The Perforation

When I opened my eyes this morning, I discovered a big bleeding hole had been torn from my torso. Blinding pain like thousand-degree Hellfire ate at my body. 

I was missing a piece of myself. All I could do at first was sit there, jaw dangling open. My brain was entirely unable to make sense of what my eyes told it. I couldn’t tear my attention away from the perplexing sight, and as the seconds ticked on my hands shook harder and my heart pounded like a deep drum. I should have passed out but against my own wishes I remained conscious. The hole was possibly six-inches wide. The pale blue sheet of my bed was stained with a red pool that had gathered around me.

When I regained the ability to process my surroundings, I sprang up like a Jack-in-the-box and threw on slippers and a thin jacket by the door and sprinted out into the world. I was so frazzled I plumb forgot about 911. So I raced out to find someone. Anyone. As long as they could get me to a hospital.

Limp-sprinting out of my apartment and down the street, I began shouting. My shrieking breath drenched the crisp winter air. I held onto my sides tightly to keep my belly as still as possible. Every last footstep aggravated the red site. And behind me I left a bloody dotted trail, zigzagging in a way that illustrated my wild staggering gait. People made eye contact, stared widely, backed away like cowards. No one could look directly at the gash. The hole went through not only my body but my t-shirt, giving it a wretched blotchy dye job. They all backed further and turned away, scurrying like little rats.

My vocal cords continued in their horrid bellowing song. The white pants I’d slept in were now splattered with bright crimson, and my gray slippers as well. I almost bashed my head into a brick wall as I staggered forth, in too much pain to keep my body balanced.

“Take your meds, weirdo!” Shouted one man. What in the hell would any meds do about this?

“Are you ok, sir?” An old lady asked. I bent over in front of her, my breath sprinting away as I described my horrible injury and conveyed my agony. She stared at my belly for a long moment, eyebrows furrowed. “I—hope you get the help you need,” she said, then just trotted away. I couldn’t believe it! The bystander effect must be one hell of a drug.

So I hobbled down the street some more. My car was in the shop, and even if it wasn’t I  couldn’t drive like this. I headed toward the train station. My friends live nearby and I knew they’d be starting their morning commutes soon. Surely they would do something once they glimpsed the abhorrent state of me. So I stumbled like a blackout drunk down the street. Pain stabbed violently in a horrible rhythm. No one stopped to help. Not one single eye moved toward my midsection. I wondered if there was some pollution in the air, something that made people go blind, and all they could do was listen to the blaring screams, not knowing who they came from. Maybe in a few minutes my own vision would fade.

My pain was great, but so was my adrenaline. The station came into view in the distance, morning commuters milling about like ants. Bumping into one another, each consumed with thoughts of their own days and plans, high on caffeine. Most stared groundward, looking at things on their phones so none of them caught a glimpse of me.

Adrenaline pulsed through my body at such a rate that I hopped over the fare gate in one leap. None of the transit employees caught me. I squinted around through the hustle and bustle, my limbs buzzing; my heart was a bongo. After a moment, my eyes landed on my friends Scotty, Emmanuel, and Josh.

I limped over as my abdomen was stabbed by dozens of chef’s blades. My buddies exchanged jokes and laughed like a wild pack of hyenas. Laughter sounded like nails on a chalkboard at the moment. Here I stood, missing a large chunk, while everyone watched their screens, giggled and grinned, not noticing the bloody condition of the man inches away.

As I approached, clutching my crimson drenched body, I felt a hand on my shoulder. Twisting my stiff neck, I saw the beaming face of Scotty, well-trimmed goatee. “Hey man, how you doin’?”

Emmanuel was still laughing at something Scotty had said and his great curly hair disco-ed around. his eyes were still closed, glasses nearly slipping off his nose.

“E-man, hey. Stop it bro, you’re stressing him out.” He looked down at my hunched figure. “Woah uh, how you doin’ man?”

“Not fuckin’ great at the moment. As you can see.”

“Yeah, what’s up? Why are you wearing slippers to work?”

Slippers! Slippers! This is what sticks out to him? My injury stung like a thousand wasps again and I winced. A pool of blood had gathered beneath me and I took a couple steps back to avoid flooding my slippers.

Josh lightly slapped my upper arm. “Man I told you, you shouldn’t’ve had that fifth shot of tequila last night.”

A train whizzed by and the high screech of its wheels clashed against my ears. The chatter of a thousand dumb travelers filled the air like biting hail.

I was like the hunchback of Notre Dame. Grunts exited my mouth in a heaving rhythm to match the pulsating of my pain.

“Oh, I get it!” Scotty clapped his hands together. “You're doing that war movie we saw last week, uh—” He snapped his fingers a couple times. “What was it, what was it?”

Emmanuel gripped his right side and let out a gasp. “Man down! Man down!” The others cackled.

“Guys!” I shot up with white hot fire in my eyes. “There is a gaping hole in my fucking body! You all have goddamn eyes, don’t you?” I pointed sternly at my abdomen, staring each of them down. “Right here!”

“Woah dude.” Scotty gasped as he looked down at me and stared a moment. “When’s the Oscar ceremony? Cuz I think you just won a little gold trophy.”

All three men broke into laughter, a dissonant chorus of their insolent joy. “For-get it!” I stumbled off, turning around only once to flip them the bird. They were so engrossed in their own conversation they didn't even see it.

So I stumbled away once more, cursing so much a sailor would have a heart attack.

I fell to the ground and crawled under the gate this time to be more stealthy. I had an emergency room to get to. I turned left, further into the busy city morning. My destination must have been a mile down the street.

Car horns squawked, large wheels sent pavement water spraying up and I received some splashback, skittering backward in vain. None of the passing motorists turned their heads toward this gravely injured man. It was as if I were wholly invisible. Shivering, I pulled my jacket around to cover my body. It was soon painted with red splotches. Passing pedestrians did not glimpse me much either. Some moved away to the other side of the pavement, perhaps having seen my disheveled appearance and assuming me a bum. Maybe they saw the red trailing behind me and on my jacket and thought I’d been dumpster diving behind a butcher shop.

I continued on through the jagged gray city. Made my way past people stuck in their bubbles, babbling on cell phones, combing their hair in handheld mirrors. I was among a great crowd of people yet I felt utterly alone. At each intersection I passed I cursed at the absence of that big red cross that would signal my salvation. When would I see it at last?

The wretched walk felt like eternity. Piercing flames straight from Hell burned away at my body. How many intersections left? My mind and body screamed. I fought the urge to embrace the concrete and give up. It was mighty tempting. But I kept on, shuffling over the sidewalk, nearly bumping into trash bins. Clutching the brick wall here and there for support. My whole being swam with the delirium of a hundred hangovers.

No one stopped to offer me a hand. People crossed the street, or gawked at me from a few squares down the pavement. I thought of Covid a few years back, the social distancing. I promise you people, injuries aren’t contagious!

Then I paused at once, thoughts vanishing for a moment. My heart fluttered with giddy excitement as I saw a red and blue beacon flashing about like a disco light. Here it was, the building I desperately needed, a couple blocks away. At last!

The cold air stung at my nose and hands. It penetrated my thin jacket and now it had seeped to my bones. But I couldn’t stop now, not for anything! I continued on, shivering wildly.

Many drivers did not see me. Some made eye contact and looked away at once, biting their lip. A brunette woman talked on the phone and I heard her say something about a “junkie man on the road making loads of noise and stumbling like a bar-fly.” Just another day in the city, this person said. I wanted to flip her the bird.

Upon approaching the mighty medical building, I beamed weakly. It stood like an oasis in a late-July desert, a grand watering hole. The doctors couldn’t ignore me! They couldn’t pretend to be blind.

There was no delaying. I rushed in, tripping over my feet, grunting and yelping. I looked briefly back, at the long trail of red drops scaling back to the horizon. I’d gone a long way but was safe now. At the front desk stood a smiling young nurse clicking away at her computer. She had kind eyes. Soon I would be in a bed, examined by a team of people whose sole purpose was to help me heal.

“Hello, hello!” I shouted. “So glad I found this place.” The room was full of bustle and noise; breathing machines doing their job, doctors speaking to patients tenderly despite their sweat and exhaustion. The grunts of pains and nausea.

The nurse looked up from her work and smiled with rosy lips. She had clean lavender scrubs with small watercolor illustrations of birds. Her honey hair was pulled into a bun. “Hello.”

I stood heaving, trying to catch my breath.

“Me oh my, you really rushed over here.” She made a few clicks on her screen, nodding. “Who are you here to see?” She asked, pointing at the monitor.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh. I asked who you’re here to see.” She put a hand on my shoulder and lowered her head, looking at me with her gold-brown eyes. “You alright, sir? I promise we’re taking good care of your family member. Or friend.”

“I’m here for… me.” Words were now a labor. “I’m in—” I tried to steady my breathing, just to lessen the pressure on my abdomen. “—a lot of pain.” 

“Oh dear, do you need to sit?”

“Well ideally, I need a bed. And a doctor examining… my injury.”

“Oh yes! Where does it hurt? We’ll see to you as soon as we can!”

“Right here.” I opened my jacket wide and pointed at my abdomen. It was clear as day under the bright fluorescent lights. Blood dripped onto my slipper like a leaky faucet.

“You hurt yourself near your belly?”

“Well, something hurt me! Not sure… what!” I breathed deeply again, closing my eyes. “I need medical attention yesterday! Do you… hear me?”

“Yes, absolutely! Why don’t you tell me what happened?” She put a hand on my shoulder and walked me cautiously over to a chair, her eyebrows furrowed as if she were concerned. I hoped she was actually concerned. That she could see the real problem.

“Well the thing is… I don’t—” I inhaled slowly as I slowly lowered into the seat. A dozen wasps’ nests stung at my wound and I drew in a sharp gust of air. “I don’t… know what happened. I woke up… like this.” I gestured to my torso. “Just a—hole. Gaping hole. Like someone grabbed a knife and—” My lungs expanded and deflated heavily. “—ripped a chunk of me out.”

“I’m so sorry sir.” She felt sorry for me! That was a start. “Can you describe your problem to me one more time? I’m not sure I understood. We want to get this injury treated asap.”

A wail filled the air. Startling, I turned to see a man with a bloody leg being wheeled in. The leg was placed in some sort of splint and he gasped, eyes squeezed shut. Another woman stood clutching her belly, shifting back and forth, grunting wildly. She wore a thick purple cardigan which she wrapped around herself tighter than a newborn’s swaddle. A man sat in a chair twenty feet away, holding a very bloody tissue to his nose. He had a bloody eye as well. Pain surrounded me—at least I was not alone in my misery anymore.

“Sorry, I—” I inhaled for four seconds. “If you look down… right here, you can see I have… a gaping wound. Right near my—whatever organs are there.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “See? Right through my chest. Clean through.”

She eyed my midsection, eyes darting over the area like she were examining a Jackson Pollock. “Is it below your shirt?”

I informed her that no, it was not beneath my t-shirt. That in fact, my t-shirt had been torn through as well. She drew her head back a bit, looking into my eyes. Her mouth hung open, dark earrings dangling awkwardly. My frustration began to bubble again, certainly fueled in part by the massive amount of pain I was in. I’m sure it was entirely evident on my face. She took her hand from my shoulder.

“Sir, why don’t you sit right there and we’ll see to you, ok? Don’t you move a muscle.” She slowly rose and began a short trek to the desk, looking at me through the corner of her eyes. Picking up the phone, she dialed a couple digits. I couldn’t hear what she said over the sounds of beeping machines and wails of pain and doctors telling orders to each other.

She looked at me the entire time.  A smile sat on her quivering lips. I hoped she had a clear understanding of the gravity of this situation. Her eyes did not stray from my body; they moved to and fro from my face to my belly.

A few agonizing seconds later, a couple doctors arrived in their long white jackets and dark hair. One of them was quite muscular, the other was short but they both looked serious. A wave of relief seeped through my veins. The nurse pointed them to where I was and their faces were stone serious, had sweat dripping down from running among various emergencies.

“Oh, I’m so glad I’m finally being looked at! No one would help me. Strangers on the street, they… backed away at the sight of me.” Some of the muscles in my scrunched up face relaxed. “To be treated at last is a blessing! You have no… idea!”

“Alright, let’s look at ya.” The smaller doctor bent down to my eye level. “How can we help?” He smiled at me, one of care and concern.

I made the respect sign with my hands, the one you use when praying. “Thank you thank you thank you! Yes.” I drew in a big breath. “As you can see, I have quite the enormous wound in my abdomen.”

He moved his eyes down to my belly and didn’t even flinch. “Can you lift your shirt for me?”

I did as I was told, although it was kind of pointless considering the shirt was ripped. I figured he wanted to examine my whole belly for any other potential damage.

“Hmm…” The doctor squinted his eyes tight, got real close. He sees blood on a daily basis so gore of this scale would hardly faze him. He looked up at me, lips pursed and nodded. “Why don’t we getcha on a bed?” He brought a wheelchair over and I rose like the slowest sloth that ever lived. My face must have looked like a shriveled up raisin as I slowly lowered again into the new seat, and then he led me down a white hallway while the other doctor asked me questions. Where had the incident occurred, what caused the injury, could I please describe the affliction just once more. I told him at home, not a damn clue, and repeated the description of my injury.

“Hmm…” the first doctor said again. “In that much pain, huh?”

I answered him with a noise like a sickly goat.

“Easy there.”

So we went down the hall and into a room, and the two doctors helped me into a bed. Soft, warm, clean embrace. Like a newborn’s crib.

“I’m gonna check your vitals. Can you describe to me what actually happened?”

“Well I basically told you.” my lungs deflated like a blacksmith fanning a fire. “I woke up like this. It was so sudden. I don’t even know what caused it.”

“Yes, yes, I’m so sorry. It sounds like you’re in horrible pain. Can you describe the injury itself? To the best of your ability? We need to figure out what’s wrong so we can getcha feeling better pronto.”

“Well, as you can see there’s just a hole… someone or something took a big chunk right out of my body.”
The shorter doctor frowned down at me with sympathetic eyes. “Maybe when you’ve settled down for a moment we can discuss this further.”

I shifted back and forth, sinking deeper into the bed. My eyelids were heavy now. The doctor hooked me up to various beepers and screens. For once, someone is paying any sort of attention to me. Someone cared. It was unreal, utterly sublime.

“Alright, let’s see.” The doctor switched his gaze between the machines, scribbled some things down.

“Can you bandage me up or something?”

“One sec, we gotta figure this out.” He waved the other doctor over, and they mumbled some things to each other. I wish they’d tell me what they saw and what it meant. And aren’t they concerned about stopping the bleeding? I was so loopy.

“Have you been under a lot of stress?” One of them asked, still staring at the machines.

“Since this morning yes.”

“But I mean in general?”

“I don’t know. Why do you ask?”

“Do you drink? Or smoke cigarettes?”

“What?”

“Boy, uh…” A small quiver shone through the taller Doctor’s voice as he got real close to what looked like the heartbeat screen, squinting. The other doctor looked back at me, wringing his hands. He whispered something in the first doctor’s ear; I only heard “distress.” I’m sure my heartbeat was through the roof—I’d be quite concerned if it wasn’t!

“Do you eat fast food, or packaged snacks?”

“Say, what’s this to do with my wound?” I sat up instinctively and let out a cry, biting a wad of blanket hard. One of them said “Easy, easy.”

They told me they were just running through standard questions, backs still turned. I took a deep breath, told myself that I was getting help. Slumped down once more and tried my best to cope with the hellish agony.

Shutting my eyes, I thought of warm beaches and green forests and my childhood dog. It would all be okay soon.

“Feelin’ settled? Or as much as you can?”

“I guess?”

The shorter doctor crouched down next to me. He looked me in the eyes, avoiding the bloody area. Why didn’t he look at it? Doctors were certainly not afraid of any blood!

“Now, you described the pain as…” He took a deep breath and put his hand over mine. “As feeling like someone tore a piece of flesh from you. That is just awful, and we will give you medicine to cope. But I need you to describe the injury, in specifics. Tell me what part hurts, what specifically aggravates the pain. Is it sharp, burning, dull? Do you think the injury was muscular, or stomach-related? Is it like a cramp or—”
“Take a look.”

He moved his gaze to my belly and lifted my shirt up, peeking underneath. He studied the area for a long while, face totally blank. A feeling of dread washed over me, though I tried to fight it. “There are no obvious signs of injury on the skin.” My throat grew tight. No no no! My head swam and a great nausea grumbled in my stomach (I guess this organ was still intact). “Hey—” He whistled and motioned to the other man, who stepped away from the beepers and bent down to look under my shirt. “See anything?”

The taller doctor pursed his lips, studying my midsection closely. “Hm.” Looked back at me. “This problem you’re having—is it difficult to describe directly?”

My throat was lumpy, my voice frantic. “I already told you, I—” I gulped. “I’ve already described it. Can’t you believe me? Don’t you have eyes?”

“You seem to be under a lot of distress, your heart rate and blood pressure are quite high. Let’s just keep monitoring you. And uh—” He turned to the shorter doctor. “Get a gastro in here, and a cardio.”

The other man nodded once before speeding out of the room.

“Now listen.” I began. “You are a doctor. This is very serious. You are not a comedian.”

“No sir… I’m not.”

“I have a very real problem here, and I need you to tell me that you understand.”

“Well we’ll have a deeper understanding when—”

“NO!” I slapped the mattress. “I need you to open your goddamn eyes and LOOK!”

He put his clipboard down. “Hey hey, just take a deep—”

“I’m about to lose my damn mind.” I tugged at my short hair, hands clenched tight enough to squeeze an apple in half, almost removing the crown of my head. My face began to swell as it made tears. “Can’t anyone listen? Can’t anyone give me real help? Why will no one acknowledge the problem?” I slapped the bed several times more with both my arms, using great force. I opened my mouth as wide as possible and shrieked about, forcing myself to be heard by anyone in a hundred foot radius. “Listen to me! Listen! Open your fucking eyes you coward! I can’t take it!”

The doctor sprinted over and tried to grab my arms, but I flailed them like fish flopping on a boardwalk. He stuck his head out the door. “Patient is becoming belligerent!”

I heard a pair of feet shuffling down the hall. I tore the needles and wires from my body and it hardly hurt. Sprang up from the bed. Ignored the hellfire of my torso. A security officer entered the room. He was even taller than the doctor and his broad shoulders made him look like The Hulk. “Hey, hey. Take it easy.” The doctor gripped my arm.

I thrashed and writhed and screamed and finally fell to the ground as I escaped his hand. “How dare you!” I spat, skittering backward. “Here I sit, with a bloody injury the size of a dinner plate, and you—you doctors—”

The other doctor arrived back and dropped his clipboard. A couple others stood behind him and all three mouths were agape. I grabbed a metal chair in the corner of the room and used it as a shield. “Stay back! What are you gonna do, put me in a straitjacket?”

“No sir! W-we don’t use those. Anymore. Hey now, take a deep breath and count to—”

“Count to this!” I said, and smashed the window with the chair. We were on the first floor so I only fell one foot into a rhododendron bush before tumbling onto the grass.

“I guess I’ll go somewhere else!” I stood up, legs wobbly, and spat some leaves out, running backwards through the lawn. “I’ll stumble into the nearest veterinarian office if that’s what it takes to get treated!” I stared at the tall doctor with a white hot fire. “Fuck you!” I shrieked. Then I turned and ran as hard as I could, stumbling awkwardly into the brisk morning. I nearly ran into a speeding ambulance as it pulled near. I cussed and glared and continued on. The doctors and security officer jumped through the window after me, but I continued on.

As the next intersection approached, I sprinted through it and looked back and saw a big bus going by; the doctors were behind it and so could not see me. I used this moment of stealth to turn the corner, ducked deep into the first alleyway I saw. There was no need to try and prevent my blood from trailing on the ground since they couldn’t see it. Silently I thanked the bus driver for shielding me from those people. I couldn’t believe I had just done all that running. My muscles felt like jelly and my lungs worked overtime. My stamina had been fueled purely by desperation and adrenaline. But now my body fought back.

So I sat in this dirty alley like a stray dog, catching my breath. Trying to understand the impossible circumstances in which I have found myself.

Small raindrops began sprinkling down. As I stared out at the street, at all the passersby who couldn’t see me, I wept. Each one smiled, or laughed at a partner, smirked at something on their phone. Here they were, carrying on about their day while I sat, body ravaged, literally missing a chunk of myself. Their merriment clashed with my eardrums like a discordant symphony, a choir of squawking fools. Couldn’t anyone turn their heads my way? Couldn’t anyone stick a hand into this dark space to help?

I was missing a chunk, and the world just kept spinning. It made me sick. I am not whole. I am missing a liver, or a spleen—something. One of my bodily functions may begin to fail soon. The fact I haven’t bled out is shocking. Whoever had done it had been clever; they’d somehow cut my flesh with such precision that the arteries must have been spared. So that I may wake up in blinding agony and still be around to feel it all.

I sat, crying, my tears increasing by the second, and no one heard. Or perhaps they assumed the sobs were those of an animal. On a normal day I found crying in front of others quite embarrassing, but today I want nothing more than for my pain to be witnessed. My heart was empty, broken.

The rain picked up. It moved from a drizzle to a spray, and when I turned my head side to side the water became a beaded curtain in front of my eyes. I cautiously pulled my jacket tighter around me, trying not to rub the fabric on the injured site.

My clothes were soon drenched and the cold seeped to my bones again.

Standing up, my body swayed as my limbs hung heavy and my muscles began to buckle under the weight of me. A glob of snot fell to the ground. Moving around again would make the pain worse, but I had to get home now. Maybe I wouldn’t receive any help for my injuries, but at the very least I could lock myself in my safe apartment and lay down on the sofa while I thought of what to do. So I began down the street, throwing my legs in front of each other like rag dolls. I went around the block so the hospital staff wouldn’t see me. Rain drenched my clothes. I could deal with a little cold as long as there wasn’t any rain or wind. But either of those come along, and it makes the chill seep deep below your skin, for whatever reason. My fingers began to grow numb as I gripped my sides.

The trek was brutal. Not long after the rain began pelting down, the wind had picked up as well. My hair blew wildly about. I had to use one hand to push it back because it kept obscuring my vision. As I surpassed each intersection I told myself “just one block closer.” Not that this provided much relief. The traffic, both foot and car, had slowed down as people got closer to their place of work.

As I battled with a particularly large gust of wind that tried to steal my jacket clean from my shoulders, my phone started ringing. It took a second to hear this—the rain and wind obscured the sound quite a bit. Upon recognizing the sound, I reached a hand into my pocket and pulled out the device, whose screen was now splotched with water.

My stomach sank; it was my boss. Seeing a cafe a door down, I ducked in there to answer.

I grunted greatly. “H-hello?”

My boss, Harvey, cleared his throat. “Hey, howdy.” In his stone and steel voice, he asked, “Where are you?”

I sighed. “Oh geez.” Cleared my throat, scrambling for what to tell him. I didn’t have to fake a weak voice. “I woke up in a terrible state.” I made my decision for the story I’d tell. I let out a fake whimper like a sickly Victorian child. “Vomiting all over the toilet. In my flu-like daze I…” another melodramatic noise, “forgot to call you.”

“Look, I understand you’re ill. We all get ill. But this client is of utmost importance, I know I’ve talked about this. This may be the biggest account we’ll ever get. The meeting starts in 45 minutes. I’m so very sorry, I truly am.” No he’s not! “But can you please come in? Do you have pepto bismol at home?”

“But I’m vomiting all over!” As I said this, a big chef’s knife was driven into my abdomen. I doubled over and shooed away a concerned cafe employee who asked if I was having some kind of cramp. “I can’t even stand up without spilling the contents of my stomach. I don’t know how I’m supposed to make it to the office.”

His voice was calm, but ice-cold still. “I understand completely. There’s no easy way to say this, but… it’s just horrible timing for the company. I know you’ll understand. We’ve been talking about acquiring this account for months, it’s the biggest deal—”

I kind of checked out after that, slumping into the nearest chair and trying to breathe.

“—so, how do you respond? Am I going to have to write you up?”

Write me up for catching the flu! What a joke.

“You’re truly one of our best. Sales are tanking. This is our chance to bring in some big bucks, and Lord knows we need it. If we miss this sale—” He sighed deeply, half-whimpering. “If we miss this sale, the company may just go under.” He let out a shaky breath. “That’s hundreds of jobs flushed down the toilet, because of you. Please. Hundreds of people, with families and children and—”

“Oh alright. I’ll come.” I inhaled sharply and rolled my eyes. “I’ll just need some time to get ready.” What a manipulative prick! I kept my voice as steady as I could. “I better not vomit all over the conference room. I’ll grab some… tums or something.”

Harvey’s voice was stone again. “Wonderful. Your amazing work ethic and unwavering dedication to the business are much appreciated.” I could hear his menacing business-man smile over the phone.

“Yeah. You’re welcome. Goodbye now.” I wanted to scream.

Stumbling out of the cafe, I trotted to the nearest bus stop. I kind of knew this bus, number 27. It would drop me off a few blocks from my apartment.

I waited for what felt like an hour but was in actuality five minutes. The bus pulled up, warm lights shining on my miserable face. I stumbled on and fished my jacket pocket for a couple one-dollar bills. The driver handed me a slip and I limped over to a seat. It was warm here, a momentary respite from the elements. Slowly, carefully, I lowered into a seat cloaked in bowling-alley-carpet and the bus roared off.

A woman sitting behind me tapped my shoulder. Startling, I turned around.

“Sorry,” She said, her three necklaces jingle-jangling. “Here.” She reached into her purse and pulled out some kind of business card.

I took it curiously, one eyebrow raised. The bus went over a pothole, which aggravated my wound. “Eughh.” I said.

“Oh dear.” The lady said. “You alright?”

I nodded then looked at the business card. It had a big blue phone number, and below that it read, “Dial for homeless services in your area.”

I looked up at her, my eyelid beginning to twitch. Forcing a smile, I thanked her then turned back around and rolled my eyes. I couldn’t get mad at the lady, she obviously had a kind heart, but it was annoying.

In a few minutes, the bus approached an intersection that was a few blocks perpendicular to my apartment building. I signaled to the driver then limped off.

The rain was still going strong. I splashed my way across the sidewalk, the warm lovely presence of my home looming in the distance. I was a few minutes away from getting trench foot, that was certain.

After a few agonizing moments, I reached my place and flung the door open, warm air greeting me like a gentle hug. I shrugged my jacket off and slowly removed my waterlogged pants. I flung a thick blanket over the sofa to avoid staining it crimson.

I fell onto the couch, soft cushiony embrace. Panting and gasping and numb from the cold, I lay there in my boxers and t-shirt. I didn’t know how easy it’d be to ‘rest’ with this pain that ruthlessly attacked me, but I figured it would do me some good to lay down. Inhaled, exhaled, relaxed my muscles, sank into the tan velvety cushions.

Before too long I had to make it to work. Slowly rising, I lumbered away, making a beeline for my bedroom. Stumbling in, I flung the closet open and picked out a dark-colored button down work shirt. Used a damp towel to very carefully clean off the area around my injury. Attempts to avoid irritating the site made this task quite difficult. I grabbed a long rag and slowly wrapped it around my torso where the wound was, cussing and agh-ing. It felt like sandpaper. I unlaced a sneaker and tied the rag securely. Flashed myself a thumbs-up in the mirror, the bags under my eyes looking almost purple and drooping down several inches. I threw some slacks on as well, belting them and rubbed my hair furiously with a dry towel before running a comb through it. I looked ok enough.

I needed to get to work quickly, so I decided to open my phone and call an Uber. Going there in my current state made me nauseous, but it is true that our company was in trouble, and the fate of many of my coworkers rested on the success of this meeting. I figured if I was going to bleed out I would have done it already. I hoped I wasn’t too delirious to get us in trouble. Hands and body trembling, I headed out the door again.

The driver yawned deeply as I entered my ride. He was a young man of perhaps 25. He asked me my thoughts about the weather. I made a comment about cats and dogs and my forced chuckle was drier than off-brand rotisserie chicken. The sound of his boredom, his calmness, made me want to bang my head against the window but I restrained myself. From his vantage point he had no reason to be concerned, I reminded myself. He told me he’s using Uber to help pay his college tuition. That’s great, I told him.
We arrived at the skyscraper of which my employer was on the ninth floor. I thanked the man and carefully exited the vehicle, stumbling onto the muddy pavement. I straightened my back as much as I possibly could and walked slow and steady. The driver rolled down his window and shouted if I was alright. Just fine, I replied, and straightened up more and steadied the rhythm of my steps.

Entering the towering building, I made my way to the elevator. I could not imagine using the stairs in this state, all that movement. I shuddered and leaned on the cold wall as the elevator came down slowly. “Hurry-up hurry-up hurry-up.” The thing finally creaked to my level and let out its creamy “beep”, doors inching open. I tumbled in and slumped against the wall. My breath shook like coffee in an Earthquake.

Waited for the ninth floor to arrive. After a moment it did, and I stood and straightened my posture like an uncooked fettuccine noodle. The corridor was narrow, dark gray paint on the walls. I made my way to the conference room, carrying some files in hand. My injury acted up, sending shots of fire throughout my abdomen. Each movement of a muscle caused this to happen, but I couldn’t change my posture, or display any signs of agony.

“Glad you’re here! Thank you again.” Harvey grinned and a beam of white light glinted off his tooth. His pale blue eyes pierced into me, contrasted against his thick black hair.

“Yes. Alright, ready.” I was not ready in the slightest.

“Hey man, where’ve you been?” Derek, my coworker, whispered as he scampered up to me. He put a hand on my shoulder and stared his blue eyes into mine.

“Sorry, I was running late. Not feeling the best this morning. But I’m here.”

He stepped back. “Ah. We better make this account, man.” Inhaled sharply, rubbing his hands together. His hair was gelled into shiny oblivion.

“Yes, yes.” I tried not to snap at him.

Every man and woman got in place, sitting down in their tall sleek office chairs. Each person sat at attention, back arched inward, hands folded on the table.

I cautiously lowered into my own spot, taking a deep breath. We sat and waited, some went over minor details of what they expected to happen or made sure certain things had been sorted out.

I grew restless. Stared out at my colleagues and felt an urge bubble up inside me furiously, like a mountain that wanted to erupt. Unable to help myself, I tore my shirt hem from under my pants and practically ripped the whole shirt open, untying the bloody rags from my body and tossing them on the floor. Face full of furious determination, I glared around the room, trying to make eye contact with anyone. None of them broke away from their conversation.

“Hello?”

A few of them turned to me and opened their mouths. “Hey, uh—what are you doing?” Cassidy, my other coworker, asked.

“Look at me!” I shouted. A few others turned my way, and soon everyone was staring at me. Some raised a single eyebrow, a few giggled.

“D-did you go to the gym? Are you showing us your gains?” Derek asked. Vivian covered her mouth and chuckled, her blond ponytail bouncing.

My heart dropped to the concrete floor. Them too! 

“How on God’s green Earth do you not see what’s right in front of you? How come everyone refuses to acknowledge it?”

“Acknowledge… what?” Cassidy asked. “I’m sorry, what are we talking about?”

“This!” I whipped my finger to my chest. “Right here! Take a good look! Go on!”

Harvey approached the doorway. “What’s going on?” He asked, adjusting his cufflinks. When he looked up, he gasped. “Put your shirt back on! We have a meeting in three minutes for Christ's sake!”

My face grew red and hot. My wound stung in the cool office air. I stuffed the hem of my shirt in my pants.

“Attitude is not necessary. What on Earth is going on?”

“Nothing,” I mumbled, belting my pants and lowering into my seat. “I’m just very ill.”

“Well, take a deep breath man. We’ve got work to do. The client will arrive quickly.”

We all sat down, straightening our posture. My colleagues avoided making eye contact with me. Everyone decided to simply wait silently for the client to arrive.

Without any sensory distractions, the pain was all I could focus on. I had to force myself not to writhe. My legs bounced up and down and my stomach churned. My face was contorted, I’m sure. It probably looked like I was constipated. I tried to keep my head down.

“Are you sick?” Derek asked.

I raised my head slowly. “Y-yes.”

“You don’t look like you should be here.”
“I… probably shouldn’t. But whatever.”

“We have to make this client.”

I sat there, biting my lip, moving my eyes around the desk. I grunted, and suddenly remembered something. Something I’d forgotten earlier in my delirium. I had a decision to make. “You know what?” Clapping my hands together, I looked Derek in the eye. “Bring Freddy in.” I rose gingerly and waddled toward the door. “He’s amazing.” Freddy was an ex-salesman who got promoted to another department. He’d easily carry the meeting. “If Harvey’s got something to say, he can yell at me later.”

Derek nodded, his thick eyebrows raised in concern. “What’s wrong, exactly?”

I stared at him for a second, holding my belly once more. Eventually I wheezed out, “Whatever you do, do not eat at that sushi train off seventy-seventh.”

“Ooh. Oh, I see. Do you need to go see a doctor?”

“Oh, yes, I will certainly be doing that. First chance I get.” I nodded, backing out of the room and making my way down the long hallway. “Write me up, boyo!” I shouted, slapping Harvey’s desk as I passed by. Then I swung open the door and headed out, speed walking to the elevator.

He grunted loudly behind me and cursed under his breath. A scowl overtook his face as he sped forth but the elevator came before he could reach me. Head held high, I looked back and smirked at the crimson trail I’d left throughout the halls of this place. The doors closed and I took a deep breath. There was no need to explain anything to this man. No way in hell he’d understand my invisible and utterly impossible excuse. Woke up with a bloody hole in your chest? Sure thing, I believe you, take the day off!

I reached the ground floor and hurried out of the building and down the wet gray street. Crossing the road, I ducked into a corner store. Unbuttoned my shirt, standing next to the counter, beamed at all the faces waiting in line.

As my eyes bounced around the people, none of them seemed particularly shocked. A child with blue candy stains on his lips pointed at me and laughed. An elderly woman asked why I took my shirt off, don’t I know how to conduct myself in public? A woman of maybe 30 in the back bit her lip, concerned. She had brunette hair and wore a navy-blue flowy shirt and jeans.

I wanted to stay a few moments only for the warmth and lack of rainfall. I slowly limped through each aisle, my shirt still unbuttoned, and browsed the sparkly wrappers of the snacks. Not because I had any appetite, but I just couldn’t stand there awkwardly.

A man in a suit bumped into me. He rubbed his forehead and didn’t bother to look up from his phone. “Sorry,” he said, making his way to the Red Bull. A teen ran into me too, again glued to her social media. She smacked her bubblegum. “Woops,” she said, then sighed annoyedly.

Hobbling through the aisle, I glimpsed the Hostess cakes and the fifty varieties of crackers.

After some minutes, I had warmed up and left to head to my casa once more. The sky was an almost blinding pale gray.

Footsteps splashed behind me. “Wait!” A hand touched my shoulder and I turned around to see the woman from the store with the brunette bob and golden-brown eyes. She looked me right in the eyes when I turned around. “Sir—” She smiled at me softly. Her body was hugged by a wooly black jacket.

“Y-yes? What?”

“Are you in need of any help?”

I raised my hands defensively. “I didn’t steal any—”

“No. I meant, are you in need of any help?”

“Huh?”

She unbuttoned her jacket and threw it on the wet pavement. Her hands shook and she looked back at me, forehead scrunched, mouth open.

“If it’s a gun you’re pulling out, you should know that I have no money, see?” I turned my pockets inside out and raised my hands palm-open.

“No.” She chuckled quiveringly, shook her head. Slowly, she began unbuttoning her blouse from the bottom up.

“Woah woah woah! We’re in public for Christ's sake! Are you seriously going to flash—” My jaw dropped to the floor. She’d undone the first three buttons, and now stared at me as she spread the sides of her shirt apart. To my utter shock, there was a large gash in her abdomen, about six inches across, clean through. It had wholly scarred up.

My heart raced. “S-so I’m not the only one?”

She shook her head, lip quivering. A tear rolled down her cheek.

“You can see this.” I said, pointing at my belly. Butterflies filled my stomach.

“I sure can.” She buttoned her shirt back up and flung her jacket over her shoulders again. Sighed deeply, gently took my arm and stared right into my eyes and it felt as though our souls spoke to each other. For the first time in this day that had lasted a year, I found a person who got it. Who could look me in the eyes and say, “I see your pain.”

“Here.” Looking left and right out on the street, she beckoned me forth and began walking away. “Let’s go to my place. It’s only a few blocks down the road, and you’re under the bridge for most of it, covered from this rain.”

“Ok.” I thanked her fervently for her camaraderie and kindness. I was totally unabashedly giddy!

We began down the street; she held my hand and put an arm around my back. I reminded her to step carefully to avoid the blood.

“So your wound, it—healed?”

“Well, as much as it can. I still have some pain from nerve damage, and organ—damage, obviously. You know what, let’s discuss this when we get inside.”

So we wobbled down the street, mostly shielded from the pelting of rain, and after a few blocks we turned and she led me toward a small pistachio-green house. Paint peeled from the exterior in some places. Potted plants lined the porch. The place almost looked smaller than my apartment.

She opened the door and helped me up the two steps inside. I shrugged off my jacket and wrapped it around the wound to keep blood from dripping on her floor. She flipped a switch and warm light flooded the entrance to this home. “Let’s get you to the sofa.” She said, and we waddled over to the living room and onto a brown leather couch. We sunk into it deeply; it was an old worn thing.

She stood and examined the wound, wincing. “I remember this stage like it was yesterday.”

“So, can you uh… help me?”

“Let’s start by breaking out some bandages.” She powerwalked to what I assumed was a bathroom and began digging through some drawers, throwing little boxes and plastic bags out. Finally she said bingo and powerwalked back to the sofa. “Ok, sit up.” She held a roll of gauze in one hand and some sort of topical solution in the other. “This stuff is strong. I got it and the gauze from—well, my friend is a nurse. I swiped a couple rolls into my purse. Just two rolls. Desperate.”

“No judgement here.”

“So when did this happen to you? A few days ago, or—”

“A few hours. I just… woke up, and this is what I looked like.”

She shook her head as she unrolled the gauze a bit. “Everyone has the same story.” She placed the gauze to the side and uncapped the ointment. “This will numb things… a little bit. It will provide some relief. Ok, hold still.”

She rubbed her ice-cold finger around the border of my injury, going slow. It stung like hell as she rubbed, but relief slowly washed over me as the ointment began its job, numbing the skin around the site. Of course it didn’t make the pain magically disappear, but it helped, a bit. Enough to hear my thoughts better.

After putting the kettle on for some chamomile, her and I sat and discussed… things. I learned that she’d wandered around for a solid week before finding someone who could see her problem. A week of being gaslit, a week of staggering about in agonizing pain, a week of failed self-treatments. Just like me, her injury was abrupt—she had awoken to it on a random morning. It had been maybe four months since her incident so she knew a fair amount. Or what she could know anyway. Not one person had the faintest idea why this had been inflicted upon us. It reflected the utter cruelty of the universe. Things can change on a dime. God can flip your table, shit all over it like a pigeon. There was no rhyme or reason. The powers that be had simply decided that now is the time for us to lose parts of ourselves.

“So uh, the only people who can see our injury are…”

“Other injured people.”

“Imagine describing this to someone who’s not one of us. God, how would they react?”

“We don’t have to deal with that anymore, because we have each other.”

I smiled at her. “Guess so.”

She grabbed a blanket from the spare bedroom and wrapped it around me. It was a floral quilt and it was so toasty against my chilled body I wondered if it had been pulled out of the dryer. The chamomile dripped warmly down my throat and I felt that I finally had permission to to rest, to slow down.

“Glad it’s Friday. I have all weekend to sit around, figure out what to do.” I stared at the ratty lavender rug beneath the coffee table. “What do I do?”

“Well, you must have patience. It will heal. Ish. I mean, it will scar over.” She nodded sadly. “There will be long-term pain, but it will be a fraction of what you’re feeling now. Over time, you learn what aggravates the pain and what doesn’t.” She stared at me, eyebrows knitted together. “I’m so sorry this has happened to you. There is no explanation for anything. It just… happens. At the snap of a finger, we—this happens.” She buried her head into the cushion behind it.

I nodded. Took another sip of tea. Slowly and carefully adjusted myself on the couch, trying to find a position that would aggravate my affliction as little as possible. The reality sunk in. When a piece of you goes missing, you can’t grow it back. We’re not lizards. You must simply live with it, however you can. This wretched clusterfuck was permanent. Thinking about all this made me shudder.

“You can just sit around all day. Some sleep would be good.” She suggested.

I grunted and closed my eyes in agreement. “Wonder how I’ll get home.”

“You can camp out here for the day.”

“Serious?”

She slumped into the armchair perpendicular to the sofa. “You promise this isn’t an elaborate ploy to rob my house?”

“It’s not, I promise.” A weak chuckle managed its way out of me. “Thanks.” I took a deep breath and my exhaustion fully hit. My body felt like a child’s action figure that had been thrown about on a muddy day, struck against brick walls and metal playground pieces. So I closed my eyes, and all my limbs were made of cinderblocks. It’s impossible to remember exactly when I fell asleep.

I awoke some time later. The woman was quietly cleaning her house, sweeping the floor. A great yawn escaped my throat and my eyelids still felt heavy.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

Nodding, I rubbed my eyes and stared up at the popcorn ceiling, trying to make out shapes in the little pieces of… whatever popcorn ceilings were made of. Any little way I could distract myself from the pain. “How long was I out?”

She squinted at a clock on the wall. “Maybe five hours.” It was one of those vintage cat clocks whose eyes moved back and forth; it was pink. I kind of chuckled and wondered where she’d purchased such a thing.

“Holy cow. I was tired.” I tilted my head to look down at my abdomen and gasped greatly. “You harvested my kidney! Oh you bastard!”
She laughed, eyes squeezed shut. “My God you have a sense of humor.”

I adjusted my body on the sofa. I’m sure if I stood up a gargantuan person-shaped dimple would be visible. Stared back at the ceiling while she swept. The pain came back and I wondered how much of that ointment she had. Would any other pain medication help, even a little bit? Or would the strongest opiate fail to touch it? I groaned, realizing the latter scenario was likely the truest. The pain would have to gradually lessen, like a horrid dripping faucet. But it’d never fully subside.

“Ah, my boss is going to write me up for skipping.” I shook my head. “I hate it. I hate that the world just… that the world just—”

“Keeps on spinning.” She finished my sentence, making eye contact.

Her words hit like a gut-punch. “Yeah.” That’s the wretched truth. When you lose a part of yourself, your world feels like it stops. How on Earth are you to deal with the horrid situation thrust upon you?

Your world may stop, but no one else’s has. You must simply continue on while missing an entire part of your body.

“How do you deal with living in a—different reality—than everyone else?” I asked.

“You just—” She searched for words, shaking her head, eyes darting around. “You just do, I guess. I have to wake up every day and do what I need to do. Can’t explain it to anyone, can’t make them understand. You just have to lug this heavy secret around.”

“This really sucks.”

She sighed deeply and slumped into a chair. “I know. I know it all too well.”

And at once we both wept. She told me how strong she had tried to be all these months. But a human being is not a bottomless well of strength. So we wept together. It was like a sigh of relief, to be able to express my pain at last, to be able to commiserate with another soul.

I decided to spend dinner with her. It hurt to eat but I stomached what I could. My body needed nourishment. We talked a bit about our lives, and her sleek dark bob danced as she laughed, and she showed me her plants while I sat at the table. I felt about as relaxed as one could.

After our meal she watered her plants, and I wondered if it was a good coping mechanism; finding something to care for when she couldn’t care for herself. She hummed as she did this, in a meditative trance.

The sky grew dim and we watched the sunset. I still lived in a world with sunsets! We stood at the window, peering out. The traffic of the city faded away, pedestrians crawling to their homes, cars exiting the highway. I needed the quiet, the dim and dark. My eyelids grew heavy as the evening went on.

After some hours, after being allowed to breathe, I was sent off on my merry way with a plate of leftovers, a phone number to call whenever I needed to, and a pinky promise to take care of myself for Christ's sake. Oh, and some ointment.

I trekked home shortly after nightfall, catching the bus and wishing the mechanic would call me soon.

The golden glow of the street lights glittered off the rainy pavement. As I stared upward through the window, all the city lights looked like stars in a vast night sky. Little tiny rays of hope in this abhorrent darkness. I was utterly mesmerized by their gentle twinkle. Maybe the wretched world will keep turning, maybe misery will trail me like a boogieman. But with even one other soul who gets it, I can find some camaraderie. I entered the woman’s number into my contacts.