Page 43 of Perfect Date
When I feel cooler air, I know we’ve made it outside. My ears are ringing from going to such a loud space to quiet and I feel discombobulated.
Justin’s shoes make a loud crunching sound as he walks over the gravel in the parking lot. “We’re almost to my car,” he murmurs.
“Okay,” I say, but I’m not sure if it’s loud enough to be heard.
“I’m going to move you around a little so I can get the keys from my pocket.”
I nod.
He rifles around, I hear clicks as he unlocks the doors and then he’s moving me to sit inside his car, then he crouches in the doorway.
“Are you okay?” he asks, concern lacing his words.
“I think so?” I say and it comes out as a question because I don’t feel well.
Before I have time to adequately prepare or warn him, my body decides this would be the perfect time to vomit all over the ground.
“Oh god, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I’m moving you into my car, I’m taking you to the hospital.”
“The hospital?” I ask in a high pitch tone. “No. That’s silly, I’m fine.”
“No, you’re bleeding. You were cut at your temple,” he says, “I wonder if you have a concussion.” As I wrestle through an encroaching foggy cloud to listen and hear the words I see him speaking, I feel pain and achiness every place I took a hit. I sense a cool sensation against the side of my face, but am unsure of its origin, though partly view his hand pressing or holding something there.
“Okay,” I mumble, somewhere deep inside knowing I clearly need to get checked out.
He helps me get comfortable in the car, and I strain to be alert, taking over holding to my temple whatever he has pressed there upon his direction. He helps buckle me in and closes the door. When he gets in on his side of the car, I think to say, “My car!”
“It will be fine here. It’s a safe part of town. We’ll pick it up later, okay?”
“Alright.”
“Hang tight.”
He drives to the hospital and speaks to me soothingly the whole time. He tells me it will be okay, tells me every step of the way how much closer we are to arriving. He rubs my arm, or knee, or leg, or something the whole entire way. I continue to feel a little dizzy, a bit nauseous, and a bit drowsy and find that closing my eyes is much more enjoyable. But each time I begin to settle into rest, his loud and somewhat annoying voice stirs me awake, making sleep impossible.
Once we arrive at the hospital, Justin carries me inside the emergency room, places me on a provided gurney in a room, and with effort, I can hear him telling the story of what happened as a team of hospital staff begin to provide treatment.
Six hours later, we’re back in Justin’s car. I’ve got three new stitches in my temple, pain meds in my system, feeling less nauseous and more alert, but have some nice bumps and bruises as a nice souvenir to the evening.
Justin looks at me, worry laced with disbelief in his eyes.
“So much for that perfect date, huh Charlie?”
“Forgive me if I don’t laugh,” I reply and try to give him a smile, but I’m too damn tired.
Somehow, I manage to give him directions to my apartment. He helps get me inside and situated in my room. I’m so tired and woozy that I don’t have time to be embarrassed or think much about the fact that he’s in my personal space.
In fact, the only thing that crosses my mind as I fall asleep is that clearly, I’m doomed, absolutely doomed when it comes to dating.
11
There’s a sting and ache at the site of my stitches and it’s the first thing I feel upon wakening. Slowly opening my eyes, I feel an escalating need to respond to morning urges.
Squinting eyes peek at my bedroom; the light streaming in through the large window blinding me and making me wince. Searching through the fog of my memory to recall why I would have allowed the blinds to remain open when I went to bed, it’s then I start to remember key events from the night before.
I remember the minor injury I sustained, and the hospital visit, as well as Justin bringing me home and helping me to bed.
