my last couple of stories, if you like. I won't linkwhore them, though. Look for them if you want.
Submitted by wardy (user info) at 2006-04-13 01:56:05 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by r0fl (user info) at 2006-04-13 01:55:36 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
I've had a shitload of exams and other garbage, my bad for this being tardy.
Submitted by r0fl (user info) at 2006-04-13 01:54:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-04-13 01:50:48 (#)
Ranking: 2
It's about damn time.
I was gunna link this to you, but I'd figure you'd get to it. I did this for you, by the way.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-04-13 01:50:48 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
It's about damn time.