Roger opens his eyes again.
“Here’s your friend!”
It’s Maynard. God-damn-shit-brain Maynard. He’s standing there like a kid, swallowed up in this so-called moment. He has the saddest happy smile on his face.
Maynard.
Of all the people in this world, why does it have to be Maynard?
Maynard wants to say something, but he doesn’t. He just stares with enormous relief at Roger
It’s quiet.
“I’ll let you two be alone for a little bit, okay?” The faker nurse leaves.
Roger rolls over, away from his ‘friend’. He can feel Maynard’s eyes looking at him. Roger can feel how sad-happy Maynard is, and it’s pissing him off. Why does he torture Roger like this? He would have been better off dying quietly in the woods.
A minute passes with only the beeping of medical machines and the subtle buzz of the hospital itself.
“Are you feeling okay?” Maynard peeps with a shaky voice.
“No.”
“Do you need some food?”
“No.”
“Water?”
“No.”
It’s quiet again. Beep, beep, beep.
“I thought you were going to die. I was so scared.”
Roger says nothing.
“If I didn’t have my shopping cart, I don’t know how I could have got you here.”
Roger rode in that piece of shit?
Christ.
“You’ve been out for two days now. I haven’t left yet. I couldn’t, I was too worried. Except I went to get some food, you know how that goes though.”
Roger reluctantly rolls back toward Maynard and looks at him. Maynard is twiddling his thumbs, fidgeting.
“The doctor said I saved your life.” Maynard looks so weak and pitiful right now, but so full of pride and joy and whatever else his mind can contain.
“Thanks.” Roger grunts reluctantly.
“You don’t need to thank me, you’re my friend, and that’s what friends do for each other.”
Stop with the fucking ‘F’ word already.
“I was just so scared.” Maynard takes a deep, quivering breathe. “I’m so glad you’re okay now, though. I mean, uh, whew.”
“I need to sleep.”
“Oh, yea, okay, um, no problem. You just get better okay?”
Roger rolls over and closes his eyes.
“Yo just get better, okay, buddy?” Maynard says as he walks out. “Just get better.”
Chapter 37
It took Roger two hours of just lying there before he actually fell asleep. That’s how long it took to cope with the anger. As soon as he did, he slept for twelve hours.
Roger wakes up late in the night. He sits up much easier this time. Most of the lights are off except for a dim security light. Everyone else is sleeping.
Food, Roger’s stomach groans. It’s probably been days since he last ate.
Ten minutes later a different nurse walks in. A quiet nurse. She sees Roger up and whispers a hello. She looks around at all the other patients in the room, sees their sleeping, then goes over to Roger.
“How are you?”
“Fine. I’m hungry.”
“That’s a good sign. The kitchen is closed, but let me see what I can scrounge up. Need anything else?” she’s a lot older than the other nurse. More wrinkles.
“Water.”
“Okay.”
There’s a sink in the room. The quiet nurse goes over to it and gets a cup of water for Roger.
“Here you go. I’ll be back in just a second.”
Roger nods slightly as he drinks the whole cup of water.
She leaves.
Roger needs more water.
He gets up to go to the sink. As soon as he stands up he nearly passes out. Light-headed and a little queasy.
He makes it, fills and drinks one, then fills another and heads back to his bed. Just as he gets comfortable the nurse is back. She’s carrying a tray.
“You’re lucky, you know?”
Not this again. Roger wasn’t going to die. It’s not the time to hear about all that.
“There was only one tray of food left in the warmer.”
Oh.
“Hope you don’t mind mashed potatoes, green beans and meatloaf.”
“No.”
“Good.”
She hands the tray over to him. Roger can tell she’s had to be quiet for a long time while at this job. She talks in an odd pitch, audible but not disturbing to anyone who is sleeping nearby.
“Thanks.”
“No problem. More water?”
“I have some.”
“Okay. See you soon.” And she creeps out of the room.
Roger eats. Not incredibly fast because he knows that would be a waste of time and food. But he’s so hungry.
The whole tray is scraped clean and Roger falls asleep shortly after.
Chapter 38
Roger needs to get out of here.
He woke up mid morning the next day to that same hospital smell.
He needs to leave. He needs his clothes first. He’ll ask the nurse the next time she comes in. The fake nurse is on again.
“Your friend took them. He said he could take care of that for you. Gosh, he seems so nice. You’re really lucky to have him. What would you do without him?” She giggles and reaches out like she’s going to touch Roger, but instead just waves her finger slightly.
God damn it, Maynard.
“He’ll be back sometime today, I’m sure. This is the longest I’ve ever not seen him. He’s really nice. He was showing me some of his neat shirts you can find at thrift stores for really cheap. I might have to try that sometime. I am always spending too much in the department stores and online and stuff. Everything is just too cute to pass up, ya know?”
Roger needs to get the hell out of here soon. This is probably the first and last time Roger has ever wanted to see Maynard. It’s not even Maynard that he wants to see, it’s his clothes.
Chapter 39
Maynard shows up a few hours into the afternoon. Roger was about ready to get up and walk out stark naked, bare assed and not ashamed.
“Hi.” Maynard says.
“Where are my clothes?”
“In my cart.” Maynard pips happily, like he just did something to be proud of.
“Go get them.”
“What do you say?”
“Go get them.”
“Not-uh, come on.” Maynard is grinning and shaking his head. He’s even wagging his finger similar to what that fake nurse was just doing.
“Now.” Roger’s tone hasn’t changed a bit.
“What do you say?” his tone turns a little more serious, like when talking to a dog that isn’t shaking hands.
Oh hell.
“Please.” Roger mumbles, not looking Maynard in the eyes.
“Okay.” Maynard pips and runs away. He’s back within a few minutes.
“Your old shirt was pretty gross, so I got you a new one.”
“Where’s my other one?”
“I threw it out. You really needed a new one. I think you will like it a lot.”
“I won’t.”
“I tried to find one with your name on it like mine, but I couldn’t. You’d be surprised how hard it is to find something with just as nametag on it. I mean, Maynard isn’t really that common of a name, not as common as Roger. You know, like when army men or like semi drivers are talking into there, uh, um, what are those things called? Radios? Well that’s not it, but, they say Roger when they are done talking.”
Roger stares at Maynard.
Maynard starts to act like he’s talking into a CB radio. “The roads are getting a little icy on highway thirt-”
“That’s great. Can I have my clothes?”
“Well, hang on there. I gotta surprise for you, okay? I got close to something like that. Look.” Maynard pulls out a red shirt with blue writing and a blue and red decal on it. It says;
> ‘Roger’s Repair Shop.’
Christ, Maynard.
“What do you think? We could just cross out the last part and then it would just be your name.”
“I’m tired. Go away.”
“But what about the shirt? Do you like it? I think it’s pretty good.” Maynard turns the shirt around, then back, admiring his choice. “You didn’t really give me a whole lot of time to find a REALLY good one.”
“No.”
“No what?”
“I don’t like it.”
“But I thought you would? I went through two stores just to find it. There was another one, but this one was the best I could find.”
“I’m tired.” This worked last time.
Maynard’s demeanor begins to change slightly, like he wants to cry, but knows, or was told that he is too old to cry. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m tired.”
“I just thought you would like it.”
“I’m tired.”
“Maybe it’ll grow on you.”
“Go away, Maynard.”
“I know it fits you because it fits me and we are about the same size.”
“Maynard!” Every one of the ill patients in the room look up from their reclined beds at Roger.
Maynard is startled. His face grows all the more sad. If you were looking for it, you could see his chin quiver a little.
“Just go away.” Roger murmurs as he rolls over, away from Maynard and all of the eavesdropping pricks in the room.
“Okay.” Maynard hangs his head and slowly starts to walk out. All of the other patients give Roger’s back a nasty look.
Piss off, sick shits.
Chapter 40
Roger waited until the night to leave. He just walked out, leaving that stupid shirt behind. His jacket was enough. None of nurses or doctors recognized him on his way out.
The fresh air feels good in his lungs. It’s not really that fresh, but there’s just less hospital in it. He wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to leave, if he was feeling well enough to recover the rest of the way on his own, but as soon as he made it out he felt much better.
That smell would’ve killed him.
Roger wonders if they’ll come looking for him or not. And if they do, could they find him? He’s sure that his visit cost a fair amount of money, but it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t have any money. He wouldn’t want it if he did. He wouldn’t pay if he did. He’d burn all of that infectious shit right in front of them. Maybe then they’d see what the hell’s wrong with this whole thing.
Money is a disease. Hospitals run off of money.
What kind of backward shit is that?
Chapter 41
The river is so quiet at night. No one is around and the sound of the crickets can be heard above the drone of cars in the distance.
Quiet.
Quiet enough to think for a bit.
What’s going on? It’s been disastrous lately. Roger is losing. Roger has lost so much of his routine life in the past month. He’s losing what he needs to get to what he wants. It’s all becoming tainted, by Maynard, by other bums, by this ignorant, engulfing city.
Good thing there’s Hermit Bridge. Good thing no one knows about that spot.
Hermit Bridge is Roger’s hidden Alamo. He won’t let anyone know about it.
He can’t.
He won’t.
That’s where Roger will go tomorrow morning. First thing. He needs to think. He needs to get back on track. It doesn’t really feel like he’s been away from it for very long, but he was in that hospital for a good while.
Roger needs to regroup, get his bearings going in the right direction.
He won’t lose yet.
He can’t.
Chapter 42
Roger wakes up feeling like crap again. He hasn’t eaten since the hospital. He needs to.
What day is it?
How long was he in the hospital?
When did he go in?
Not knowing what day it is means not knowing where to find food.
There is one option. A weakness-showing-can’t-do-it-on-your-own option.
The homeless shelter.
Roger has never been there. Roger has never wanted to go there. It’s a pointless dependency that he will not count on like those other docile bums do, like pigs lining up at a trough.
No.
Roger is a man of his own. He doesn’t need any help. He doesn’t need sympathy soup. He doesn’t need that bullshit false sense of there being others like him. There’s nobody like him, he knows that. He doesn’t need to go there. And he certainly doesn’t need to give up.
He can’t
He won’t.
But Roger does need food. And he doesn’t have the energy to search for it.
He can’t, though.
But what else is there?
He needs to.
Just once.
Just this once.
In and out. Just one meal, then he’s gone. It’ll have to be that quick, anyway. Otherwise he might end up puking it up if he stays too long.
The homeless shelter reminds him of the hospital which reminds him Save-Mart which reminds him of Maynard’s shopping cart which reminds him of Maynard.
Ugh, Maynard.
The shelter better not smell anything like that hospital.
Chapter 43
Everyone in this place is beat. Shit-sad-faced bums who couldn’t hum a note of intelligence. Roger feels dirty here. Not from the dirt or grime or filth of living on the streets because he’s been just as dirty, but from the demoralized demeanors of everyone around him.
No, not everyone. Everything. This place is ragged. It’s been trampled on by bums for tens of years, if not more. The walls are dirty brown, the floor is an ugly, stained yellow, some lights are burnt out and the others are dim or flickering.
The line is long. Roger got here early, so he’s about somewhere in the middle now. He’s right in the middle of at least fifty bums. Shit-sad-faced sandwiched. For a moment Roger imagines himself and all of the others shackled together and crawling like a cuffed, giant caterpillar.
It’s the noontime meal. They only serve at noon and supper. Food, shelter and water. Everything needed to live. Pathetic.
Free rooms for two nights or less.
Five bums to a room. Community bathroom. Community showers. Community dining hall. Community can’t do it alone.
It’s quiet for as many bums that are in the dining hall. The line slugs along.
Roger’s close enough to see what they are serving. Something that resembles tater tot casserole. Roger’s found more appetizing meals in a dumpster.
Three more people before Roger get’s his food.
Two.
One.
Roger slides the tray that he just picked up across the counter. Plop. Plop. Two huge scoops of steaming cat vomit. Mmmmm. The lady that’s serving looks like she’s about three hairs short of being bald, two teeth short of having dentures and one day away from death.
At least the food is hot. This will taste like shit, but it’ll be good for the stomach.
He takes his tray and looks for a place to sit. There’s open chairs all over, but they’re all next to at least one if not two bums. Roger finds the closest one, sits down and starts eating. The faster the better. Roger needs to get out of here soon. He’s already seen three bums from Dark Alley. They won’t do anything in a place like this. They’re too chicken shit. They’re too scared of losing momma’s tit, too scared of being kicked out, or to grow some balls and become a man and have to carry them around everywhere they go.
Roger gives them a shitty look.
They do the same and that’s it.
A bunch of milk-mustache-momma-lovers.
The bums around Roger don’t say much at all. They just quietly eat their meals. And what would they have to say, anyway? They’re lives are too depressing to hear about, let alone talk about.
Roger eats quickly and ends up being one
of the first ones to leave. A good thing too, he almost puked it all up as he walked out.
That’s the first and last time Roger’s ever going there. No matter how sick he gets. He’d rather die than have to experience that devolving feeling again, that helpless feeling, the feeling of dependence. He is his own master.
Chapter 44
That night Roger camped out in a partially wooded area near the river. He wanted to go to Hermit Bridge, but he didn’t have the energy.
The next day he wakes up scratching.
Ants.
There’s something like a big booger in his nose, but it’s moving. It’s a tick hooked in hard. Roger finds a good grip and pulls. Nothing but nose hairs.
He tries again.
More nose hairs. His eyes are watering. Roger’s definitely not crying, though.
Damn tick.
One more time and he gets it. Blood dribbles out. Roger holds the tick between his pinched fingers as he looks closely at it, squinting because of the bright morning sun in his face. It’s legs and antennas and whatever else is flailing around trying to find something solid.
“You’re just like all the other things in this place.” He pinches harder. “You suck life out of other living things in order to survive.”
That’s what’s happening with Roger. This city is full of ticks, ticks he can’t escape. Ticks just like this one. Ticks that can’t help but latch and attach on to things and never let go.
There are all kinds of ticks in this city. Drinking ticks, smoking ticks, exercise ticks, eating ticks, screwing ticks. Habit ticks that can’t survive without whatever thing it is they have their little hooks or fangs sunk in to, their life support units.
Not Hermit Bridge, though. The only thing there is the calm. No ticks, no dicks, no chicken shits. Well there’s probably ticks.
That’s where Roger needs to go. Right now.
It feels like he was just there, but that’s not true. It’s been at least a week, if not two. He doesn’t really know how long he was lying in that hospital bed. Regardless, he’s been out there too much lately. He’s been getting paranoid about someone finding his spot.
Guttersnipe Page 6