Jex Blackwell Saves the World

by P. William Grimm

  After the set, Jex hangs out, watching the scene and wondering whether she has the energy to stick around for the next band, Slunt. She doesn’t know anything about them, but the name gives her a laugh. Maybe tonight is just a metal night, she thinks. Every once in awhile you need a good metal night, she thinks.

  Her thoughts are interrupted by Sam. “Hey, Dr. Jex. You’re here!”

  “Yep,” she says. “It’s me. I’m here. Just Jex.”

  Sam looks at her from the side of his eye. “I know it’s 18 plus tonight but my recollection is that you’re not quite that.”

  Jex shrugs. “I have my ways,” she demurs.

  “Oh, yeah, what are those ways,” Sam asks with a smile.

  “Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies.”

  “Fair enough,” Sam says with a laugh. “Fair enough. But at least you could have told us you were coming. We could have gotten you on our guest list. Saved you twelve bucks.”

  “Nah,” Jex says. “Happy to support the bands.”

  “Yeah, you should stick around for Slunt. They’re pretty rad.”

  “Yeah, maybe. I’m just deciding now what to do next.”

  Joe walks over and says, “hello, Jex.” He is wearing a backwards Dodgers cap, with a black t-shirt and jeans.

  “Hey, Joe. Nice set. I enjoyed it.”

  “Thanks a lot. It feels great to be up there.”

  “How many more dates do you have?”

  “Three more in SoCal in the next two weeks,” say Sam. “Two in SD and another one up here in LA again. And then, depending on how our man is feeling, we’re headed up north to maybe hit SF And maybe even Sacramento. We’ll see. The Sarcoma Diarrhea tour is never-ending.”

  “That’s the truth,” Joe affirms and they all laugh an awkward laugh, somehow comfortable in their collective weirdness.

  “And then,” Sam continues, “we have like four or five new songs ready to go. We are going to record some and get ourselves a new EP. It’s going to be hot and won’t take but a couple of days to record in my basement. Want to know what it’s called?”

  “Sure,” says Jex, willing to take the bait.

  “After Leviathan.”

  Jex smiles, remembering her critique of Mastodon and amused that Sam remembers it as well. “That’s pretty rad.”

  “Thanks,” Sam and Joe respond in unison, their voices filled with optimism over the thought of recording their songs.

  “Yo, Jex,” says one of the two other guys, who is up on the stage breaking down the drum set.

  “Hey, man,” Jex responds, waving over her shoulder. Both of the two other guys wave back.

  “Yeah,” Sam says. “We should finish up tearing down the set so the next band can set up. Maybe we’ll see you a little later.”

  “Maybe,” Jex shrugs. “If not, it was good seeing you all and I hope you have a good rest of the tour. And that it lasts a long time. I’ll keep an eye on your Facebook page and try and make some other dates.” She moves towards Joe and gives him a hug. She offers the same to Sam. It is the first time she has hugged either of them, but she somehow feels like she has known them a long time.

  “Yeah, Jex,” Joe says. “If I don’t see you before you split, listen, thanks a lot for helping us out with Dr. Cohen. It was some hard shit and you made it a lot easier.”

  “Yeah,” Sam agrees. “It is literally true that if we hadn’t met you, we wouldn’t be here right now.”

  “That’s for sure,” Joe follows up before Jex could even protest. She shrugs again.

  “Anyways, it was good meeting you guys and I hope you stay in touch. I’m always around if you have any questions or anything.”

  “Oh,” Sam says, clapping his head with his hand. “Hold on. Before you go.” He reaches over into his bag and rummages around. He pulls out a t-shirt and checks out the size on the tag. “Here,” he says. “This is a small. It should fit fine.”

  “Cool,” Jex says, holding it up to see a large sea creature of some type, with a red beast of some sort in its clutches. “How much do I owe you?”

  “On the house,” Joe responds, Sam nodding his head in agreement. “You get free t-shirts and guest list spots and anything you want for life,” says Sam. “Oh, and take this sticker, too. Waters of Chaos owes you forever.”

  Knowing resistance is futile, Jex just says, “thanks guys. Have a great night,” already knowing she won’t stay for the next band. Live music is awesome for Jex, but the room is getting crowded and she is over it. She walks away from the two and doesn’t look back. She walks out onto Sunset towards La Cienega. Her little Ford Focus is parked not too far away. She unlocks the door, but pauses and goes to the back of the car. She pulls the Waters of Chaos sticker out of her back pocket and studies it for a moment. Then she pulls it from its backing and slaps it onto the back of the car, next to a Ramshackle Glory sticker and below a Misfits sticker. It is the eighteenth sticker on the car, she notes always careful to remember the number for some reason she couldn’t explain if asked.

  She gets in the car and plugs her iPhone into the tape adaptor. She plays with it for a minute and finds AJJ. “Rejoice.” She turns it up loud. She pulls a one-hitter from the glove compartment and fills it with a pinch of weed. She lights it and inhales deeply. She takes another hit and then one more. She stares out into space and then looks around bleakly, suddenly alone. She shakes the thoughts out of her head. She pulls into traffic and soon she is gone. She sighs, headed downtown. There are walls to be tagged. The music is loud. She signs along.

  * * *

  Jenny the Chicken

  “Hey guys, what’s up?”

  Eugene is surprised to see Jex and Q back at his front door, but he gestures without a second thought to welcome them back into the house. Jex walks right in without hesitation, her backpack now hanging over her left shoulder. Q follows along but her gait is substantially more restrained, cautious perhaps, as though tip-toeing through a haunted cemetery.

  “Eugene,” Jex says firmly, standing with her neck straight and her body tense. “I want you to answer some questions for me,” looking him directly in the eye.

  “Sure, Jex,” he responds in a mixture of confusion and slight hurt. “You know I’m always straight with you.”

  “When you coughed earlier, into your handkerchief, you coughed out blood didn’t you?”

  Eugene looks surprised and backs up a bit. “Why do you ask that?”

  “It’s true, isn’t it?” Jex demands quietly. “I noticed you tried to hide it from us but I didn’t think much about it at the time. But it’s true, right? You coughed up some blood?”

  He shrugged defensively. “Just a little. It’s been happening for a couple days. Just a little bit. I figure I got to lay off the generic cigs for a bit. I’m smoking Marlboro lights for a couple weeks.”

  Jex shakes her head. “Whatever. And you said you’ve been waking up in the night sweating, recently, right?”

  “Yeah, Jex, but …”

  “Let me feel your forehead,” she demands and, without waiting for consent, slaps her hand on his forehead. “You’re hot,” she declares.

  “Yeah, Jex., but…”

  “How long have you had that cough?” Her tone still quiet but no less demanding, it is not an optional question.

  “I don’t know, Jexy,” Eugene responds, now sounding somewhat nervous and even perhaps a little guilty, as though he did something wrong but did not know what. “Maybe two or three weeks, you know?”

  “Is it two weeks or three weeks? It’s not my cough to know.”

  Eugene pauses, trying to think. He coughs. “I don’t know, maybe closer to three weeks?”

  “And your cousin. Molly. When did she come back from San Diego?”

  Eugene pauses again. He coughs again. “About three weeks ago. Why?”

  “Has she been coughing like that, too?”

  “Why?” He coughs again, nervous this time.

  “She has, hasn’t she? Since she�
�s been here? The whole time? And you know she’s been using intravenous needles?”

  Eugene is getting either scared or angry; probably both. “Why Jexy? You’re starting to freak me out.”

  “Look, man,” Jex says calmly but firmly, looking Eugene right in the eye and holding her hand on his arm. “I’m not trying to freak you out. But a cough like that, for that long. And coughing out blood. Night sweats. Fever. Fatigue. Chills. Losing weight without meaning to. I think it’s worthwhile for you to at least get tested for tuberculosis.”

  Eugene stops for a full ten seconds. “Tuberculosis,” he mutters quietly, his eyes turning slightly black.

  Jex stands firm. “I guarantee you I am going to get tested now. And so should you. And I’m going to make goddamn sure that Q gets tested immediately, too.”

  Q shrinks back in horror. “Jex, WTF?”

  Eugene’s eyes turn darker. “You mean because you spent an hour with me? You think an hour with me is enough to infect you, like I’m some kind of leper, now?” he murmurs accusingly.

  Jex does not falter. “Yes,” she confirms. “For exactly that reason. Not like a leper but you may be very infectious right now.”

  Eugene raises his hands in exasperation. “Jex, for real? What the fuckin’ fuck?”

  “Look,” she says, “Let me just listen to a couple things in your chest.”

  Eugene scrunches up his face. “What?” he says, confused. “In my chest? How?”

  Jex shakes her head. “No, it’s no big deal. I just want to listen with my stethoscope.” She unzips her backpack, reaches in and pulls out her stethoscope. “Just a stethoscope, see,” she reassures him. “You’ve seen it a thousand times, no big deal.”

  Eugene hesitates but doesn’t outright say no. Jex continues to prod, with her steely determination clearly on display.

  “It’s no big deal, Eugene. I’ve done it a hundred times volunteering. Trust me. Just take off your shirt and I will done in no time …”

  “Take off my shirt, Jex, are you for fucking real?” Eugene’s face turns instantly red. He coughs hard and spits into the corner of the room, too embarrassed to care that he is spitting in his own house.

  “Dude, I have done this exam a thousand times.” This does not convince Eugene, who has turned and is walking out of the living room and into the kitchen. “Fuck this shit,” he says. “I just have a cough.”

  Jex doesn’t give up and follows Eugene into the kitchen. “Come on, Eugene. Don’t be like that. Coughing is one thing – coughing up blood, that shit could be something else. Trust me.”

  “No, fuck this.” He says, continuing to walk through the kitchen and out the other side, back into the living room. Jex turns to meet him as he completes his circle.

  “Hey,” she says in a raised voice, almost yelling. “You know Native Americans have a rate of tuberculosis that is over ten times higher than Caucasians.”

  It stops Eugene in his tracks, and he looks earnestly at Jex. “For real?”

  “For real,” Jex says with the tone of certainty that is hard to debate. “And I’m not talking historically. Historically, that shit is a much bigger differential, like totally ridic. I’m talking right now. Today. The Native American has a rate of tuberculosis that is ten times higher than a white person.”

  Eugene looks at Jex in his thoughtful manner, instantly calmer. “No, Jex,” he says. “I did not know that.”

  * * *

  It is ten minutes later and Eugene is sitting on a chair, his undershirt still on, with Jex kneeling next to him on one knee, her right hand pressed firmly on his clavicle. She is tapping the middle finger of her right hand with the index and middle finger of the left hand, which she holds tightly next to one another.

  “So, this is called percussing. The point is to see whether there’s fluid in your lungs. It doesn’t seem that way, but the apex of your lungs is above your clavicle. So, by tapping on it like this, I can get a sense of whether your lungs have fluid in them or not.”

  “My lungs go up that far?” Eugene, asks with a disbelieving tone in his voice.

  “Yeah, it’s just the apex of them, but that’s enough, just by two millimeters or so, not much. But enough.”

  She does the same thing to his chest, under his right nipple and on a lower part of his lungs. “Your lung is separated into different lobes – different sections. I’m checking on each of them.”

  She places her hands on either side of his neck, straight out as if in a karate chop. “Can you please say ninety nine for me?”

  “Ninety nine,” he says. She puts her hands on his back, under his shoulder bone and asks him to do the same thing; followed by the same exercise but with her hands on his lowest rib, the twelfth rib. He says “ninety nine” each time as requested.

  “How is it?” he asks but she doesn’t answer.

  She pulls out her stethoscope and places it below his right nipple. “Can you say it again, please?”

  “Ninety nine,” he repeats compliantly. She repeats the same exercise on other spots on his chest and he complies each time as requested. “Eugene, I’m listening for bronchial breath sounds and other areas that might be abnormal.”

  As Jex listens to the last part of Eugene’s chest, his cousin Molly walks in the door. She is dressed all in black, save for a shock of blue on the left portion of her dark, shoulder-length hair. She seems pale and thin. She wears long sleeves and is holding a guitar case. She looks at the scene quizzically.

  Chuckling slightly, she asks, “what are you guys doing?”

  Eugene slaps the stethoscope away from his chest and stands fully upright, his full body towering over Jex, Q, and Molly. Molly instinctively backs up one step but otherwise holds her ground. “What are we doing?” Eugene bellows at Molly, pointing his finger accusingly at her. “I’ll tell you what we’re doing. We’re checking to see if I have motherfucking tuberculosis. Which, by the way, it looks like I do.”

  Molly pulls her head back in confusion. “Tuberculosis? What the fuck?” She chokes on her words just a bit and begins to cough.

  “There,” Eugene roars. “That cough. That stinking, infected, disgusting junky leper cough. That’s where I got it from.”

  “Eugene,” Jex says calmly, holding her hand on his arm. He pulls away and Jex does not try immediately to disengage.

  “”What are you talking about?” Molly demands, her eyebrows now furrowed in anger, fear.

  “You, you goddamn junky. You gave me tuberculosis. Now I’m nothing but a goddamn old lunger like some homeless person or junky like you.” The vitriol is clear in his words.

  “A junky?” Molly blurts out defensively. “Who you think you are, calling me a junky?”

  “Don’t lie to me, Molly. I know. I know. I seen your needles around. I tried to be cool and supporting and brought you into this house, but you don’t just hurt yourself. You hurt me. Being a junky hurts everyone around you. For real.”

  Tears well up in Molly’s eyes. Her face turns red, but in that way it turns red when you are angry, not when you are upset or embarrassed.

  “Stop calling me a junky,” she screams. “I’m not a junky.” She is almost shaking in her anger. She turns to her left side and kicks a small lamp. It flies off the cabinet and cracks into a thousand shards of blue and white. The light flickers for a moment and then disappears.

  “Stop lying to me, cuz, I saw your gear. I seen it with my own eyes.” Eugene’s face is contorted with anger and sadness and fear. “I saw your needles, cuz. I saw your needles.”

  “I am not a junky, asshole!” Molly scream back. “I’m diabetic, OK? Are you happy now? Now you know.” She coughs hard. “I’m not a junky for Christ’s sake.” She cries harder and coughs on her words. “I’m diabetic and have to take those stupid shots every day. I’m not even allowed to drink. And I hate it. I fucking hate it, all right? But I’m not a fucking junky.”

  As she speaks, Eugene’s hands slowly rise to grasp his head, and the anger and fear drips o
ut of his face, leaving behind only the clear luster of sadness. His eyes redden and turn wet. Tears begin to drip down his face.

  After Molly finishes speaking, Eugene turns his head just slightly, slowly. “Cousin Molly,” he says, coughing out his words, nearly blubbering them, the words salty wet. “Cousin Molly, I’m sorry.”

  That is all it takes for Molly to burst out in tears. She breaks down and her shoulders lean inwards. Eugene walks across the room in less than three steps and grabs her in a bear hug and they cry together, weeping in sadness; weeping in joy. “Cousin Molly, I am so sorry. I never should have doubted family. I was just scared. I never should have doubted you.”

  “It’s OK, Geney,” Molly whispers through her tears in a raspy cough. “I know you love me. I would never do anything to hurt you. Or dishonor this family. I promise.”

  He pulls her away from him and looks her square in the eye. “You, Cousin Molly. You could never dishonor our family. You are the future of this family. We are the future of this family.”

  The two embrace for a long minute. Jex hesitates, and then delicately interrupts. “Uh, guys, this is awesome and all, but one or both of you might be, like, highly contagious and it would be awesome if we could all go to the hospital and, you know … get checked out.”

  Eugene pauses for just a moment and then steps back. He surveys the room quickly and then claps his hands loudly. “Right,” he exclaims. “Let’s get this show on the road. “I’ll drive me and Molly. The hospital is a fifteen minute ride. Jex and Q, you follow in Jex’s car. We don’t know how long we’ll be and you guys don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.” He waits a second, contemplating, and then adds, “and, plus... Well, we’re maybe contagious and all, so maybe separate cars are a good idea”