Wake-Up Call

Fuck*. What the fuck was I thinking? It took me more than a minute to ask that simple question of myself, but it made a world of difference.

The phone rang. And rang. It was on vibrate, so the sound was minimal but I could feel it through the sheets. I’d fallen asleep in the fetal position thinking as some last crazed idea, “It has enough battery to last the night. I’ll charge it tomorrow.” Didn’t matter either way, but I still thought it. Forty minutes later I was vibrated awake by some phone call. My eyes, too blurry to read the name, focused on the photo. A girl, early twenties, bright red lipstick, drunk as shit, smiling. Someone I met weeks, or maybe months before. She meant nothing to me. Never had. I hit the button for answer.

“Hello?” Hello. What a word. I could see the picture and not the name so why was I really answering the fucking phone? Because an adventure was, well, an adventure. In whatever form.

“Hey ***, you awake?” She didn’t call me Keith. She knew me as something else, something cuter. How could I not say yes?

“Yeah I’m watchin’ TV.” I lied. Maybe it’s the years in an industry where my purpose is to tell people what they want to hear, or maybe it was because in that delirious stupor I didn’t know if I was or wasn’t watching TV.

“Can you pick me up from Metroplex?” Her voice sounded high. Stoned. Far away.

“The movie theater?” What the hell else would be named that, I mean, really? And didn’t this girl move to Houston shortly after we started hanging out? I live in central Texas. Literally 3 hours away.

“No, the hospital. The emergency one near Fort Hood? You know where it is. Can you come get me? They won’t release me since I had morphine.”

“Oh. Yeah sure. Give me 5 minutes.” If you asked me then I’d have no answer as to why I said yes except I recently watched Yes Man and the idea struck me as valid. Just do it. Even if you’re not into it. Just. Say. Yes.

So I gathered my clothes. A pair of shorts, top button missing but fancy belt adorned. A wife beater. A neato little $5 in Europe sports jacket made of some nonsense material. Felt more like canvas than cotton. Like business than style. No worries.
Jumped in my car, threw some tunes on, and started laughing. And why wouldn’t I? Band of Skulls started playing a track called Friends. And if anything, it is the antithesis of my adventures. Advocating staying with familiarity, locality, and friendship, as opposed to adventure, mystery, and creativity. But I love the song anyway. Enough to turn it up to about 80% volume. Windows down. System up.

I pulled into the Metroplex parking lot after an interesting ride. My car, swerving side to side in a singular lane, would have been a cop’s wet dream at midnight on a Tuesday. Drunks tend to stick to nighttime and weekend schedules. Every now and then I like to mix it up with a good daytime drunk. But this was different. I couldn’t stay straight on the road because my eyes kept closing at the mundane indifference I felt towards helping this girl out. I mean, if everyone I know knows you as “Super Skank”, then you’re probably not the best character to rescue.

I got as far as the window before I realized I should have paid more attention to the last text message sent to me. “***, come to the emergency room and ask for Michelle *******. They’ll move to you me.”

Oh, of course. Why didn’t I think of that? At nighttime the front desk isn’t open. No one is bringing in children for fucking pediatrics. Only drunks, crazed folk and legitimate accidents make it to the emergency room. All of those and Michelle, of course.

Earlier, on the phone, she’d tried to explain what it was had been ailing her. As best I could understand she was in pain. I relocated my car into a useful parking spot and walked straight to the attendant dressed in military camouflage despite his civilian job. I mentioned nothing of the strange style he had chosen and instead said, “I’m here to pick up Michelle *******.” He clicked a few times on his computer and granted me access into a more medical world.

“Follow me,” he mumbled while getting up from his chair. “And meet me in the hallway.”
What the fuck? You want me to follow you and meet you somewhere else? Okay…My movement was punctuated by indecision rather than neglect. Should I move right or juke left? I moved right, took a left, and could have tackled the desk clerk if I was jogging. We walked through a hallway to a security keypad where he diligently smashed the numbers 433751 on the pad. Remember I thought. This could benefit you in need of an escape, or a re-entry. Later, I’d wonder why that of all numbers seemed important. Much later I’d realize it wasn’t important at all. But I still remembered.

We went in, and suddenly a slurred voice from my past piped up. “Hey ***…Let’s go!” I ignored her and focused on the nurse. She seemed to hate us both.

“You need to sign here, here, and here,” random nurse lady instructed Michelle. After asking what each signature was she informed the nurse that she wouldn’t be eating any of the pills given to her. Like the nurse gave a shit.
Michelle kept informing me that the doctors and nurses (collectively) had been conspiring against her because they fucked up originally and couldn’t keep it together. Being of course a friendly person, I admitted yes! They’d done the same to me. Since I didn’t even know the hospital was named Metroplex, I’m surprised she didn’t pick up on my obvious lie. Well, she isn’t the brightest.

Ten minutes later we were walking out. Someone said a muffled ‘goodbye’, a muffled word of advice. We ignored it. Fifteen meters out of the doors I gave Michelle a hug, said her perfume smelled nice, and wished her good luck. She, eyes dilating madly from the drugs and possible brain hemorrhages, said I looked cuter than she remembered and promised not to crash her car. I walked away, figuring that in-so-much as karma rewarded me for waking up and helping someone out, I’d be equally punished for releasing her evil ass unto society behind the wheel of a car. Kind of like Frankenstein. He made the monster for good, but it all turned out so evil...

Not to mention, all I was doing was balancing what I had been presented with. What sounded like an adventure at the start had turned into a cruel joke. And it made me laugh. Even if just sadly.

A week later she’d message me thanking me. My response? Just give me those drugs you won’t eat. I haven’t seen her since.

*I drove into my house and recorded all of this on tape. I have not listened to a word of it since that night. Either my memory is incredibly sound, or my imagination runs rampant. Strange choices. Also, this was written two weeks ago and has been sitting in the hands of my “editor” ever since. I gave up on her. Melanie, you’re fired. Let run rampant the errors.