by Dick Gear
“Fucking hell.”
I’ve got a tremendous rash on my balls, my lower belly, and my inner thighs.
There are tiny red pustules that look ready to explode, too. Dozens of them. I take one of the little zits in between my fingers and squeeze. There’s a sharp burning sensation as the puss shoots out.
I stare in awe at what’s going on down there. I’ve always known it was only a matter of time before I got an STD—in fact, I’m pretty sure I already have genital warts.
But genital warts are like nipples—everyone’s got ‘em these days.
This is something else.
Maybe the beginning of a herpes outbreak, or even syphilis. And didn’t that one famous porn chick who got AIDS talk about how it started off with some disgusting rash on her ass?
I pull my boxers up and moan. Fuck. This is the worst day ever. I’m losing my house and I might have AIDS.
I get out of bed, throw on some jeans and a t-shirt, run a hand through my hair and head out to the kitchen for some coffee. Usually Nana will put a pot on for me, but probably no longer. Not after last night.
But then I smell the strong brew and know that she did it after all. A ghost of a smile comes to my lips. There’s a note on the kitchen table in her distinctive script. The letters are blocky and the wording is to the point.
I’VE GONE TO THE MARKET. COFFEE IS MADE.
LOVE NANA
She still loves me, I think, as I pour myself a cup and add a little cream and sugar.
Maybe all’s not lost. I sit down at the kitchen table and open the newspaper. Nana is old school and still gets the Herald delivered to her doorstep.
Sipping my hot brew, smacking my lips, I’m feeling better. Who knows, maybe she’ll have forgotten all about it by the time she comes home from the market? I’ll make some jokes and be the charming young man she remembers, the one that I was until about the age of nine. She’ll soften up a bit and things will go back to normal.
But deep inside I know it’s not going to happen. Still, a man can hope, can’t he?
Just like I have hope that this itchy rash on my testicles is something other than my immune system’s initial battle against a marauding viral intruder. Maybe it’s just a coincidence. Maybe Nana used a new kind of detergent on my boxers.
I focus on the positive. For instance, the Celtics won again last night, they’re still on a hot streak. Beat the Lakers by twelve in LA. That’s something. If I see Paul Pierce again I’m going to congratulate him on the impressive number of assists and rebounds he had last night. But I’ll say it in passing, not like some crazed stalker fan. I know how to talk to Paul.
A little voice in my head tells me that maybe I should reach out to Teddy Foreskin this morning and ask if I can crash at his pad the week after next. Just in case Nana is sticking to her guns.
The coffee tastes sour in my mouth. I slam the mug down.
No. I don’t want to think about that.
Teddy’s apartment has mice. Old pizza boxes everywhere. Towers of empty beer cans. He brings girls back constantly and I’d be on his couch with nowhere to go, probably having to leave the apartment so he can fuck in peace.
I’ll call him only at the very last moment when there’s no other choice. Teddy’s place is like a refugee camp. Until I’m officially a refugee I don’t want to even consider it.
During my second cup of coffee, I hear keys in the front door and hop up from my chair. Normally I wouldn’t move from my seat, but today I have to try and step up my game.
The door opens as I reach it and Nana falls to the ground along with her bags of groceries. Onions and peppers roll across the floor. “Nana!” I yell, running and kneeling next to her.
My first thought is heart attack. Maybe a stroke.
She looks at me. “Help me up, Danny.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine. I just…I’m exhausted. I was mugged outside the market by a lunatic.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“Language!”
“Sorry, I’m just freaked out.” I help her slowly to her feet. “Who mugged you?
Did you call the police?”
She shakes her head. “It was nothing. He didn’t get my purse. He grabbed at it but I fought him off. And then he bit my finger and ran away.”
“He bit you?”
She nods and holds out her old prune-like hand. I’m expecting to see a ravaged, bloody stump, but the finger isn’t bad at all. I wouldn’t have even thought it was a bite.
There’s some blood but nothing terrible.
“I have a headache, Danny. I’m going to lay down.” She puts her hand on her head and starts for her room.
“You go on,” I tell her. “I’ll clean up the groceries and get you a Band-Aid for your finger.”
I’m instantly wondering if this incident could help me work my way back into her good graces, and the answer is a resounding yes. This is opportunity knocking.
After a run-in with a mugger, she’ll be frightened of being alone. I can help make her feel safe; help her to see my usefulness. A young, strong man around the house could certainly put her mind at ease.
I pick up the spilled veggies and cans and bring everything into the kitchen, leaving it on the counter. Then I hit the bathroom, grab a tube of Neosporin and a Band-Aid.
I feel like whistling but keep it to myself. Yes, inside I’m clicking my heels.
Nana’s going to owe me big, as I nurse her back to health over the next day or two.
I walk in the bedroom and she’s lying on her back, old pale legs splayed out grotesquely as if she’s waiting for me to perform a little cunnilingus.
“Nana, why aren’t you under the covers?”
She moans and touches her forehead. “My head. Terrible.”
For a moment I wonder if she didn’t take a knock on the old melon. Maybe she has a concussion. I come closer and peer into her filmy, rheumy eyes.
“You okay?”
“Just a little frightened. And this headache.”
“Let’s see that finger.”
She holds it up to me and my lips pucker inadvertently. Is it my imagination or is the cut—bite—whatever the hell it is—worse? The small flap of skin is hanging open like a bizarre gill. The edges appear to have a greenish cast to it. As if she’s becoming a fish, starting with her pointer finger.
Maybe it’s getting infected. She might need to be taken to the hospital if things don’t improve over the next few hours. Of course, I want to avoid the hospital, because then I won’t be the one saving her life. And if she doesn’t think I’m the one saving her, she might still kick me out of the house.
I shake my head and squeeze a bit of the ointment onto my finger, lovingly smear it into the wound.
My grandmother hisses through her teeth.
“Hurts that bad?” I ask.
She nods. Her eyes are watery. “Not as bad as my head. Could you be a dear and get me some aspirin, Danny?”
“Sure. Let me just put the Band-Aid on.” I affix the Band-Aid to her cut and she again makes a face and whines.
I get her an aspirin and some water and then help her under the covers. I stare at the spider webbing of dark blue and purple veins all over her legs as she clambers under the blanket.
Usually she’s got her brown old lady socks pulled up to her knees but they’ve fallen down and she doesn’t mind a bit.
“Better?” I ask, before leaving.
She nods and smiles. “Thanks, Danny. You’re a good boy.”
I want to fist pump but refrain. “Love you, Nana.”
“Love you too,” she says warmly.
And then I do indulge in a little fist-pump, she doesn’t even notice.
This was big.
This was the equivalent of catching a Hail Mary pass at the end of the fucking Super Bowl. There is no way and hell she’s kicking me out after this shit.
***
Call from Teddy Foreskin:
I an
swer. “Teddy?”
He belches. “I’m eating hotcocks and Doritoes. Don’t mind my chewing Danny Boy.”
“Don’t call them hotcocks, that’s fucking disgusting.”
“It’s a more accurate name, Danny. They look like cocks, not dogs. Dogs have legs. And a tail.”
“Whatever. You have a reason for calling me?” I’m watching TV and having a beer to celebrate my last-minute pardon from the electric chair.
“Course I have a reason,” Teddy assures me. Chew, chew. Belch. Chew.
“And?” I’ve known Teddy since I was twelve and he’s basically the same idiot, hasn’t changed a bit.
“Wanted to find out what happened last night after you left work with that club rat.”
I have a sip of beer. “What do you think happened?”
“Details, man. Details. Some of us didn’t get laid last night.”
Then I remember my crotch. Maybe it’s because of all the commotion with Nana and her mugging but I haven’t even looked at it in an hour. I pull down my pants and want to puke. The rash is worse. It’s creeping up my penis now. “Oh, fuck.”
“Ooooh, Dirty talk, eh?” Teddy asks. “That’s the way I like it. Continue.”
“No, my whole…my genitals are all messed up.”
“Really?”
“Can you develop an STD just a few hours after sex, Teddy?”
He chews for awhile. He’s breathing heavily through his nose, it sounds like a locomotive. “I sort of think you could. Maybe Gonorrhea or something.”
“Great. I think I have a disease from that bitch.”
“Was it worth it? Was it hot?”
“No it wasn’t fucking worth it, you idiot.”
“Huh.” Chew, chew, chew.
“That’s all you got to say?”
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” he says, an obvious lie. Then, “You working tonight?”
“Yeah. You?” I pop one of the cysts near my balls and green puss splatters my fingers.
“Yup.” Nose breathing. Chewing. Chewing. “See you later, Danny. I want more details tonight.”
We get off the phone and I have that thought I have almost every time I talk to Teddy Foreskin. Which is that I don’t know why I’m even friends with the guy, let alone BEST friends. And there’s no doubt about it, we are best friends.
We work together. We talk on the phone almost every day.
We’ve banged some of the same girls.
He’s the person I go to when I’m in a jam, even though he’s rarely able to do anything more than grunt and say idiotic things.
I need to meet new people, I decide.
Maybe some of that Neosporin will help my rash. I go into Nana’s room to retrieve it and the first thing that hits me is the smell. I grimace and cough.
Nana’s a big lump under the covers. I walk over to her and pat her shoulder. I can’t see anything but her crazy bird’s nest of gray hair. “Hey, you okay?”
Nothing. She doesn’t stir.
“Nana.” I pat her shoulder again.
The lump doesn’t stir. For the first time, I get a strange sensation in my belly.
Fear.
She can’t be…dead. Can she? Did she actually have a head injury and I missed it? Did I do the wrong thing? My mind races.
If she’s dead, who gets the house? Where will I live?
And then she moans and turns her head. One yellow eye blinks open and stares up at me like a dying fish. “Danny,” she rasps.
“You don’t sound so good, Nana.”
“Mmmmmm….” Her lips part and a thick, brown looking tongue slides over them slowly, like an aging Jabba The Hut.
Now I’m worried. “Maybe we should go to the Emergency Room.”
“No.”
“I’m kind of nervous about you. Can I see that finger?”
“I’m fine,” she says, and her voice sounds more like herself momentarily. She blinks and now her eye doesn’t look as insanely yellow either. Maybe I’m just freaking out.
The rash on my balls has clouded my thinking.
“You sure you’re okay?” I ask.
“Yes. Just want to sleep a bit more.”
“Let me get you another glass of water.”
“I’m fine, Danny. Be a good boy and leave Nana alone now.”
“Okay.” I lean in and kiss her withered cheek and it smells of putrid stinking rotten meat. But I figure that’s just because she’s old and in her old sheets and covers, none of which has probably been washed in years.
I snag the ointment and leave the room, confident that I at least tried to do the right thing. She’s still of sound mind, if she doesn’t want to go to the hospital then I can’t force her to do it.
In the bathroom, I take off my pants, spread my legs wide and smear the cream all over my lower abdomen, balls, penis. It looks greasy and glistening and the flesh is read and blistery. Despite my best intentions, I can’t help popping more of the pustules.
There are so many of them.
Before long I’ve exploded dozens of them and my belly and nuts are on fire with stinging pain. I reapply more Neosporin because the wounds are all raw and open.
I know I probably need to go to a walk-in clinic and get tested. Should I call that bitch from last night and ask her what she gave me? I don’t have her number though. I remember where she lives. Maybe Teddy Foreskin will go with me after work.
***
Work is slow tonight. Like slower than any of us has ever seen it.
Teddy and me are playing Go Fish while our boss reads one of his Chopper magazines. He’s really into souped up motorcycles and stuff. His name is Bud and it’s a perfect name for a douche bag like him.
“Do you have any sevens?” I ask.
“Go Fish,” Teddy says. His unshaven face is flabby but somehow youthful, maybe because of his stupidity.
“Don’t lie. I know you have a damn seven, man.”
He shakes his head. I want to smash his teeth in. I grab another card and it’s a King. Now I have three Kings.
“Do you have any fours?”
I hand him my one four.
He grins smugly. “Do you have any Kings?”
I grit my teeth and slowly hand them to him. As he takes them greedily from me, he reveals some of his cards and I catch a glimpse of a seven from the corner of my eye.
“You sleazy fuck!”
“What?”
I slap the cards out of his hand.
Bud turns from his magazine. “Hey! Keep it down, bozos, or no more cards for the rest of the night. I’ll have you picking up trash on every floor of the garage.”
“You had a seven, shithead,” I whisper, mindlessly itching at my crotch.
“Did not.”
“I saw it.”
He picks up his cards with a smirk. “You’re just a sore loser, Danny. You can’t always win man.”
“I don’t care about a game of fucking Go Fish, you dumbass. It’s the cheating I can’t stand.”
He stares at me with no expression. “You seem upset. Is it about the disease you caught from that skank?”
Bud glances at me and shakes his head.
“No, I don’t have anything. It’s all cleared up.” I resist the strong urge to violently itch my balls and stomach. Last I checked everything was worse. Redder, angrier, and more pustules.
Suddenly a car’s tires squeal at the entrance of the garage and a black BMW
speeds past us without even stopping to get a ticket or anything. The three of us stand up and watch it fly by.
“What the hell was that?” Bud jumps on his Segway and chases up after it. He disappears around the corner, his body a stiff exclamation point as he rides the Segway like a black stallion.
Teddy looks at me, his eyes panicked. “Now what?”
“Beats me.”
The two of us sit where we are, on folding chairs on the ground level, waiting for one of our walkie-talkies to come to life. A minute passes. Then two minutes
.
Teddy begins whistling eerily.
“Shut up,” I say.
He stops whistling and starts rocking his chair so that the front legs come off the ground.
I check my phone nervously. “Maybe we should go up and have a looksee.”
From outside the garage comes a building wail of sirens. And then voices, panicked, yelling in the near distance. I can’t make out what any of them is saying. All I know is that people sound fearful.
For some reason I instantly think of the Twin Towers.
Even Teddy Foreskin is frightened. He looks at me with quivering cheeks and round eyes. “Shit, man. Something bad is going down.”
Now there are screams coming from one of the upper levels of the garage. Teddy and I both stare up at the ceiling as the awful screams of pain echo down to us.
“Oh, man. You think that’s Bud yelling like that?” Teddy squeaks.
“Fucked if I know.” I stand up and grab the walkie-talkie and click on it. “Bud, come in. You there?”
Static.
“Bud. Copy. Bud!”
The screams abruptly stop as if cut off like a line going dead.
“Maybe he’s trying to bust our balls,” Teddy says. “He’ll come back down laughing his ass off.”
“I don’t think so. Call 911.”
“You—you think?”
“Yeah, I fucking do think. Now call.”
Teddy’s fumbling his phone. He drops it on the concrete. “Shit.” Picks it up, his hands shaking.
I’m still on the walkie-talkie. “Bud! Answer me, Bud!” I have an awful feeling in the pit of my stomach. I don’t want to go up and see what happened to Bud. I don’t want any part of it.
Outside, more shouts. More screams. Sirens are louder. Now car horns are honking in rapid fire.
Ted is hyperventilating. “Yeah, I need a cop here right away. At the Durham Street Garage. 2015 Durham Street…I don’t know what happened. Someone’s screaming. A guy, our boss—we think he’s screaming in the garage. And then he stopped.”
I should have called myself. Ted is making no sense. He’s hyperventilating, his face is shaking like Jell-O. “Ted, just tell them someone’s been assaulted at the garage,”
I say. “They don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“But—“
“Just say it!”