Sunday, April 10, 2011

Installment 9


Phone sits on the side of the bed. Buddy is on the other side, unconscious and lying in a pool of blood. The smell of rot fills the room and I open all the windows before going to the closet to get a clean t-shirt and pair of jeans. I can’t find any jeans so I opt for sweat pants that have come stains in the crotch area from my strip club phase. Phone is still naked. She crosses her legs and says, “I’m worried about Buddy.”

“Me too.” I don’t really know if this is true. I just decided Buddy was my best friend like three days ago and we haven’t really had much of a conversation since then. I doubt he’s even read Dick Swap. But this was a decision I had made and I have to follow it through to the end.

“We should probably take him to the hospital or something.”

“He’ll probably be okay.”

Phone rolls her eyes. “He’s been leaking blood for at least two days. That’s not normal. Even if he is Swedish or something.”

“Buddy’s Swedish?”

“He has some kind of accent.”

“I say give it three days.”

“He’s been unconscious for a while. He’s barely breathing. It looks like he’s taken all of his pills. Maybe he’s overdosed.”

“We could call an ambulance. That would be a lot easier than taking him to the hospital.”

“My phone doesn’t work.”

“Mine doesn’t either.”

“Maybe Brandon has a phone.”

“Probably. He’s looking really European, don’t you think?”

“I don’t even know what the hell that means.”

“I’m sorry I’m slightly overweight and my penis is so small.”

“What does that have to do with anything? Everything isn’t about you.”

But it is, I think. I’m all I’ve got. This would take too long to explain and just as I’m getting ready to say something, anything to break the silence, Brandon comes out of the bathroom dragging a fecal stench with him. He’s wearing a t-shirt that says UNCLEAR and I try to remember if it was the same one he was wearing earlier. I squint my eyes to do this.

“What’s up?” he asks, flipping his hair back with a toss of his head. He’s definitely wearing the same pants.

“We’re thinking about taking Buddy to the hospital.”

“Who’s Buddy?”

I point to Buddy.

“Oh. He looks bad off.”

“It would actually be a lot easier if we could just call an ambulance so we didn’t have to try to lift him or move or exert ourselves too much.”

“Yeah, I can totally dig that.” He reaches into a pocket of his exotic jeans and pulls out a package of bacon. He pulls a piece of bacon from it, takes a lighter from the same pocket, and holds it under the bacon to warm it. “You don’t even need to refrigerate this shit anymore.”

I’m really hungry. Probably from all the vomiting I did this morning. Maybe I could grab something to eat on the way to the hospital. “Do you happen to have a phone?”

“I have one but it doesn’t work.”

“So I guess we’re taking him to the hospital,” I say.

“I need to get some clothes on,” Phone says. She stands up and reaches between the mattress and the box spring. Brandon and I both stare at her ass while she does this. Brandon offers me the last bite of his bacon and I take it. Phone pulls out a cheerleader outfit identical to the one she discarded in the bathroom, only cleaner, and dresses.

“That guy’s not wearing any pants and he’s covered in blood,” Brandon says. “Are we going to take him to the hospital like that?”

“I’ll find something.”

I rummage in the closet until I come up with a pair of jeans. They might be Agatha’s. They look really small. I could have taken off my sweat pants and given them to him, but I didn’t want to have to cram myself into Agatha’s pants. I toss the pants to Phone. She begins pulling them onto Buddy before beckoning for help. I wait for Brandon to do it but he says, “Fuck man, I’m going to see if I can find some water or something.”

So I help. “Maybe we should have cleaned him off first.”

“No, this is better,” Phone says.

After what feels like an hour, we finally get the jeans on him.

“I’m not going to be able to carry him down the stairs,” I say.

“Why not? I’ll help.”

“I think I have spina bifida or something.”

“That’s stupid. I don’t think that’s what you think it is.”

“Well, okay then, I’m just really tired.”

“Lazy you mean.”

“Let’s just toss him out the window.”

“That could kill him.”

“He’s almost dead anyway. Each second we spend debating it brings him even closer to death. You can’t get him down the stairs by yourself. Unless you’re planning on rolling him. If we toss him out the window, there’s only one impact. If you roll him down the stairs he’s getting... impacted... a lot more.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“We can throw the mattress out first and then you can go down and break the fall. I’ll drag him to the window but no further.”

She throws her hands up like she’s resigned. Like she doesn’t have a choice. And she doesn’t.

“Hey!” Brandon shouts up from downstairs. “I found some water!”

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