The Dryad's Kiss

by Scott VanKirk

  “Nope,” he joked. “I’m usually just sticking things into various orifices in my offices. I don’t get to do the hospital beds very often. You’ve presented quite a poser, young man. You’ve had all your doctors utterly flummoxed. Young men your age generally don’t fall into random comas unless there is something quite wrong with them. I’ve talked to several of the specialists who’ve seen you, and they haven’t come up with any good theories as to why you collapsed. Your heart appears to be in good shape, you don’t show any signs of epilepsy or liver or kidney failure or mono, your blood work came back clean with no poisons or drugs. They found a little anemia, that’s it. Even your brain scans came back without giving us a clue. A whole troop worked on you, and all they could say was that you were just shutting down.”

  “Where are all these guys? I haven’t seen any of them, yet.”

  A grin cracked his mouth. “Well, I suspect some have decided to quit their day jobs, and are out getting drunk.” He paused. “Mostly, they’re off helping people who they know they can help. Finn, Is there anything you can tell me that might give these poor guys a small push in some direction?”

  Yes, look up “dryad”. “Uh no,” I said, guilty again. I decided to stick as close to the truth as possible without being shut away in the loony bin. “I’ve been under a lot of stress. I met this girl, and things aren’t working out too well. We are from extremely different worlds, and I think she wants things from me that I can’t give. I’ve been wiped out, and I haven’t been getting much sleep. It’s really tearing me down.”

  Dr. Bouras digested this for a minute. I couldn’t tell if he bought any of it, but he said, “If this young lady is giving you such fits, perhaps you need to cut your losses and let her go her own way.” My face must have reflected how that thought struck me. A kick in the gut couldn’t have hurt like hearing this echo of my own thoughts.

  I rallied my arguments and replied, “But, when it’s good, doc, it is amazing! I’ve never met anyone who makes me feel like this.”

  “So, are you sexually active with her?”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  He chewed on that for a moment.

  “Well, Finn, I’ve never heard of sex or a bad relationship causing a coma, but it seems to me that you’re in the throes of some serious chemistry with this girl. A lot of that is due to your age. I know teenagers don’t like to hear this, but much of what you’re feeling comes from raging hormones. Trust me. If this girl is causing you this amount of anxiety and stress, then you’re better off without her. You’ll find someone else, and you’ll be just as crazy about her. Hopefully, though, she’ll make you feel good, not bad.”

  What he said made sense, but it didn’t apply in my case, and I couldn’t explain to him why.

  I nodded at him from my bed with pursed lips. I hoped I looked thoughtful enough for him to think I was really considering his advice. I mean, his advice really was sound, but it just didn’t apply to Spring and me. He couldn’t possibly know the way she made me feel.

  I looked into his eyes, to convince him of my sincerity and said, “I guess I never thought of it that way. Thanks.” I hoped it would satisfy him.

  Satisfied or not, he moved on to other subjects.

  “So, you’re sure you aren’t taking any recreational drugs?”

  I kept my eye contact and shook my head.

  “I’m not trying to get you into trouble Finn. I’m trying help you get through this whole without the possibility of a relapse.”

  “No, I’m don’t do drugs or alcohol.” Now I was stuck looking into his eyes. I couldn’t look away without appearing guilty.

  “How about food. Have you eaten somewhere different lately? Did anything make you feel sick after you ate it?”

  “Nope.”

  To my relief he broke our gaze and looked out the window frowning in thought.

  His gaze returned to me, and I carefully did not meet it. “Any other symptoms you have noticed?”

  “Nope, sorry.”

  He grimaced and shook his head. “You’re not being much help, you know.”

  “Sorry.”

  He threw off the grimace and smiled. “Well, the good news is that your insurance doesn’t want you staying here one more day than we can justify. So, if we can’t find a reason to keep you here, you’ll be going home soon.”

  I grinned at that.

  “If I let you out of here, I want you to promise you will make the time to come see me in the next few weeks for a full physical.”

  “I promise Doc.”

  We talked a little more, and Dr. Bouras made it clear he wanted to see a lot more of me over the next few weeks.

  He slapped his hands on his lap and got up. “Good, that’s what I wanted to hear. Get some good rest, Mighty Finn.” He paused and added, “And seriously think about finding another girl.”

  He left me alone with that cold and terrifying thought.

  I imagined this was how a junkie must feel—I wanted to be home with her. I wanted to see her and touch her again, to get lost in the forests of her deep green eyes, smell the promise of her skin, and bask in the warmth of her love. Falling into that thinking had become so easy. Deep inside, I knew that she didn’t mean me harm, that I was as special to her as she was to me. I knew that she hadn’t meant to hurt Jen. But what if my feelings are wrong? What if that is just some sort of beguilement? I told myself I wasn’t confiding in my parents and doctors and friends because they wouldn’t believe me, but it was actually the fear that they might try to stop me from seeing her again which kept me silent.

  Old fairy tales and stories came filled with creatures that clouded men’s minds with lust and drained them dry, leaving them as dead husks or worse. But, if I accepted this, it meant I wouldn’t be able to see her again, and I couldn’t bear that thought. Does a junkie feel this way about their next hit? I didn’t know, but at that moment, I had a lot more empathy with them than I ever had before. I could truly understand how someone would do something so self-destructive, wanting something so badly that maybe it was worth your life for another fix. The watcher part of me, the part that was always a step apart from the rest of me, sat back and mocked me, even as I imagined myself in the depths of despair. It told me, Stop being ridiculous. The doc was right, and this was nothing but the raging hormones of a post-adolescent male. That voice sometimes seems like a small part of me, but it can pack a mighty punch.

  I lay wondering if I would sacrifice my life for one more evening with Spring, when everything crashed to a halt at the next thought: would I be willing to sacrifice Jen’s life, too?

  That changed everything. I hated even thinking something like that. I wanted to erase the words and stomp them out of existence, but I couldn’t unthink them. The answer was obvious, and I hated it even more. I would do anything to help Jen.

  I couldn’t just go back to my dryad and hope she had nothing to do with Jen’s sudden fall into madness. I couldn’t risk it. I wouldn’t.

  Even though I had striven to believe that Spring had nothing to do with Jen's breakdown, Spring had confessed to scaring Jen. Maybe Spring hadn’t told me everything. Perhaps she had cast some sort of glamour on Jen. I had no way of knowing, and the standard laws of reality didn’t seem to apply here.

  Would Spring tell me if she had scared Jen by messing with her mind or if she were still affecting Jen? Could I convince her to stop? Maybe I could offer my own life up for Jen’s and let the dryad have every part of me. I could imagine the ecstasy of making love that one final time, knowing it would be my last moment on Earth, surrendering myself to the feeling of her soft, warm skin, the heat of her surrounding me, the final passion pouring my entire being into her, to be one with her.

  Yeah, I know. Some people have an embarrassing aunt or sister. I have me when I was younger. It keeps me humble and looking toward the future.

  Little Soldier

  At that point, petite, blonde Kati bounced into the room and saved my future self from the emba
rrassment of having to remember any more of my dingle-headed-hormone-driven romantic ideas.

  She arrived with her same cute dimpled smile and a nice flowery smell, and I turned beet red and felt flames shoot out my ears at the thoughts I'd been entertaining. A quick glance confirmed that my fantasy was striving to be seen by the entire world, standing at attention in its own little tent. I raised my right leg for cover, wondering if I could burrow down into the bed and disappear. I hoped that she hadn’t been looking.

  Then, in a scene right out of American Pie, my perky nurse said, “Okay, let’s get that catheter out of you.”

  “Now?” I squeaked.

  “Yes, the doctors think it’s time. If you’re good, they’re going to send you home soon.”

  I froze in panic. Down! I commanded, and then begged, and then I tried filling my thoughts with horrible images. Dead Puppies! Auschwitz!

  “Uh, maybe we could do it later?”

  The nurse cast me a knowing smile. “I understand it's embarrassing, but it won't take more than a minute.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Let’s just get this leg down.” She pushed my knee down.

  I closed my eyes and hoped for congenital heart failure, a tornado, a meteor, Gabriel’s horn—anything to put me out of my misery.

  The nurse pulled the sheets up and gave a little, “Oh, I see your problem. Your little soldier’s at attention.” Then she gave me her most compassionate expression and said with a professional, warm, comforting smile, “Don't worry, honey. It’s a normal male reaction—nothing to be embarrassed about.”

  Right then and there, I died. If there’s anything a young teenage male wants to hear when he bares all, it is not, “your little soldier.” It’s right up there with, “How cute!” or, “It looks just like a penis, only smaller!”

  My “little soldier” started to drop his salute, then, the nurse went about her business. Thankfully, my diapers weren’t soiled as well. Anyway, my little soldier’s “at ease” lasted until she grabbed him and lifted him up gently, bringing a flood of memories of another pair of hands. This of course started to get his attention again, which doubled my mortification.

  “Now you’re going to feel a slight pull,” she warned. I whimpered. Then, the pull. A sting went through me as the tube was removed. It is not a feeling anyone should ever have.

  When finished, she let go and said in satisfaction, “There! That wasn't so bad, was it?”

  Hours of my life have been wasted thinking of all the clever and witty replies I could have made to that question. If I ever find myself in that situation again, I'll be ready with something like, “Yeah, baby, was it good for you, too?” or, “I was hoping for some romance,” or even, “My little soldier is grateful.”

  But all I could do was whine, “Uh-huh.” After an eternity of cleaning up, she left. The whole time, I lay there wallowing in mortification. All thoughts of sex had fled. Removing the catheter was a better cure for stiffness than saltpeter, but gradually, I put it behind me.

  I hoped like hell I'd never see my nurse again.

  When my brain finally reengaged, it swung right back to my other current problem.

  What will I do if my dryad admits to hurting Jen? What if she won’t stop? Can I bring myself to cut down my oak? Would that even hurt her? I’ve never actually seen her coming out of the tree. Can anyone help me with this? Who could I even tell?

  I must have been at this for some time when a wonderful smell derailed my thoughts. My mom entered the room holding a large pizza box in her hand.

  When she put it down in front of me, it took all my will not to immediately devour it. “How’s Dad?”

  “He will be fine Finn. He’s just not feeling well.”

  I looked at her uncertainly, but the pizza convinced me not to pursue the matter.

  I dove into the most incredible pizza I had ever had. It was piled with fatty, salty, tangy cheesy goodness. With my first bite, my teeth bit through a mountain of cheese and into a perfectly done thick crust. Hot sauce squirted out from under the cheese and burnt my mouth. I barely noticed.

  I took another large bite and spoke around it. “Oh, my god, mom! Viff is so good.”

  She smiled at my enthusiasm, and the worry lines around her eyes eased a little bit.

  “You are the beft mom effer!”

  When I had devoured the last crispy crust and was picking at the little cheese bits left on the bottom of the box, she said, “It’s good to see you still have a healthy appetite.”

  “If you want to feel really good,” I replied with a grin, “you can go get me another one of these.”

  She chuckled, not realizing how serious I was, and leaned back in her chair. We turned on the TV, and we watched lousy shows on and off while she solved a crossword puzzle.

  During this time, a few more doctors visited us. Our conversations seemed repetitious.

  “Do you do drugs?”

  “Did you eat anything unusual?”

  Stuff like that. Then, one doctor threw a new one at me. “Do you practice autoerotic asphyxiation?”

  I wish I had been sipping my water when the doc asked that one so I could have spit it all over him in shock. Instead, I just gawked at him.

  The look of alarm on my mom’s face finally made me sputter out, “No, I mean, no! Never!” I glanced at my mom. “Really! I’ve never even wanted to try something like that. That’s just too twisted. Really, I wouldn’t… I couldn’t. How could you suggest something like that?”

  “Okay, okay,” replied the doctor, hold out his palms. “I just had to ask. That practice can lead to brain damage, which can manifest in many ways and could explain some of what we saw.”

  “Mom, I swear…”

  Then I got another shock as her face twisted as she tried to hold back laughter.

  “What?” I demanded.

  My mom let a snort escape. “Oh, Finn! You should see your face! Oh, I wish I had my camera!”

  “You’re laughing at me?”

  She nodded with her fist against her mouth, struggling not to let another snort out.

  I was mortified. I wouldn’t even have suspected my mom knew what autoerotic asphyxiation was, let alone find it funny.

  I sulked, jutting my lower lip out and crossing my arms over my stomach.

  She laughed even more, to the point where a few tears welled in her eyes.

  Later, after the one-sided hilarity died down and the doctor had left, I watched my mom as she remained quietly intent on her crossword. I thought that if anyone in the world would believe me and be able to help me, it would be her.

  “Mom?”

  “Yes, dear?” She looked up from her crossword to meet my gaze.

  “What…,” I paused, then chickened out and asked instead, “Why does Dad hate my gaming so much?” Thoughtful, she pursed her lips. “I’ve asked him that myself a couple of times.” Her eyes swept up in memory. “I never have gotten a good answer. You know, he’s not good at expressing his emotions sometimes, but I get the feeling that he worries you might lose sight of reality. I’ve often thought it must have to do with what happened to your birth mom.”

  “You mean he’s afraid I’m going to go crazy and lose it, too,” I said without inflection.

  Her gaze sharpened a bit. “Ian Finn, that comment was unworthy of you.”

  “Sorry, Mom.” I lowered my eyes.

  She reached under the bed rail to my hand and squeezed it. “I know, honey. It’s hard to think or talk about things like this.” She paused for a few beats. “You really should talk to your dad about this.”

  A short while later, she got up from beside my bed. “I’m going to go check on Dad. Will you be all right by yourself?”

  “I’ll be fine, Mom. Let me know how he’s doing, okay?”

  She gave me a kiss on my forehead. “I will. Get some rest, sweetheart. You need to get back your strength.”

  “Okay, Mom.” I lay back and worked on getting some power resti
ng in. I gave in to the pizza coma and fell asleep. That’s not encouraged in a hospital, though, and the nurses kept coming in and waking me up what seemed like every hour. If their goal was to make me want to cut my stay short, hourly nocturnal visitation was a terrific way to do it.

  Going Home

  Finally, the morning arrived, and I got to play the waiting game with my dad. This is where they tell you they will release you as soon as the doctor okays it. Of course, the doctor is never around or is in surgery or playing golf or sleeping off a bender, so you get to wait.

  By the time we got the okay, I wanted to run screaming out the door. I felt completely recovered and ready to run a marathon. I spent a lot of the morning texting the gang. They had planned to descend on the hospital in force that morning, but I convinced them to wait and come over when we got home.

  Unsurprisingly, Kati had to be the one to check me out. She brought in a wheelchair, had me sit in it, and wheeled me out like an invalid from the cool, dry hospital air into a wall of hot wetness and all the way to the curb. “Okay, tiger, this is where you get off.” I turned awkwardly to thank her.

  She replied looking straight into my eyes and smiled her wonderful smile. Her eyes seemed knowing when she replied, “I certainly enjoyed having you here, Finn, but I’d rather see you someplace a bit more fun. I don’t want see you here again for a long while. Understand?”

  “Uh, yeah. Me too,” I said vaguely. At the time, I had no idea if she’d stuffed any more meaning into her comment, but I felt my face turn red again.

  Yeah, I know, give me a break.

  She said goodbye to my dad. My special friend gave us a cute wave goodbye and wheeled away. My dad saw my red face and smiled.

  “You work fast son.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “While we're here, can we go visit Jen?”

  His face lost its humor and turned hard, “I don’t think that’s a good idea. She needs her rest and doesn’t need us bothering her. We’re heading home.”

  We started walking around the circular drive outside the front entrance of the hospital. I walked alongside my dad not thinking of much in particular, when somebody caught my eye—Erik Parmely. He sat slouched and leaned back on one of the mesh steel benches farther down the sidewalk. He appeared to be relaxed, his arms outstretched to either side of him on the back of the bench, but his bruised eyes watched me with a creepy intensity. The cuts and bruises on his face were still quite visible. He made no effort to disguise the fact that I was the object of his attention.