Page 6 of Composed at Randy's
“He’s the one who brought me here?” I ask. My fingers pull at my sleeve anxiously. “Does he know about?—”
Doctor Nice Lady holds up one finger in await-a-secondgesture, walks over to the door, and kicks it hard. On the other side, I hear, “Ow! Fuck! What the hell, Gwen?”
“I’m texting Trina right now, you asshole!”
“Shit. I’m going, I’m going.” The sound of exaggerated footsteps echoes down the hall, and Bael’s voice is far away when he calls out, “Don’t call Trina!”
There’s a vacuum left in the wake of Bael’s departure, and I’m left feeling like part of me went with him.
It’s probably the tingly part if I’m being honest with you.
“So…” I say, adding an awkward little cough, because I’m totally at sea here, folks.
I mean, what the fuck am I even supposed to be doing right now? This is what I have Kai for. If he was here right now, he’d have Doctor Nice Lady’s credentials up on his phone, have Marty on his way back from Brazil, and have Shelly shifting the date for my next opening to adjust for any downtime I might hypothetically need. He’d also be yelling at me in a firm but kind way about how I got into this shape in the first place. He’d also make a Google Doc with ways to prevent it from happening again and share it with Marty and Shelly.
He'd do it all at the same time and probably manage to get me a smoothie on top of that. Like, one of those gross green ones that no one likes but everyone pretends to. It’s the worst form of punishment Kai has been able to come up with for me, and let me tell you, it is effective as fuck. I nearly gag just thinking about it.
Doctor Nice Lady smiles at me encouragingly, almost like she knows that I’m all but useless without my Kai and wants to give me time to get my shit together. I decide to try my best to reward her for her patience.
“Your name isn’t Doctor Nice Lady,” I state firmly and wait for her incredulous laugh to pass before plowing boldly forward. People always have that sort of,oh, isn’t he just fucking adorablereaction around me, and I’ve learned to make room for it in conversations. “So you should tell me what to call you.”
“You can just call me Gwen. Everyone here does.”
“Wonderful. Thank you, Gwen. What questions should I be asking you right now?”
Kai taught me this trick. When you don’t know what the hell is going on, this is the best place to start. It makes you sound smart and thoughtful and makes the person you’re talking to have a good opinion of you. Unfortunately for me, it’s the biggest bullet in my gun of life hacks. If I can’t figure out what to do with what the person gives me, it becomes immediately evident, and I get downgraded topractically a childstatus.
I hate that status. I’m already a shorty and am subjected to more than my fair share of head pats. I’ve kind of gotten used to it, though.
So I’m delighted when Gwen goes into a nice, long monologue with the list of questions she’d ask if she were me, and then answers them as she goes. This is what I learn:
1. I passed out on the street from exhaustion, dehydration, and malnutrition. (I’ll be honest with you; I’m secretly impressed that I managed to achieve the full trifecta.)
2. Bael found me, snatched me up, carted me off, and presented me to Gwen like a half-dead, stray animal.
3. I’m not in horrible shape, though, and should be fine in a few days if I take care of myself.
4. Gwen wasn’t a huge fan of treating me without my consent because it’s highly illegal, and she fought tooth and nail to send me to a hospital.
5. Bael refused and strong-armed her into it by saying he’d just take me somewhere else if she didn’t treat me, and did she really want it on her conscience if something bad happened to me?
6. Gwen definitely knows I’m trans, doesn’t give a shit, and is really only hoping I don’t sue the pants off her. She’s okay with me suing Bael, though, because he’s a well-meaning dumbass who deserves it. Her words, not mine.
I decide to address the last issue because Gwen is super nice and doesn’t deserve to be left worrying if her good deed is going to fuck up her life.
“I’m not going to rat you out. I’m glad you helped me, Gwen, because going to a hospital isn’t an option for me right now.” Without Kai or Marty advocating for me, I’d be lost in a sea of paperwork and explaining myself over and over again.
“Wonderful! I love being able to eat every day, and having a job helps me achieve this goal.” Gwen does something with the IV bag hanging above me, but I don’t look because I want my stomach to stay right-side-in, thank you. When she’s satisfied with what she sees, she freezes and looks down at me. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me to say.”
Uhhh… what?
My mind has to chew on that for nearly a minute before I realize she’s trying to be cool about the shitty shape I’ve gotten myself into and not draw too much attention to how stupid a person would have to be in order to get where I am now.
“Oh, well… you know…” I trail off because I want to tell her it’s okay that she’s noticed my challenges, but she’s being so nice about everything that I want to be nice back and not make her call me stupid directly to my face. I don’t know how to follow that up, so I jump to the next hot topic. “Are you the only one who knows I’m trans?”
Gwen’s face softens, going from anxious to reassuring. “Bael is the only other person who knows you’re here, and I didn’t tell him. I may be his friend, but you’re my patient, and you’re the only person who gets to decide who knows your personal information.”
Aw! Gwen really deserves to be called Doctor Nice Lady. This shit may seem like common sense, but sometimes you just need to check.
