Page 35 of Beneath Cherry Blossom Memories

Ithrow up all the Peptobismal I drank, my vomit dark red. Digging around in the Walgreens bag for the Mylanta I bought, I get the cap off and down as much as I can swallow. Not even a minute passes, and I throw that up, too.

I’m shaking uncontrollably, lightheaded, and seeing spots. Sweat drips off my body, and my phone is on the sink counter.

Fuck.

The doctor wouldn’t prescribe me anything, so I’m panicking. I don’t want to go to the ER. I’m honestly scared of what they’ll tell me.

Taking out the container of TUMS, I pour a few in my hand, spit pooling in my mouth just from the smell. I let them drop to the floor. The concert is halfway over, at least, I think so. It could already be over, and Leon is heading to the hotel. I don’t want him to see me. I don’t want him to call 911. Glancing up at my phone, I unravel from the toilet, weak and shaky. I crawl over to the sink and reach for my phone. It falls into the sink. Goddammit.

It takes me three tries before I can get on my legs and retrieve it. I slide back down to the floor, unable to get back to the toilet in time, and hurl all over my lap.

This is bad.

Fuck this isbad.

Through a stream of miserable tears, I find the number, press call, and my hand drops to the floor.

“Eli?” I hear and dry heave. “Eli?”

“I need help,” I croak, staring longingly at the toilet. “Please.”

“Okay. Okay. Jorge! Damn it.” There’s some shuffling and music in the background. “Jorge, I gotta go. I have togo.”

My eyes slide shut, the bathroom spinning.

“Call 911, Eli. Please. I don’t know how fast I’ll get there.”

I can’t. I can’t open my eyes.

“Call 911.”

I’ll wait right here for you, baby.

Phoenix

Coma White

“Hi, yes, I need an ambulance at the Orleans hotel.”

We’re in Las Vegas—the last show of the tour before we head home for Christmas and I’m calling 911.

My hand shakes as I hold the phone to my ear.

“My…friend is sick,” I add on.

“Can you describe your friend’s symptoms to me?” the operator asks.

“I don’t know. I’m not there. He called me, and I could hear him throwing up.”

“Okay. Do you know if he has been vomiting before the call?”

“Maybe?” I swallow hard, remembering the bloody puke from earlier in the tour. “He’s thrown up blood before.”

“Thank you. What is his name? And what hotel room?”

Leon is on stage, so I can’t ask him. My eyes find Jorge’s, and he mouths23.“Elijah Haw—erm, Madden. Elijah Madden. He’s in room 23.”

“We’ll send someone over. Is anyone with him currently?”

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