Page 85 of Fade Out
“How? How are you going to do that?”
“Franklin, this isn’t the time. We just—it was awful. I think we just want to forget it.”
But Franklin was right. We couldn’t just forget it. Rita was likely to regroup and then anyone close—
“I’m going to stay away from you guys,” I said.
“What? No. You can’t do that.”
“I need to get out of these clothes and then I’ll get out of your way.”
“Nick, stop it,” Brian said. “Franklin, tell him he doesn’t have to leave.”
But Franklin didn’t say anything. I walked out of the room and went to take a shower and gather my few belongings. While I was in the shower I could hear them fighting. As I was toweling off, a door slammed and it got quiet.
In the bedroom, I tried to figure out what to wear. The jeans were out of the question. Covered in blood. As was the T-shirt and the tuxedo jacket. I was going to have to make another dumpster stop to get rid of them. I put on the tuxedo pants and one of Franklin’s dress shirts—hopefully one he didn’t much like. My Reeboks had a few bloodstains on them, but I didn’t have any choice but to wear them. I put the bloody clothes in a shopping bag and went out to the living room.
Brian sat on the sofa staring at the TV as though it was on. He looked terribly sad.
“Where’s Terry?”
“I don’t know. He probably went to see his friend Cherry.”
“Give me your clothes.”
“What?”
“There’s blood on your clothes. We need to get rid of them.”
He stood up and peeled off the pink shorts and blue shirt he wore. There was blood on his arms and legs.
“You need to take a shower,” I said, as I put his clothes into the bag.
“When you were gone before. I couldn’t stand it.” I’d spent a year in a transient hotel, working at a sleazy bar and not seeing anyone I knew. “I always want to know where you are. Promise me, Nick.”
“You might have to lie to people. If they ask about me.”
He shrugged. “So I’ll lie.”
We stood there awkwardly for a moment. Then he put his arms around me and hugged me tightly. He was crying now. Softly. My own eyes were tearing up.
“Thank you for saving me,” he whispered into my ear.
That was a little hard to take. Sure, I saved him, but it was my fault he’d been kidnapped so I felt a little weird taking credit for it. I pulled away from him, saying, “I should go now. You should be okay, but be careful. Don’t do anything foolish. Make up with your boyfriend. He’s right, you know.”
Brian wiped his face on his sleeve. I left him standing there in a pair of bikini briefs struggling not to cry. My own eyes stung as I went out the back door and down to the alley. I had no idea where I was going.
I drove around for a while looking for a place to dump the bloody clothes. I put them in a dumpster behind a White Hen in Uptown. Then I drove over to Thorek.
It was nearly eleven, I think. Visiting hours had been over for a long time. I found the double doors to Intensive Care. I breezed right through. The unit was six rooms surrounding a large nursing station staffed with three nurses. I ignored them and peeked into rooms until I found Ross. The head of his bed had been raised. There were tubes going into his mouth, taped in place with white surgical tape. A machine was breathing for him. Every time it filled his lungs with air he seemed to jump a little bit. His eyes were closed.
I moved a chair over from the wall and sat by the bed. I wasn’t there very long when a nurse came into the room. She didn’t say anything to me. Just took Ross’ pulse and then checked his IV. Before she walked out, she said to me, “Don’t stay too long.”
I took Ross’ hand in mine. It felt dry and papery. I didn’t say anything for a long time. And then, I told him everything. Everything that had happened that week and what I was going to do about it all. I wasn’t sure he could hear me. Without thinking about it, I’d matched my breathing to the machine breathing for him. I’d begun to feel light-headed.
Ross wouldn’t be alive much longer. That was clear. He was going to die. I’d known it for a long time, but it wasn’t something I wanted to face. That was silly I suppose. There are many sorts of death and we face them all the time. Death happens all around us, every day, every hour, every minute. Time itself is a sort of death. A minute ends and will never return. Nor an hour. Or a day.
We are all yoked to time. I sat next to my dear friend wishing there was a way we could undo that yoke. That we could exist outside of time, together. The minutes died, one after another until finally I stood up, kissed Ross on his forehead, and said, “Good journey, my love.” I can’t be sure, but I think he squeezed my hand.
