CC Fiction: Chasing Chastity (Part V)

[You can read the last installment of Chasing Chastity here]

“What’s going on?”

“Where are you, babe?” I crunched on a vodka-infused ice cube and sipped the remains of my tenth cocktail.

“I’m on my way home for lunch. I have about two hours between classes, so I thought I’d grab a quick bite. You wanna make me a sandwich?”

“Uhhh . . . sure?”

I bolted from the couch and knocked the phone out of my hand. As I bent down to retrieve it, I tripped over the dog, and smashed my head into our coffee table.

Immobilized, bleeding, I drifted off . . .

“Glenn? Glenn? Honey?” Jason’s tie brushed against my nose and a few mumbling shadows lurked behind him. It turned out those ominous figures were a team of paramedics.

“Mr. Woodson, it looks like your wife was drinking at the time of the fall. We need to check for signs of a concussion. If she checks out, then she won’t need to come to the E.R. with us.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it,” Jason said. He turned away from the shadowy figures, and crouched near my face. “Jesus, am glad I came home. What would’ve happened to you if I hadn’t? Your face is covered in dried blood.”

“I suppose Days would have continued to play and I would’ve come to…maybe the dog would’ve licked my face, and saved the day. You stole his thunder.”

“Ha, ha, very funny . . . Glenn, what’s going on with you? Why is the vodka out?” I tried to focus on Jason’s nose, but to no avail. His face was a gigantic blur, and swirls of creamy impressionistic strokes toyed with my sight.

“I didn’t get the damned job, Jason.” In an attempt to stabilize Jason’s moving face, I zoomed in on his eyes. That worked, but only momentarily.

“You didn’t? Why not?”

“Oh, please, why do you think? Jack had other things in mind. You know that.”

I tried to get up, but my arms were like jelly. My face fell into the wooden floor again.

“Sir! Sir! Don’t let your wife move!”

“Glenn, would you please, please listen to these nice men and stop moving? They’re here to take care of you.”

The front doorbell rang. Our dog began howling, and the shadows turned into distinct human beings – all of them were men wearing blue uniforms or scrubs.

The Days of Our Lives theme song reached its “startling” climax, just as Jason turned off the T.V.

“Is this the Camp residence?”

“Yes, that’s my wife’s last name.”

“Sign here please.”

After a few men had helped me to the couch and began to investigate my pupils, Jason returned from our foyer. He was holding a black vase filled with three dozen red roses.

“What the hell is that?”

“Flowers,” a paramedic replied.

“Oh, gee, thanks . . .” I rolled my eyes. “Who are they from, J?”

“Another J, my dear.”

“You’ve GOT to be kidding me . . . that vase is disgusting. It reminds me of the décor in American Psycho”

“Yeah, sure is disgusting. That’s an odd reference. You must have a concussion.”

I laughed only to be chided again for moving.

“And what do we have here?” Jason fished out a black checkered envelope and opened it. “Two tickets to some concert in Boston. No job, but at least you’re gettin’ hit on.”

“You’re cool with that?” A distant voice asked Jason.

“Would you please just do your job?” Jason replied. “And, no, no, I’m not ‘cool’ with that.”

“Two tickets, for what?” I grimaced as a man meddled with my wound.

“Ma’am, please stop talking to your husband. I need you to concentrate. The more cooperative you are, the faster we’ll be outta here.” A burning light hit my pupils. I squinted.

“That’s right. Just take it easy for me. Lemme have a look here.” The man’s jaw jutted out, his eyelids wobbled for a few moments and then twitched rebelliously.

“Sorry,” I mumbled. Black dots dashed across our timbered ceiling. I felt my breath slowing. The man’s square jaw disappeared, as did his eyelids. “Uh, ummm, sir, s-i-r . . . I’m . . . feeling dizzy again . . .”

The doorbell chimed sullenly, as I lay my head in the paramedic’s lap.