Jex Blackwell Saves the World

by P. William Grimm

  With that, Jex grabs her backpack and heads towards the stairs. The guy in the Mastodon shirt follows her, but does not catch her in time. She closes the bathroom door before he even gets up the stairs.

  When Jex gets out of the bathroom, the guy in the Mastodon shirt is waiting for her. “Hey, can you hold on a second?”

  “No. move,” she says in a derisive tone.

  “I’m not hitting on you or anything,” the guy in the Mastodon shirt protests. “I was just wondering how you did that. You know, so reflexively? It seems pretty incredible for someone as young as you.”

  “It’s no big deal. Vasovagal syncope is totally common. I have read about it a bunch.”

  The guy in the Mastodon shirt smiles. “Doesn’t seem like that would really be in books someone your age would read.”

  “Well, it is.”

  “You know a lot about medicine, huh?”

  “Some.”

  “Well, I was just wondering …”

  “Hey,” Jex almost shouts, her eyes locked into the eyes of the guy with the Mastodon shirt. “Listen, dude. I just missed most of Bernays Propaganda’s set. I have been listening to them for two years and I doubt they will ever tour in the States again and I missed it. That’s just the way it is. So be it. But High Dive is up next, and I have no intention of missing them, too. So, please, thanks for the interest. I appreciate it. But, please get out of my way so I can get a spot near the stage before the show starts.”

  The guy in the Mastodon shirt steps aside, in genuinely surprised that he was blocking Jex’s way. She is down the stairs and into the basement just a few seconds before High Dive goes on. In minutes, she is lost in the music again.

  * * *

  The show is over and the bathroom line is long. Jex is bummed that she has to pee again, but that’s the way it goes sometimes. Her old friend Q found her after the show and is now talking her ear off. Jex loves Q and all but can’t figure out which grates more on her nerves: the bathroom line or Q’s incessant rambling. At fourteen, she is younger than Jex, but every bit as experienced on the streets. That doesn’t make her tales or monologues any more interesting. Jex rubs her face.

  “See, Jex, the thing I love about High Dive is the bass. It just kind of rumbles in the room. And Ginger’s voice, of course. And the lyrics. The lyrics are the best. I mean, not the best. The Mountain Goats’ lyrics are better. And probably the Weakerthans, too. And Pat the Bunny. But High Dive’s lyrics are really awesome. So right in your face. Telling truth. Don’t you like them, too, Jex?”

  “Yeah,” Jex agreed, nodding absently. “They are incredible. No arguments from me.”

  “Yeah,” Q nodded back eagerly. “They’re awesome. I mean, you couldn’t ask for better. And Bernays Propaganda. They were out of this world. Don’t you think so, Jex? What a set!”

  “Yeah, yeah, I didn’t really see much of them, though. But it seemed like a great set from what I saw.”

  “Oh, shit, right Jex. I’m sorry. I forgot you missed it.” A pause. “It wasn’t so great, though. Really.”

  “Yeah, Q,” Jex shrugs. “Whatever.”

  There is another pause, a slightly awkward one. Jex could have fixed it all by just saying, “no big deal,” or “I can handle it, it was worth it.” Or something like that. And Q surely would have returned to her rapid fire observations. Instead, Jex just lets the silence stretch its legs for a moment.

  A third voice breaks the silence. It is the guy with the Mastodon t shirt. “Hi ladies – that was a hell of a set by High Dive, right?”

  Q is instantly reinvigorated. “Yes! I loved that version of ‘These Are Days.’ I saw them a while back and they were good but, man, it has gotten so much better.”

  The guy in the Mastodon shirt smiles. He turns to Jex. “So, what did you think?”

  “Yeah,” Jex responds dismissively, in a staccato tone that cloaks the lazy California inflection with which she speaks when she is with friends. “What Q said.”

  The guy in the Mastodon shirt continues. “Hey, I wanted to ask you about that guy that fainted before. . . ”

  Jex’s mouth opens to retort in a way that would be more dismissive than her last comment. Before she gets out a word, though, Q chimes in. “Jex is a total bad ass. She can figure out what’s wrong with anyone. And I mean anyone. I have seen the craziest shit and Jex is just cool as balls and totally figures it out – like out of nowhere. She’s punk Sherlock Holmes for sure, but for, like, medicine. And she graduated high school when she was fifteen, like, without even really going to high school. All these bad ass colleges want her, and she’s like, fuck them. But she’s gonna be a doctor in no time. She can fix anybody. There was this one time …”

  “Q, come on,” Jex interrupts and Q immediately goes silent. After an awkward pause with Jex just wishing the bathroom line would disappear, Q squeaks out, “oh, yeah, and she’s very private, too.”

  The guy in the Mastodon t-shirt chuckles, and speaks this time to Q, not Jex. “Yeah, I understand that. I have the blessing and curse of being a massive extrovert – strictly loud and annoying. These two are introverted weirdos,” the guy in the Mastodon t-shirt gestures to two young men standing awkwardly behind him. They are dressed in grubby black from head to toe, and long hair down well past their shoulders. The two were totally invisible until the guy in the Mastodon t-shirt points them out. “Totally private, these two. But me, I’m an open book.”

  Q squints at him. “if you’re so open, why don’t I know your name?”

  The guy in the Mastodon t-shirt laughs out loud. “Fair enough. I’m Sam. Nice to meet you, Q,” extending a hand with a smile that seems genuine; not plastic. She accepts it reluctantly. “I’m the lead singer of Waters of Chaos.”

  With that, Sam turns to Jex. “An introvert, eh? Well, I won’t even try to shake your hand.”

  “Thanks,” Jex replies in a tone that is not shy but every bit as dismissive as her earlier tone.

  “And as for that medical stuff,” Sam continues, “That’s pretty rad. Waters of Chaos could use it actually, cause I’m pretty sure we’re all half deaf from so many years on stage. It would be cool for someone to let us know how we could fix that or something.”

  “You’re not half deaf,” Jex shoots back, looking the three of them up and down with a thinly held disdain. “You’re just a bunch of metal bros who probably can’t figure out how to clean the wax out of their ears.” Sam pauses and smirks in response, and the two guys behind him let out Beavis and Butthead giggles.

  Q is a little wide-eyed from the words “on stage” and interrupts. “So, you guys are in a band?”

  “Yeah,” Sam replies. “We kind of play a punk and metal hybrid thing.”

  Jex rolls her eyes. “Of course you do.”

  “It’s cooler than it sounds, but we haven’t played out in a few months.”

  “Why not?” asks Q.

  “Long story,” Sam responds and then turns to Jex. “And we’re not just a bunch of dirty metal kids that don’t clean their ears. I’m twenty eight and have been rocking since I was probably younger than you – all those years tear your ears to shit.”

  Jex looks him up and down again, and shakes her head. “You’re just a wax head. Trust me.”

  Q’s eyes light up. “And she can prove it! Right, Jex? Prove it!”

  Jex looks at Q in horror. Just as she readies herself for a snotty response, Sam cuts in, wearing a sardonic smile. “Yeah, Jex. Prove whether we’re wax head metal douches or not.”

  Jex pauses and prepares a response. After a moment, with all three of the dudes and Q looking at her expectantly, she just sighs and shrugs.

  * * *

  Ten minutes later, Jex and Q and the three metal dudes are in a semicircle in the living room of a dirty punk house, which is mostly empty at this point. Jex has her backpack open and digs grumpily through it. After a minute, she pulls out a felt bag, and then another. She pulls out a black device, the one your doctor sticks in your ea
rs and eyes, from one and from the other, she pulls a tuning fork.

  “Hey,” Sam cheers. “Cool tuning fork.”

  “Yeah,” one of the other guys pipes in. “It’s nicer than yours,” he declares, awkwardly laughing his Beavis laugh.

  Sam ignores him. “What’s that black thing? I’ve seen that before.”

  “Yeah,” Jex confirms impatiently. “It’s an otoscope. It lets me look into your ear and see the bones and stuff. And wax…”

  Sam shakes his head jokily. “It’s not wax. It’s metal ear. We’re not waxheads. We’re metalheads.”

  “Yeah, ok, whatever,” Jex retorts. She has taken dismissiveness to a new level. “Sit down.”

  Sam sits in a chair and Jex approaches him. “Arms to your sides,” she declares.

  “I told you, I’m not hitting on you – you’re a kid.”

  “Yeah,” Jex says, testily. “A kid that is about to prove you’re a waxhead.”

  Sam chortles. “Doubtful.”

  Jex takes the tuning fork and taps it firmly against her ulna bone below her elbow. The tuning fork rings out a perfect C note. She holds it about two inches from Sam’s ear. “Listen to that, OK?”

  Sam confirms, “OK. It’s a C, right?”

  Jex nods her hair absently. “Yeah, very good. 512 hertz. But that doesn’t matter for this test. Just listen.”

  Jex lets the note hang for just a moment. “OK,” Jex continues. “I’m going to place the bottom of the fork on your mastoid bone, behind your ear, and I want you to listen to that, too, OK?”

  Sam smiles, and confirms, with a nodding of his head. “Mastoid bone – like Mastodon, right?”

  Jex shakes her head with slight annoyance. “Just listen, OK?” Jex places the tuning fork behind Sam’s ear and lets the note ring for another moment.

  “Which one is louder,” Jex asks. “The one in the front or the one in the back?”

  Sam pauses for a second and blinks. “Can I hear the two again?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  Jex repeats the procedure in both the front and back of Sam’s ear. Sam pauses for another moment and then responds. “In front. Definitely the front is louder.”

  Jex nods with clear satisfaction, murmurs “Uh-huh,” and then continues. “OK, that’s called the Rinne’s test. You passed. Now, one more easy test. It seems stupid, but trust me.”

  Sam just nods. Jax taps the tuning fork on her ulna bone and places the bottom of the vibrating tuning fork in the center of Sam’s forehead. He smiles at its touch. “That tickles,” he says.

  Jex ignores the comment. “Do you hear more in the left or in the right? Or is it about the same?”

  “It’s in perfect stereo. Right down the middle,” Sam responds.

  “Uh-huh,” Jex declares again, clearly satisfied. “That’s the Weber Test. You passed that one, too.”

  “What does it mean, that I passed?” Sam asks.

  “Well, when I say you pass the Rinne’s test, the one where I put it next to your ear and behind your ear, what I mean is you have a positive Rinne. The air conduction in your ear is greater than the air conduction through the bone. That means your inner ear is more sensitive to sound transmitted through the bone – that’s a good thing. That’s how it’s supposed to be. If it was the other way, that would indicate sensorineural hearing loss – I don’t think anything can be done to fix that, not a good thing. You don’t have that.”

  “That’s good to hear,” Sam replies, and then pauses. “Excuse the pun.”

  Jex rolls her eyes. “Not excused,” she declares. “The other test, the Weber test, it basically means that your hearing is the same in both ears. Either that, or the hearing loss in both ears is the same – that’s called a bilateral equivalent problem. That’s pretty unlikely, particularly where you pass the Rinne’s test like you did. If one ear hears the tone more than the other, that’s called lateralizing – sound lateralizes, or shifts really, to one ear as opposed to the other. That would mean you would have some kind of conductive hearing loss or maybe what’s called sensorineural loss. That’s bad, too, and can’t really be fixed. You don’t have that.”

  “That’s good to hear, too,” Sam responds, smiling.

  Jex ignores him. “I am just going to look into both of your ears OK, with this thingy – it’s called an otoscope, like I said, and it magnifies and lights up the ear, so I can see the bones inside.”

  “You can see the bones inside? No shit? ”

  “No shit,” Jex sighs and grabs Sam’s left ear, gently but firmly. “Does that hurt?”

  “No,” Sam responds, a little taken aback by the move. “A bit of a surprise but doesn’t hurt.”

  Jex shrugs her shoulders. “It’s just a tug,” she says, but loosens her grasp slightly. “I am just looking at your tympanic membrane. And … it is looking pretty healthy.”

  “Awesome,” Sam responds. Q and the two other guys with Sam are watching intently, and a couple other people from the show have gathered around to watch. “What else can you see in there,” Sam asks jokingly.

  “A lot, actually,” Jex explains testily. “I can see part of your malleus bone, part of your incus bone, and part of your stapes bone, that one is stirrup shaped – those are your ossicles and all are present and regular. I can see other stuff, too, like the tympanic annulus and umbo – but most important, I can see a very clear cone of light reflecting from my otoscope in the anterior-inferior quadrant of your tympanic membrane. That is very good.”

  “Why is that good,” Sam queries.

  Still poking around Sam’s ear, Jex explains. “The cone of light is like a triangular reflection of light I can see on the tympanic membrane. That light is a very good thing. If the inner ear is bulging because of, like, fluid, or if there is a tear or something, the light reflection will disappear. That’s bad. But your cone of light is clear as can be.”

  “A clear cone of light. My ears are rocking!”

  “Well, I say clear as can be, because everything is definitely present and regular, but I admit I am kind of struggling to really see it.”

  “Ah,” Sam replies in satisfaction. “Not quite an expert as you thought?”

  “Nope,” Jex retorts immediately. “It’s just that there is so much friggin’ wax build up, the circle I can see is seriously small. Get your ears cleaned, dude.”

  “What,” Sam objects. “Wait a second.”

  “No, no need to wait,” Jex responds and taps his shoulder. “Get up, waxhead. Next dude, please.” One of the two guys with Sam sits down next to him and looks expectantly at Jex. Jex starts her exam and Sam, clearly surprised, stands up reluctantly. After about fifteen minutes, Jex is done with Sam and his two friends, as well as three other show-goers. Everyone is normal. Everyone has too much wax in their ears.

  “Well,” Jex declares. “It has been a blast, but free exam night is over. Would love to stay, but things to do, people to see.” She plops the otoscope and tuning fork into their respective bags and stuffs them into her backpack. “Hey, Q. Still want a ride?”

  “Sure do,” Q yelps and follows Jex as she heads for the door. She stops in front of Sam and says, “you’ll be OK, dude. Just get your ears cleaned. It will change your world, for sure.”

  Still seeming stunned, Sam just responds, “uh, thanks.”

  Jex turns and points at Sam. “Oh, and by the way, sorry to say it, but Mastodon didn’t release a good record after Leviathan.” Without waiting for a response, she is out the door, Q close on her heels. Halfway out of the yard, she hears Sam calling to her from behind.

  “Hey, wait a second. Hold on!”

  Jex looks back and it is Sam, closely followed by his two friends. Jex doesn’t really hesitate and continues to head for her car.

  “Hey, can you just hold on just a second. We just want to ask you one more thing.”

  “Sorry dudes,” Jex responds over her shoulder. “Not interested in partying with some wax head metal heads.” She lights a cigarette but do
es not slow her gait. Q looks back at the three guys but doesn’t want to miss her ride so she doesn’t really slow down. Jex has her hand on the car door and the key in the lock.

  In a tone that is suddenly both desperate and despaired, an underlying layer of helplessness clear within it, Sam speaks out bluntly.

  “Our lead guitarist has cancer. And it’s bad.”

  For the first time of the night, Jex is stopped in her tracks.

  * * *

  “Yeah, it’s called a … sarcoma, I guess. It was in his abdomen. That’s why we aren’t playing out right now. They cut out the tumor and now he is getting all kinds of treatment – Chemotherapy and that kind of stuff, I guess.”

  Jex and Q are sitting cross-legged with Sam and the two other guys, whose names she still doesn’t know, in kind of a rough circle on the lawn. Jex is doing her best to get into the details.

  “A sarcoma can mean a lot of things. Do you remember any other names for what he has?”

  “No, not really. Just that it wasn’t totally carved away in surgery and it’s still spreading. The doctor used a lot of words that Joe didn’t understand and we didn’t, either. Oh, our buddy’s name is Joe.”

  Jex pauses and considers. “Is Joe at Cedars-Sinai,” she asks hopefully.

  Sam looks up with a sudden optimism in his eyes. “Yes!,” he says loudly. “Do you know it?”

  “Yes,” Jex affirms, trying to keep any sarcasm out of her response. “It’s like one of the biggest hospitals with a specialty in cancer treatment.”

  “One of the biggest in L.A.?” Sam asks hopefully.

  “One of the biggest in the world,” Jex clarifies. And then pauses. “My father had cancer and was treated there.”

  “Did they fix him?”

  She pauses again. “Well, he’s dead.”

  “Oh, shit. Sorry,” Sam responds.

  “It’s OK. Everybody dies sometime. And to answer your question, they did fix him, kind of. He had a sarcoma too, pretty rare and lethal. So we kind of knew he would be a goner soon enough. But they helped him a lot and his life was longer and better because of their treatment.”