Friday, September 25, 2009

Break Time: #fridayflash

Nausea pulses, a wave of jittering gray dots. The crash came so quick. But every stall’s filled; men stand three lines deep before the available urinals. Lemony disinfectant melds with ammonia piss and makes me almost gag. I lean over the sink, blast the faucet, wait for the place to clear but the door keeps opening.

Screw this. It’s too busy. I don’t have time to wait. I hurry out, resume my journey towards pre-op. Pale light filters through the atrium. Snow from last night’s squall dusts the glass of the domed ceiling. The fountain gurgles. Two kids toss coins, each penny dropping with a melodious ping. Making wishes no doubt: help my daddy get better, let my mommy bring home a baby brother, fix Grammy’s broken heart. If I had time and pennies to waste, what would I wish for?

Bette from ICU calls my name, snaps me from my daze. She waves, a tight curl of her hands, rubber clogs squeaking on linoleum. The smile plastering my face feels lopsided and too large, like it’s pulling my cheeks to heaven. I walk carefully but no one else seems to mind the wavering floor.

I stop before the Chapel. The hospital roar fades, replaced by airless silence. A lone woman kneels before Mary and Jesus, blond hair streaming down her back. For a moment I swear it’s Phoebe, but it’s not, it can’t be, Phoebe’s prepping anesthesia. I should be with her, but I’m in no shape to thread IV lines into veins.

Out of habit I genuflect before collapsing into the pew. My fingers tremble in the white jacket pocket under the ‘Kevin Sullivan, MD’ embroidered in black over my heart, searching for the packet I fished out of Mrs. O’s trash can. The foil crinkles.

The lady’s head lifts. I freeze. Her reddened eyes stare back at me. She doesn’t look like Phoebe at all; ersatz blond with sucked-in cheeks from too many face lifts. A lot of women look like this in Baltimore, the moneyed ones; I know their sort too well. I smile a quivery smile of sympathy and will her to turn back to the altar. She resumes her entreaties.

Say a prayer for me, baby - I need all the help I can get. I squeeze the patch between my fingers. Three drops, shiny and viscous, ooze into my palm like liquid crystals. Remorse pricks me, and disgust that I’ve come to this again, but then I greedily lick my hand and suck the foil. The initial alcohol taste turns sweet. Calm gilds my mouth and throat, spreads to my chest, my fingers, my world. The door opens, the blonde mourner’s soul floats in her wake. I surrender to the velvet-lined bench and the world cradles me.

Nothing else is more pure.

***

An excerpt from PURE, a novel currently under construction. Hope you enjoyed.

Peace, Linda

27 comments:

  1. the voice here is so active and vulnerable..aren't mds infallible? lots going on in a small space. glad to hear there is a novel surrounding this, i want to know more about this cat..

    ReplyDelete
  2. This is a gripping and well painted scene, Linda.

    The difference between the doctor and the woman in the chapel. One is better off than the other or are they? You have a line in here that I feel this scene up as a whole.

    "Remorse pricks me" ~ This says it all. This work will pay off for you girl.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Wonderful writing. Want to read more...

    ReplyDelete
  4. Very nice, Linda! I know this is an excerpt so perhaps it's mentioned elsewhere, but I couldn't identify the drug since I'm not in the medical field.

    ReplyDelete
  5. Pure, eh? Is that a new kind of drug? Sounds powerful. Great job describing the doctor's desperate walk to find a place for his fix! Intriguing.

    ReplyDelete
  6. I'm so glad you came back to #fridayflash again this week, and really glad to finally get a peek at Pure. Really terrific stuff.
    ~jon

    ReplyDelete
  7. Thanks for reading folks! The drug is fentanyl, a potent narcotic (I have a little picture because it is mentioned earlier). PURE has three voices; this is Kevin, my pill-popping anesthesiologist. Glad you like him; he has a short and tragic life ;^)

    Jon, fridayflash is SOOOOOOOOOOOO addicting. I've been reading and commenting all morning. Must get to work, must get to work... Thanks for being our fearless leader! Peace, Linda

    ReplyDelete
  8. Loved the description of a guy needing a hit. Outside of that, status, profession, whatever, all of it is secondary to that immediacy. Very real.

    ReplyDelete
  9. Wow, Linda, you're a great writer aren't you! This is wonderful, both poetic and easy to read. I look forward to reading the finished novel.

    ReplyDelete
  10. Linda,

    I really enjoyed this excerpt from your novel.

    I particularly like how you weaved in the wishing fountain and the chapel - juxtaposing icons of transformation and hope against the despair and addiction of the protagonists life.

    ReplyDelete
  11. yes, vey damn fine. Look forward to PURE.

    ReplyDelete
  12. This is fantastic. I look forward to reading Pure.
    "...no one else seems to mind the wavering floor." Such a perfect detail.

    ReplyDelete
  13. This is fabulous. There are so many details -- the black stitching of his name over his heart, the threading of the IV...this is some stellar stuff.

    Thanks so much for sharing, and I look forward to reading more!

    ReplyDelete
  14. Thanks all for your reads and comments. Tony, yep; an addict's an addict, or so I've found in my line of work.

    Barry, this is the book I'm NaNoing, so very glad you like so far. PURE's been an extreme challenge, to put it mildly.

    David, interesting... the juxtaposition of fountain/chapel with desperation of needing a fix was not intentional. Goes to show how the mind works when it spews out its first impressions of a scene. Thanks for noting.

    THANK YOU! Peace, Linda

    ReplyDelete
  15. Excellent writing.
    Take care, Gillian

    ReplyDelete
  16. Loved the description of the smile pulling to heaven. Your prose is filled with nice touches that express something almost indefinable. A cool sneak peak into you larger work.

    ReplyDelete
  17. I very much enjoyed the language in this.
    Looking forward to reading the full story!

    ReplyDelete
  18. "... a wave of jittering gray dots." This is one tiny example of something you do so well in the writing of this piece: you describe the heretofore indescribable. I've experienced something like that with waves of nausea. It's a crystalline image to me. Your entire excerpt is filled with fantastic descriptions like this. It's just the barest taste of the physician character, one that is far more intriguing than it is flattering.

    I enjoyed this. Thanks for sharing.

    Jeff Posey

    ReplyDelete
  19. Gillian! TY for stopping by and taking a peek at my latest hair-puller.

    Dan, thank you; means a lot coming from you.

    Mazzz, thanks for popping by and reading.

    Jeff, thank you for your kind words; I hope to paint my physician as a complex character, both dispicable and likable at once. Addiction is a tragedy no matter who suffers. Peace, Linda

    ReplyDelete
  20. Three cheers for you. The details here do a great job of providing both a physical sense of place, as well as a clear indication of the doctor's mental state.

    ReplyDelete
  21. This was a very nice scene. I sure wouldn't mind reading more in novel form!

    ReplyDelete
  22. Thanks Trev and Eric! Stick around here Eric - I'm sure you'll see more of PURE! Peace, Linda

    ReplyDelete
  23. I hope we do see more...incredible, Linda.

    ReplyDelete
  24. Twiz! Thanks for popping by... you sound so... good! Peace, Linda

    ReplyDelete
  25. An amazingly gripping piece of writing. So vivid. I look forward to reading the full thing.

    ReplyDelete
  26. Thanks Laurita! I look forward to writing the whole thing! Peace, Linda

    ReplyDelete