Crank Series: Crank Part 20

Too much truth in that.

And I never heard a thing, dead to the world for twenty hours.

We Sat on the Floor

Tangled up in each other, a knot of emotions desperate for release.

And the more we kissed, the more we talked, the more confused we became.

He loved me. He loved her.

He loved her, first.

He loved me now.

I loved him. I hated her.

I hated him for loving her.

I loved him for loving her still.

He wanted me. He needed me.

He needed more to go to her, let her know he loved her still.

I wanted him. I needed him.

I wanted him to forget her, needed more to let him tell her he loved her.

When he asked me to go along, some m.a.s.o.c.h.i.s.tic piece of me agreed.

Fifteen Blocks on Foot and a Bus Ride Later

We walked through big revolving doors, into the Land of Antiseptic.

My empty stomach rocked at the alcohol/bleach perfume, yet somewhere in that revolting scent a lovely memory floated, ghostlike.

The receptionist told us Lince was in ICU and asked if we were relatives.

I'd seen enough soap operas to know to nod an affirmative answer.

Adam played along.

I'm her brother and this is ...

I held my breath ... my fiance.

The lady didn't even blink behind her thick gray lenses. She directed us to the elevators. We got off on the 7th floor. A nurse said we'd missed visiting hours, but since we were relatives she'd let us poke in through the door.

Intensive care is not a private place, big windows allowed un.o.bstructed hallway-to-room views.

It was a sea of white.

Uniforms. Sheets. Curtains.

Floors and walls.

Why did that feel comforting?

Lince Floated

in that white water world, Guinivere upon the River Styx, tubes intruding wrists and nose, liquid-filled lifelines.

Adam let go of my hand and I stopped in mute agreement.

This was his show.

I found the waiting room.

A dozen needs attacked me there.

I needed food, fluid, soap, shampoo.

I needed Adam, his heart, his promises his tomorrows.

I needed to go home 'cause somewhere deep down I needed my mommy.

And all that made me really really need a line.

Evening, When We Left

The breeze, too hot to cool the blooming flower of summer night, seemed to ignite star candles in a sky, darkened as much by mood as time.

We found the bus stop in silence, though I knew he had something to say.

Walked home beneath the celestial cathedral. No kiss at my door, only his good-bye.

Not enough, but how could I beg for more? Did he mean forever, or just for now?

Dad Asked Where I'd Been

How's she doin'?

I opened my mouth to tell him, realized I didn't know. Adam had given nothing away.

Heard it was touch-and-go for a while.

Still looked touch-and-go to me, machines pumping existence into her through plastic tubes.

Too d.a.m.n bad. Pretty girl.

Not so pretty now, Dad, head to toe black-and-blue, and shattered framework, facing uncertain healing.

Hard to believe we just partied together.

He really didn't get it, turned back to his TV. I went to the refrigerator, held my breath, looked inside.

Sorry, not much in there.

Moldy cheese, outdated milk, peanut b.u.t.ter, and soggy celery. I found an apple, soft, but edible. Almost sweet.

We could go out to dinner.

My brain claimed I was crazy to even consider such a thing. But my insistent stomach won the day.

McD's okay?

One Hour

Tons of tasteless, useless, meaningless food and conversation later, two rounded, roiling bellies pushed back through the front door.

Not that Dad didn't ask plenty of questions, worthy of answers, but how could I tell the man who turned his back on "daddy" status how my life had changed?

How could I explain gut-wrenching insights to someone so lacking vision?

How could I admit my part in the current melodrama to a psyche devoid of guilt?

How could I share the way my heart was breaking when my confessor didn't believe in love?

Instead We Returned to Small Talk

which is probably all we'll ever manage, all we'll ever get to, if we get to anything at all.

We couldn't have spent more than two hours, total, within three weeks, tied up in trying to talk to each other.

Inter-family communication must be an acquired skill.

He never even asked if I'd gotten high before my little Albuquerque adventure.

Never asked if I enjoyed spending time with the monster.

He only wanted to know if Buddy and I had done the dirty, perhaps right there between his own disgusting sheets.