Dennis Tafoya - The Dope Thief

After a minute he got up and walked the few yards to where Mar-letta sat and dropped down beside her, his arm brushing hers. She dug under her gown, brought a tissue out of the pocket of her jeans, and blew her nose.

“I love you, Marletta.”

“I know you do.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You are. About the sorriest boy I ever knew.” She shook her head at him.

“I knew I could make you smile.”

“You always could, from the first time I ever saw you.” She leaned over slowly and let her head settle on his shoulder. “Ray.”

“I like to hear you say my name. You’re the only one I want to hear say it.” He kissed her, and she leaned into him and put her arms tight around him and breathed into his mouth; peppermint and strawberry lip balm. After a minute he said, “You’re going to ruin that gown.”

“You can always steal me a new one.” She fitted herself against him, and he grew hard and pushed his face into her neck, opening his mouth and tasting the salt on her skin. She put her hand on his face and he closed his eyes.

“Take me somewhere, Ray.”

“No one’s home at Theresa’s.”

“Good. Take me there.” He got a flash of her then in his darkened room the month before he got sent up, naked in his bed, her small, dark body next to his long pale one, her brown nipples hardening under his hand. Her lips parted as he moved with her, her fingers on his arm, grasping.

“Where does your dad think you are?” His voice husky, his breath ragged.

“At Carole s. There’s a party there later.” Her fingers brushed lightly over the hardness in his jeans.

“I don’t know if I can wait till I get you home.”

She put her mouth against his ear, her cheek grazing his. “All good things,” she said.

“THERE HE IS. You awake, hon?” A nurse, big shoulders in green scrubs, a mask but kind- looking eyes under blue eye shadow. She turned to the door. “He’s awake.”

“Ray, how you doing?” Another nurse, this one small with blond hair framing the mask.

“I don’t know.” His eyes were leaking water. Fat tears that made him ashamed.

“You’re in the hospital. Do you remember?”

“I don’t.”

“That’s okay. We need to pull this tube out.”

He blinked and tried to raise his arm. It was tethered to the bed with a soft strap. “I can’t get my arm.”

“Sorry about that, hon, you were pulling at the IV.” The big nurse unwrapped his hand and it lifted, stiff and weightless as if reduced to denuded bone, and he brought it up to touch his face and felt stubble, then wiped at the gum in the corners of his eyes.

He wanted a drink, and they gave him ice chips. He felt like he was wrapped in someone else’s flesh, a great swollen mass obscuring him, and he felt a distance between himself and his own wounded body. His arms were wrapped in gauze, and tubes ran under his blankets. He could smell himself, a rank smell of sweat and blood. In his leg he felt a sharp and constant stabbing as if there were still a knife blade in his thigh.

“I really hurt.”

The nurse patted his hand and told him they had orders for him to get pain meds.

“I, uh, I have to go.”

“You’ve got a colostomy, Ray. Do you know what I mean?”

“Christ.”

“It’s only for a while.”

A third nurse, this one with red hair, came in, flicking a needle.

“No. I don’t want that.”

“It’s okay, Ray. It’s for the pain.”

“No, it’s okay.”

“Is he, are you confused about what’s going on?”

“No. It’s okay, really.”

“Well, if you don’t feel you need it.”

He turned his head to look at nothing. “I’m, uh. I have a problem with medication.”

“Oh.”

He heard them stop, all three, and felt them looking at him and each other.

“I can’t. I shouldn’t have anything like that.” He could feel something, a wall going up. Something hardening in the air be tween them.

“Okay, Ray.”

“Can you make a note or something? I just don’t want them to ask me.”

“I understand.”

“ ’Cause I’ll say yes. Right now I can say no, so please don’t let them ask me again.”

“We’ll get someone in to talk to you about it.”

HE FELL ASLEEP again and awoke, this time the pain sharp and clear and insistent, fingers poking his ribs, his belly, his arms and his leg clamped in a vise. He woke breathing hard, his head full of webs and haze. Bart and Theresa were there, sitting on two chairs pulled close together. Theresa was looking through her purse, and his father was dozing, his breath a raspy whisper. Ray watched them and tried to control his breathing. He held on to the bed rails with a shaking hand.

Theresa looked up, jumping from her chair when she caught his eyes. “Ray”

His father started awake and stood up, rubbing his face. They looked down at him, and he stared back, shaking and wracked.

“So,” he said, his lips cracking, “who’s watching the dog?”

Theresa put a hand to her eyes and choked, and Bart put his hand on her shoulder and patted her, the gesture clumsy and stiff.

“Look at you. Your heart stopped.”

She couldn’t say any more, and Bart helped her into her seat. He came back to look down at Ray, and they stared at each other a long time. Ray put his shuddering, dry hand on his father’s arm. Bart looked down at his son’s hand and then raised his head, and Ray saw him smile. It had been so long since he had seen his father smile it was almost disconcerting, as if he had become someone else for a moment, but in another moment Ray was smiling, too. He shook his head and he raised his eyebrows at his old man, at what they knew about each other. Ray grabbed the skinny rope of muscle over Bart’s forearm, touching him where a heart was etched that had once been bright red but was slowly going green and black. It said caroline.

His father shook his head and said, “So that’s done, then?”

Ray nodded.

“You’re kicking now?”

“I figure they got me strapped down anyway.”

Bart nodded back, and his mouth opened and closed a few times like he wanted to say something else, but he just patted Ray’s hand.

“I know,” said Ray.

Bart held a hand out and took it back, then reached out again and touched Ray’s head, patting him with a big hand of rough skin and loose bones. “We’ll come back, and I’ll keep her from cooking for you for a couple days.”

“Yeah, that’s good.”

Theresa blew her nose, a long honk that echoed off the hard walls. “What’s wrong with my cooking?”

“Nothing, girl,” said Bart. “It’s just the boy can’t eat for a while.”

“I’m not an idiot, Bart. I know that.”

The shaking got worse, and Ray stuck his hands back under the sheet, sweat standing out on his forehead. Theresa stood up and held his cheek, and then they went out, Bart stooped and round- shouldered. Ray lay back and stared at the ceiling and bit his lips to keep from yelling out. After a few minutes of breathing through his mouth a nurse came in.

“How’s it going?”

He just looked at her, his eyes wild, and she nodded and lifted his gown to check his dressing. For the first time he saw the crisscrossed lines of sutures and dark blood that reminded him of barbed wire, as if an army had fought a battle ranging across the white expanse of his abdomen and left fortifications abandoned in the field. There was a red tube that he realized was blood draining from one of the wounds and a flaccid plastic bag taped over a hole in his gut.

The nurse went to the sink and wet a washcloth and put it across his forehead. He nodded thanks at her, not trusting himself to say anything. He put his hand in his mouth and bit the fleshy part and growled, praying to pass out. The nurse told him things looked good. She said there was still a risk of infection but everything really did look good. He nodded without speaking, and she shook her head and left. It was more than he could stand, and he wanted to scream.