Page 21 of Home Game

“Do you know where my clothes are?”

“Not sure. Do you have any questions?”

The status of my clothes had been my question. “No.”

“Okay,” his look was apologetic. “You take care of yourself, okay?”

I waited another five minutes and then the nurse reappeared with a plastic bag and was carrying my boots. “I found your clothes.”

While she took out my IV, I pulled my clothes out of the bag. My jeans were filthy, coated in mud. My t-shirt looked like someone had sliced it in half with a knife. Same with my sweatshirt. My leather jacket was intact, but equally filthy.

“What happened to my shirts?”

“They cut them off you when you came into ER.”

I scrambled through the bag. My socks and bra were missing.

I will not cry.

I will not cry.

“How can I leave when I don’t have any clothes?”

“Let me see what I can find.”

She disappeared out of the curtain and I used the moment to drop my head in my hands. Tears poured out of me. My shoulders shook, and pain ricocheted through my body. It only made me cry harder.

I needed to pull my shit together. Now.

I needed to get my bag. That needed to be my only focus.

I sat up and wiped my face with the back of my hand.

The nurse reappeared with a set of green scrubs. “We’re not supposed to lend these out, but we can’t exactly send you home without a shirt.”

I looked up at her.

“Do you need some help?”

I nodded. She helped me into the shirt. I gritted my teeth to prevent from moaning out loud when my arm bent. The scrub pants were way too long, but she helped me tie them tight around my waist and then she helped roll up the bottoms. I stepped into my boots. They were wet and felt cold against my bare feet.

I put my good arm in my leather jacket. The other arm of my jacket just flapped empty.

I hated asking for help. I hesitated. “Do you think you could lend me money for a bus?”

“We have bus tickets at the front desk. Do you want me to go grab you some?”

“Yes, please. Can I use the washroom?”

“Just over there.”

Every part of my body hurt to move. I slowly shuffled across the room and by the time I got to the bathroom, I was shaking from pain. I looked at my face in the mirror. I looked like a bloated corpse. I didn’t even recognize my face. Blood crusted in my nostrils and in the cracks of my mouth. Long paths of dried blood stained my neck. My hair was crunchy and matted to my head.

I felt so hopeless that I wanted to lie down on the floor and give up. Life was hard before, now it would be impossible. I had missed my shift at my job today. With my shoulder, I probably wouldn’t be able to work. I didn’t even have my uniform. Without my ID, I wouldn’t even be able to stay at any shelters. At least not any of the good ones. All my money had been in my bag.

God. Please let it still be there.

I hurt so much. My body felt broken, but my spirit felt worse. How was I going to make it like this? The streets were rough. Aninjury like this made me weak. I was already small. This would make life impossibly dangerous.

---