the '63 Mets didn't help one's sense of security. Elvis was getting to the part about how things look brighter in the daylight when I saw a series of cop headlights up ahead, just outside Jefferson Park. Jefferson was Crawford's answer to New York's Central Park, and a poor answer indeed. It was by the area in the park with a stinky pond and a bunch of trees separating the bad part of the city from the less bad part of the city. At night it was the haven for teenage drinkers, the gay guys who rendezvoused with anonymous partners, and the everpresent drug dealers. Flashing lights outside the park were as common as they were on the Crawford city hall Christmas tree. My curiosity got the better of me and I pulled over to the curb to see what was going on. There was an ambulance, and the cops and the EMTs tried to subdue a guy who was getting out of control at the thought of getting strapped down to a gurney. In the small crowd of park regulars that had gathered, I spotted Froggy, a gay guy who's been on and off my caseload for years. We've done favors for each other over the years-not the kind that happen in the park-and even though he did very little of what I suggested to him therapeutically, he was a good man. I once helped stop some beating of the gay men in the park and Froggy never forgot.
'Yo, Froggy,' I yelled.
He squinted through the flashing lights with a selfprotective sneer before recognizing me.
'Mr. Duffy, how you been?' Froggy said. Froggy's blueblack complexion shined in the lights and his Caribbean accent set him off from the average Crawford citizen.
'What the hell happened here?' I said.
'Some crazy-as-shit street guy took a beating and it has sent him off. I mean O-F-F.'
'Anybody you know?'
'Not one of my types. He be shoutin' at no one, carrying on about people out to get him, the military stealing his brain and what not…'
I stepped away from Froggy without saying goodbye. I headed toward the commotion to get a closer look. Sure enough, the man they tried to subdue was Karl. He was bleeding from a couple of spots on the face and his clothes were torn and dirty. They had him on the gurney, but he still screamed something about the truth setting him free.
'You getting rude, Mr. Duffy,' Froggy said. It jogged me back.
'Oh, sorry, Frog.'
'You know this gentleman?'
'Yeah, a little bit,' I said.
5
The blood gushed out of both eyes. It was thick and came out with the force of a fireman's hose. It hit me in the face and splashed in my own eyes, making it difficult to see. I felt a piercing in my side and then two of them were at my sides throwing punches at me. The whole time I couldn't do anything to defend myself even though my hands were free. The blood continued to splash on my face, the piercing kept entering my side, the two shapes whaled away at me, and I couldn't raise my guard. When my vision cleared I could see a teenage boy fifteen feet away crying for help. He's in pain, scared to death and he looks pathetic. He screams for me to help him and I can't move. Something awful is going to happen to him. Slow dribbles of blood start to run down the boy's face. When I look close I see the boy is me when I'm fifteen. The blood starts to run down his face harder, and the blood gushing from the eyes in front of me turns black. I look to my side; the sharpened steel point that is stabbing me in the side turns into a snake getting ready to bite. It's all happening at once and suddenly something wet and scratchy is dragged across my face…
A piercing sound shakes through my head, my eyes open, and I'm in that weird place between sleep and awake. I see Al sitting on my chest staring at me.
Fuck, the dreams were back.
I went to the bathroom, thought I was going to get sick, and held it off. It was a shitty way to wake up and I had thought these things had gone away. Awhile back I got involved in some violent shit and though I didn't really think it bothered me much during the day, I'd get these really fucked up dreams at night. It made sleep unpleasant and something I think I unconsciously avoided, which ironically, made the nightmares more likely to happen. The self-prescribed medication in the white bottle with the brown label slowed them, but didn't prevent them. Stress brought them on, but I wasn't entirely sure what I was stressed about.
Regardless, I was up and the day had started, so I made some coffee and tried to get normal. The headache had dulled, which was the only bright spot of the morning so far, that is, until Al started to object to the birds flying around outside The Blue. This offended him to his core and he wanted the sparrows to understand his objection. The sparrows seemed to take a special joy in pissing Al off and continued to flit around the window. Al balanced between the top of a set of shelves and the back of chair and in terms of equilibrium Al was no Alvin Ailey. One particular sparrow must've given Al the finger or the wing or something because Al growled and then let out this long baritone bay. The sparrows didn't like the baying and flew away, which brought Al back to barking. It also changed his body position abruptly and the chair tipped over sending him ass-overtea-kettle to the carpet. He did a quick body roll, righted himself, and did that tornado basset move to clear the accumulated slobber from his jowls. Then he lay down and started to snore. With Al's morning exercise regimen complete and the noise reduced to his wood sawing impersonation, I was able to call the hospital. It was only 7:45 a.m., but I wanted to find out about Karl.
'Crawford Medical Center, How may I direct your call,' The operator said. At first I was glad not to get an automated system with a menu longer than the Chinese take out place around the corner.
'Yes, I'm calling about a patient. His name is-'
'I'll transfer you to Family Services.' The phone began to ring. And ring. And ring.
'Family Services, Michele speaking, how may I direct your call?' The younger but, no more friendly, voice said.
'I wanted to find out about a patient admitted-'
'Hold on. I'll transfer you.'
I never had time to object.
'Crawford Medical Center, how may I direct your call?' The first woman said.
'I just spoke to you and you transferred me and now they transferred me back,' I said.
'How may I direct your call?' She said.
'I just want to find out about a patient.'
'Hold on I'll transfer you,' and she did before I could scream.
I decided it would be best if I showed up there in person, which would make me late for work, but I could couch it in the fact I was visiting a client. The Michelin Woman would smirk about something, but I had become immune to her bitching at me.
Besides, I always welcomed an excuse to go to the medical center, because it gave me a chance to visit Doctor Rudy. Rudy was my landlord, well, sort of my landlord. An uncle of his died and left him the Airstream trailer I now call home. Rudy had no use for it and gave it to me. I knew Rudy because he worked the fights for the state boxing commission and we kind of hit it off. He wasn't your typical country club doctor-he was a regular guy.
At the hospital I stopped by Rudy's office before I went anywhere else. He had a small space in the office building adjacent to the hospital. When I came through his door, there he was like he always, hunched over his computer, next to a half eaten toasted coconut donut, and sweating. Rudy always sweated.
'Internet porn, again, Rude?' I said by way of greeting.
'Oh good. I was hoping someone would stop by today and borrow money, get me in trouble, or ask me to do something illegal,' Rudy said without looking up from the monitor. He did push up the glasses that had slid down his nose. He had deep pit stains soaking through his shirt even though the air conditioning seemed to be at around forty degrees.
'What are you doing?'
'It's called work, kid. You oughta try it sometime.'
'That's just plain hurtful. I thought you took the hippocrapical oath or something.'
'Kid, let's get it over with. What do you want?'
